The Basis of Answer to Prayer
“From the first day that thou didst set thine heart te understand, thy words were heard.” — Dan. x. 12.
HE thought seems to me a very remarkable one. It is the averment that the communion between God and man requires a railroad. “From the first day that thou didst set thine heart to understand, thy words were heard.” What has God’s hearing to do with my understanding? Why should His answer to my message be in proportion to my intelligence? Because in the world of prayer there can be no wireless telegraphy. That is as true of man’s requests to man as of man’s requests to God. The strength of any appeal which I make to you depends, not on the loudness of my cry, but on the community of my sympathy. The ear which listens to a petition is always the sympathetic ear; and the basis
of all sympathy is a common want. On what ground does God hear the cry, “Give us this day our daily bread”? I am not afraid to say it is on the ground of a common want — hunger. God has the hunger of the heart — love. It is by that hunger He hears the voice of your destitution; the common understanding makes your words audible, answerable. There are said to be things which God “knoweth afar off.” What things are these? They are the things outside of His sympathy. I think that in the next world we shall have a new measurement of distance. We estimate distance here by miles of space; we shall estimate it yonder by miles of sympathy. The messages from mind to mind may travel quick or slow; but whether they travel quick or slow does not depend on the space; it depends on the spirit. Place Judas beside John, and place Nathanael at the other side of the universe. Let John send two messages on the wings of thought — one to Judas and the other to Nathanael. I feel sure that the message from John to Nathanael will reach its goal long before the message from John to Judas. For, John and Nathanael are near neighbours in the spiritual world. There is no sea between them — not though material oceans intervene, not though continents divide. But the drying-up of an intervening ocean would not bring John and
Judas near. The gulf between Dives and Lazarus is not a sheet of water; it is a difference of soul.
My God, I am often appalled by the sense of material distance between my soul and Thee. It seems as if my prayer had too far to travel. I say with one of Thy servants, “What is man that Thou shouldst be mindful of him!” I stand beneath the lights of the firmament and tremble; my heart fails in the presence of Thy heavens. I have read that Thy disciples cried, “Lord, teach us to pray!” In the light of this modern universe I have even more need of the lesson than they. How shall I escape this modern universe with its boundless spaces and its measureless heights? Can I get back to the old world — the world where earth was the centre and all things circled round it? No, I can never do that any more. But Thou canst lead me to prayer by a more excellent way. Instead of leading me back, lead me forward! Make me, not less modern, but more! Let me learn the secret of prayer, not by becoming old-fashioned, but by foreseeing the coming fashion, the newest fashion! Teach me how distance will be measured in the world to come! Teach me that in Thy world all likeness is nearness! Teach me that all sympathetic souls touch! Teach me why these words are written, “He is near to all that call upon Him”! My call is my chariot. My prayer is not my cry to Thee; it is my flight to Thee. My wish is my way; my longing is my locomotion. I sail by every sigh; I near by every need; I am winged for Thee by every want of Thee. Through the voidness of my soul without Thee do I voyage to Thy home; every stage of my joy is a stage of my journey. The movement of my heart is the short road to Paradise; there is no space to them that fear Thee.