C.S. Lewis, the brilliant author of The Chronicles of Narnia and one of the most respected Christian thinkers of the last century, experienced a deep crisis of faith toward the end of his life. He had married a woman named Joy Davidman late in life. Their love was a kind of miracle for him – unexpected and intense. But soon after they were married, Joy was diagnosed with cancer.
Lewis prayed fervently for her healing. At first, there was a glimmer of hope. Joy went into remission. Yet Lewis knew that, as joyful as their time was, it was still tinged with fragility. Joy’s health was failing, and their days together were numbered. In time, the cancer returned with a vengeance. This time, the prayers – no matter how passionate or persistent – didn’t bring about the healing they had hoped for. Joy died.
A friend, seeing Lewis in the depths of his grief, asked whether he still believed prayer worked. Lewis gave a quiet but profound answer. He said, “I don’t pray to change God. I pray because prayer changes me.”
He later wrote a deeply honest book, titled A Grief Observed, in which he poured out his sorrow, confusion, and, at times, his anger at God. But woven through those pages is also something else: a slow, painful discovery that even in the silence, even when God seemed absent, grace was present. Not the grace he had asked for, but the grace he truly needed – strength to go on, and to love through the pain.
I begin with that story because, for many of us, our efforts at prayer can sometimes be frustrating – especially when our most heartfelt prayers seem to go unanswered. We’ve heard the promises: “Ask and you shall receive. Seek and you shall find. Knock and the door will be opened.” But what happens when we ask and do not receive? When we knock and the door seems closed?
Today’s first reading (Genesis 18:20-32), reveals something significant when it comes to the way that many of us approach prayer. Abraham is negotiating with God like a seasoned trader. You can almost see him raising an eyebrow and pressing his case: “Suppose there are fifty righteous people found in the city of Sodom? What about forty-five? Forty? Thirty? Twenty? Ten?” It’s like he’s bargaining for a better deal at a street market.
But notice what’s happening beneath the surface. Abraham’s prayer is not just about intercession – it’s also a discovery. Each step in the negotiation is revealing more of who God is. Abraham is not changing God’s mind; rather, he is learning that God is more merciful than he ever imagined: patient, willing to listen, generous.
Sometimes we think prayer is about negotiation: “Lord, if you do this for me, I’ll go to Mass every Sunday… I’ll give up this bad habit… I’ll be a better person…” We bargain, plead, try to strike a deal. But what happens when God doesn’t grant our request? Is it because we didn’t pray hard enough? Or because God stopped listening? Or because we are undeserving – because we are good enough, not loved by God?
That’s where today’s Gospel gently redirects us. Jesus teaches His disciples to pray – not with bargaining, but with trust. He gives them the Lord’s Prayer, a prayer that includes asking for daily bread, yes, but also includes the words, “Your kingdom come. Your will be done.”
Then Jesus says: “Ask… seek… knock…” But look closely at how that passage ends. Jesus doesn’t say the Father will give us everything we ask for. He says: “How much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him?”
This is key. God doesn’t always give us what we want – but He always gives us what we most need: Himself. The Holy Spirit. Strength. Peace. A presence that stays, even in the dark.
That’s the truth that C.S. Lewis discovered in his grief. That’s the truth that countless people of faith have held onto when the miracle they prayed for didn’t come. Prayer is not magic. It’s not a battle of wills where we eventually wear God down and God gives in to our request.
Prayer is relationship. It’s communion. It’s being drawn deeper into the heart of God.
Sometimes God answers our prayers exactly as we had hoped. But often, the answer is different. Sometimes the healing doesn’t happen, but the strength to carry the cross does. Sometimes the door doesn’t open, but we find another way forward – one we didn’t expect, but one that still leads us closer to God.
In those difficult moments, prayer is not about giving up – it’s about giving over – it is about trusting. It is about surrendering – not to fate or despair, but to a God who knows more than we do; a God who walks with us; a God who, even in silence, never abandons us.
So keep praying – not because it will always change the outcome, but because it will always keep you connected to the One who holds you. Ask, seek, knock – yes. But also trust. Trust that even in the silence, even when the door stays closed a little longer than we’d like, God is already working. Prayer might not always change the situation – but it will always change us, and sometimes, that change is the very answer we most needed.
So what might these scriptures be asking of us today? To change the way we pray? To trust in God? To be willing to surrender all to God and trust that God will be with us every step of the way?
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Please consider praying a decade of the rosary on a daily basis for the evangelising Mission of the Church and the Pope’s intentions.
The Pope’s prayer intention for July is: ‘For formation in discernment’
Let us pray that we might again learn how to discern, to know how to choose paths of life, and reject everything that leads us away from Christ and the Gospel.
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Blessed Pauline Jaricot, Pray for us. 🙏🏼🙏🏼
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