A few weeks ago, my friend pulled me aside after our community group gathering. We had finished our discussion time with about 20 minutes of prayer together, and he was both challenged and encouraged. He said, “I’ve been a Christian for decades, but I’ve never learned to pray.” He continued, “I know I’m supposed to pray. But I don’t know what to do. I love Bible study, and I like serving. But for some reason I can’t explain, I just don’t really pray.”

I have some version of this conversation at least monthly, typically when a new person or couple joins our church and is trying to make sense of our significant emphasis on prayer. Why is this the case? Why is prayer so difficult? If prayer is such a constant theme in the Scriptures from beginning to end, why do so many Christians feel like they don’t know how to pray and feel little desire to develop a praying life?

Of course, there are many folks who love prayer. They don’t just value prayer as a concept; they actually pray. Deeply. They believe it really does something. They feel intimately connected to God, and as a result, their lives are marked by a gentleness, increasing maturity, and relational quality that many of us are seeking. What do they know that we don’t?

There are many reasons why prayer doesn’t come easily for us. We’re busy people. We haven’t been trained in prayer. It’s just difficult to sit still for more than five minutes without sweating in distraction. These are all true, but I think it goes deeper than all this. Recently, an unexpected source helped me see this clearly.

Why We Really Struggle with Prayer

Ricky Gervais is a British comedian and actor best known for writing and starring in the original BBC version of The Office. Gervais’s standup comedy specials are not exactly clean, and he is an outspoken atheist. But on a recent tour, he joked about his atheism and shared his views on prayer.

“People ask me, ‘Do you pray?’ No. I don’t mind if you pray. People say, ‘I’m praying for you,’ and I say, ‘Thank you.’ But if you cancel the chemotherapy, I’ll say, ‘Don’t do that.’ Do both. Pray and do the chemotherapy. Because doing both is the same as just doing the chemo. If you’re going to do one, do the one that works.”[1]

I laughed at first. Gervais is a master of delivery. But then something settled in like a dark cloud. At the time, I had been a Christian for most of my life—one who regularly prayed at the start of every day. But as I reflected, I realized Gervais’s remarks might indeed represent my own view of prayer more than the biblical vision. (More than might; they did.) My commitment to prayer was often agnostic—as if I believed in the existence of the Divine and mentally assented to the importance of prayer but didn’t engage deeply with a personal, living God.

If you had witnessed the weakness and inconsistency of my prayers in that season of my life, you’d likely conclude that I didn’t really expect all that much out of prayer, opting instead for the things that “worked.” Following my life closely, you’d undoubtedly conclude that I relied far more on my intellect than the Holy Spirit, more on my own energies than the power of God. You’d watch every morning pass as I, functionally speaking, said a few weak prayers and then opened my eyes, laced up my Nikes, and got to work as if it all depended on me.

Or at least, that’s until a few years ago, when I began to discover the joy and power of prayer.

Rediscovering the Joy and Power of Prayer

Toward the end of 2019, I was experiencing a dangerous level of fatigue and apathy. Nothing was utterly falling apart, but I was struggling through daily life. My spiritual life was dry, and I could barely feel God’s presence and love. Our little church plant was stumbling through its infancy stage, and our three boys were wonderful and exhausting at once. I was keeping my rhythms of Scripture, prayer, and fellowship, but I felt discouraged and powerless.

I was running on the mercies and energy of the past, and I was reaching the bottom of the tank. I began crying out to God with a mixture of lament, accusation, and petition. Desperation, as it turns out, is a key ingredient in prayer.

In this wilderness season, I cried out to God in the spirit of Lamentations 2:19.

“Arise, cry out in the night,
as the watches of the night begin;
pour out your heart like water
in the presence of the Lord.” (NIV)

The Lord met me powerfully and gently in that wilderness season of pouring out my heart. I can’t say it was a sudden or explosive experience—like the ones I’ve read about in memoirs by Augustine and Blaise Pascal—and I didn’t reach the third heaven. But nonetheless, over the course of a few days, I felt swept up in the powerful mercies of God. His presence felt so real and tangible. His Word leaped off the page. I prayed for hours on end. I even gave fasting another try after years of avoiding it.

Now, let’s be clear: I have not become a prayer expert, nor have I become a super Christian. My journey is simply deepening. Said another way, I’ve come to understand these moments as personal “times of refreshing…from the Lord” (Acts 3:19–20, NIV). For the next few months, my prayer life came fully alive. I had newfound energy for life. My sweet wife, Jessie, was overjoyed that I had been lifted from my funk. My boys could notice a difference in me. In my ministry relationships, I timidly brought up my renewal to our leaders, and several of them were experiencing something similar. Something remarkable was happening.

Over the past few years, my prayer life has ebbed and flowed; many dry seasons and powerless morning quiet times have come and gone. But as I’ve pressed further into the presence of God, He has been gracious and faithful to meet me with an increased love for Him and for others. Perhaps you know this feeling well, too. Or perhaps you long for it.

These days, I’m simply asking for more—more of God’s presence, more of His Spirit’s fruit ripening in my life, more Christlikeness as I walk with Jesus. To seek more of God is not to be discontent, but rather it’s a content, sitting-on-the-Father’s-lap prayer of a weaned child, seeking to be fully engaged in God’s presence (Psalm 131).

What Prayer Does

These days, I still reflect on the comedian’s words—“don’t do prayer, do something that works”—but I’m seeking to remind myself just how much prayer really does.

What exactly does prayer do?

Prayer welcomes us into the embrace of the Father and retrains us to live from belovedness.

Prayer uncovers our fragmented lives and invites us into wholehearted living.

Prayer is the means by which God moves history toward the renewal of all things; it leads to breakthrough.

Prayer invites us to face pain and suffering with honesty and hope.

Prayer opens us to a life of celebration and thanksgiving and teaches us to praise.

Prayer connects us to other believers more deeply and the mission of God more fruitfully.

Prayer increases our experience of the Holy Spirit’s presence and power.

Prayer reorients us to eternity—the coming new creation.

In short, prayer does stuff. And I’m not the only one who’s discovered this.

Over the past few years, along with my own spiritual awakening, our church has caught a vision for prayer. We have a long way to go, but we have become a praying church. Our calendar is filled with prayer meetings, and people are praying with joy, passion, and power. We’ve seen people experience profound inner healing. We’ve seen marriages restored. Members have seen their long-time friends come to Christ and be baptized. Lives are being changed, and it’s not our music, our level of production, and (certainly not) our preaching skills. It’s prayer.

Our lives are powerless apart from prayer. Prayer is the way in which we enter the presence of God and gain access to His strength, peace, and wisdom. And the more we experience God’s presence in prayer, the more we will keep turning to Him. Prayer cultivates a hunger for God. Prayer makes us more content (we are happy with less) and hungrier for God’s presence (we want more of Him).

There are many reasons it’s hard to pray deeply. But we don’t have to be afraid that prayer doesn’t do much. Prayer is powerful because God is powerful. Prayer works because we have a loving, sovereign Father who loves to answer prayer. And He invites us to pour out our hearts to Him. Why hold back?

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[1] Ricky Gervais, Netflix special, “Supernature,” 2022.

Editor’s Note: For more encouragement in prayer, see Jeremy Linneman’s book Pour Out Your Heart: Discovering Joy, Strength, and Intimacy with God through Prayer, available today from B&H Publishing.