The Cross of Their Wings

For this is the spiritual sacrifice that has abolished the sacrifices of the old order. God says: “Why bring me the great number of your sacrifices? I have had my fill of whole burnt offerings of rams; I do not want the fat of rams, or the blood of bulls and goats. Who has demanded these from your hands?” What God does demand, then, the Gospel teaches: “An hour is coming when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth. For God is spirit, and so the worshipers he looks for are of that kind.” [a]

We are the true worshipers and the true priests. Praying in spirit, we sacrifice prayer in spirit — a sacrifice that is God’s own and welcome to him, the one he has in fact demanded, the one he looked ahead to for himself. This sacrifice is given from the whole heart, fed on faith, groomed by truth, sound in innocence, clean in chastity, garlanded with love. We ought to escort it to God’s altar with a procession of good works, among psalms and hymns, so that it may obtain everything for us from God.

For what has God — the God who demands it — ever denied to prayer that comes from “spirit and truth”? What great examples of its power we read of, and hear of, and believe! Prayer in the old world used to rescue people from fire, from wild animals, from famine, and that was before it had been given its shape by Christ. [g]

But how much more widely does Christian prayer work! It does not post an angel of dew in the middle of the flames, or muzzle lions, or carry a countryman’s loaves over to the hungry. It has been given no grace to turn aside any feeling of suffering. What it does is supply endurance to those who suffer and feel and grieve. It makes grace go further by strength, so that faith may know what she is receiving from the Lord, and may understand what she is suffering for the sake of God’s name.

In days gone by, prayer also used to call down plagues, scatter the armies of enemies, and hold back the rains that make things grow. Now, though, the prayer of righteousness turns aside all God’s anger, stands sentry duty on behalf of personal enemies, and makes petition on behalf of persecutors. Is it any wonder that prayer knows how to wring rain out of heaven, when it was once able to obtain fire? Prayer is the one thing that conquers God. But Christ has willed that it work no evil; all the power he gave it was for good.

So it knows nothing except how to call the souls of the dead back from the very road of death, to make the weak strong, to heal the sick, to cleanse people held by demons, to open prison bars, to loosen the chains of the innocent. In the same way it washes away wrongs, drives off temptations, puts out persecutions, comforts the discouraged, gladdens the brave, escorts travelers, calms waves, leaves robbers dumbfounded, feeds the poor, governs the rich, lifts up the fallen, catches those who are falling, and holds up those who are standing.

Prayer is the wall of faith — our armor and our weapons against an enemy who keeps watch on us from every side. So let us never walk unarmed. By day let us keep the Station in mind; by night, the vigil. Under the arms of prayer let us guard our General’s standard; in prayer let us wait for the angel’s trumpet.

The angels all pray too. Every creature prays. Cattle and wild animals pray, and bend their knees; and when they come out of their stalls and dens, they look up toward heaven with no idle mouth, making their breath vibrate in their own way. Even the birds, rising out of the nest, lift themselves toward heaven, and instead of hands they spread out the cross of their wings and say something that sounds like a prayer. What more is there to say, then, about the duty of prayer? Even the Lord himself prayed — to whom be honor and power for ever and ever.