Early the next morning Abraham took some food and a skin of water and gave them to Hagar. He set them on her shoulders and then sent her off with the boy. She went on her way and wandered in the Desert of Beersheba.
When the water in the skin was gone, she put the boy under one of the bushes. Then she went off and sat down about a bowshot away, for she thought, “I cannot watch the boy die.” And as she sat there, she began to sob.
God heard the boy crying, and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven and said to her, “What is the matter, Hagar? Do not be afraid; God has heard the boy crying as he lies there. Lift the boy up and take him by the hand, for I will make him into a great nation.”
Then God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. So she went and filled the skin with water and gave the boy a drink (Genesis 21:14-19).
Hagar was sobbing, but Ishmael was the one God heard. None of the commentaries I checked explain why this is. It’s simply not something the Holy Spirit chose to reveal. And that itself might be an important point – God does not explain why he answers some prayers and not others.
But that raises an uncomfortable question: are there problems, not just in my life but in the world, that God has not yet solved because he’s waiting for my prayer? After all, we read in Scripture:
You do not have because you do not ask God (James 4:2).
I have to admit, that concept seems odd. God knows everything. He knows what’s best in every situation. Why does he need me, or anybody, to pray? If it’s right for God to do something, won’t he do it whether anybody prays or not?
In mathematics, there are certain kinds of complex systems where a tiny difference in an input value can result in a huge difference in the output. One example is the weather. Something as small and seemingly insignificant as the flap of a butterfly’s wing could potentially move a few molecules of air, which then collide with other molecules, interacting and amplifying each other in unforeseen ways that end up changing the path of a tornado weeks later. In fact, mathematicians actually call this sort of thing the butterfly effect.
The reason I mention this is that humans display this same sort of complexity, both in our internal mental processes and in our interactions with others. Which means that a very small variation in my thoughts – for example, whether or not I pray for something – has an effect on the rest of my thinking. Which affects the way I interact with other people. And the way those people interact with others, generation after generation until the end of time.
God always knows what is best. But given the butterfly effect, it’s not hard to see that the best thing for God to do when I pray might not be the best thing for him to do when I don’t. My prayer doesn’t change God; it changes the world in ways that I can’t possibly predict, but God knows. (If that doesn’t blow your mind, someone should probably check your pulse.) By the same argument, continuing to pray creates a different world than praying once and giving up.
Don’t hear what I’m not saying: this is not “name it, claim it.” There is no way for me, a finite human, to predict what the effect of praying, or of continuing to pray, will be. But Jesus said to do it (Luke 18:1), so I trust that it will be good, even when God does not give me the particular thing I thought I wanted. God uses me to change the world in ways that he understands, not that I understand. But that’s okay, because it’s not my will that I’m called to pursue; it’s his.
Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven (Matthew 6:10).
Be the butterfly.