Editor’s Note:  Anyone Billy Graham identifies as his favorite writer is worth listening to.  That person is Philip Yancey.  And we’re hard-pressed to find a topic more pertinent to pastors and preachers than the topic of prayer.  Philip Yancey has written a wonderful volume, “Prayer, Does It Make Any Difference?” Here, in his refreshing, reflective style, he takes us to a place that helps us see our prayers, ourselves, and those we pray for in the broader context of the mind of God.

A Perspective On Prayer for Pastors
By Philip Yancey

Jane, a character in Thornton Wilder’s play Our Town, got a letter addressed to her farm, town, county, state, and then, the envelope continued, “the United States of America; Continent of North America; Western Hemisphere; the Earth; the Solar System; the Universe; the Mind of God.”  Perhaps the Christian should reverse the order.  If I started with the Mind and Will of God, viewing the rest of my life from that point of view, other details would fall into place—or at least fall into a different place.

My home sits in a canyon in the shadow of a large mountain along a stream named Bear Creek.  During the spring snowmelt and after heavy rains the stream swells, tumbles frothily over rocks, and acts more like a river than a creek.  People have drowned in it.  Once I traced the origin of Bear Creek to its very source, atop the mountain.  I stood on a snowfield marked by “sun cups,” the bowl-shaped indentations that form as snow melts.  Underneath I could hear a soft gurgling sound, and at the edge of the snow, runnels of water leaked out.  These collected into a pool, then a small alpine pond, then spilled over to begin the long journey down the mountain, joining other rivulets to take shape as the creek below my house.

It occurs to me, thinking about prayer, that most of the time I get the direction wrong.  I start downstream with my own concerns and bring them to God.  I inform God, as if God did not already know.  I plead with God, as if hoping to change God’s mind and overcome divine reluctance.  Instead, I should start upstream where the flow begins.

When I shift direction, I realize that God already cares about my concerns—my uncle’s cancer, world peace, a broken family, a rebellious teenager—more than I do.  Grace, like water, descends to the lowest part.  Streams of mercy flow.  I begin with God, who bears primary responsibility for what happens on earth, and ask what part I can play in God’s work on earth.  “Let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!” cried the prophet.  Will I stand by the bank or jump in the stream?

With this new starting point for prayer, my perceptions change.  I look at nature and see not only wildflowers and golden aspen