Prayer-Fueled

Week 3- Core Values

Good morning, Church. If you have a Bible and I hope you do. Go ahead and grab it and make your way to Ephesians 3.

We are now 3 weeks into this. And over the last two weeks, we really driven into the the foundation of the church.

We say, unapolotigetically that we firmly believe that it is through grace alone by faith alone in Christ alone that we are saved.

And since we are saved by grace through faith, we want to be a church that utilizes every oppotunity to tell others about that.

We can never get over the gospel. I can’t get over the gospel.

That God Himself would die for someone like me to have relationship with Him, is not something I can get over.

And we get the gospel through scripture alone.

That even if an angel were to come down and present a different gospel to the one that is preached in the Word then we don’t listen to it for even a second.

That God’s Word is suffiecient and complete. It is the inerrant, infallible, inspired Word of God.

And since the Sermon last week, I have had several people ask me why Catholics and sect of Christianity have more books in their Bible then what we have.

The Catholic and Orthodox Bible Include what is known as the Apocrypha.

The Apocrypha refers to a collection of ancient Jewish writings that were composed roughly between the Old and New Testaments.

Different Christian traditions treat these books differently. Catholic and Orthodox Bibles include them, often called the Deuterocanonical Books-

Deuterocanonical simply means “second canon.”

The word comes from:

Deutero = second

Canonical = relating to the canon, or recognized Scripture

In Catholic theology, the term refers to those Old Testament books that were affirmed as Scripture later in the church’s history

While Protestant Bibles typically do not regard them as part of the Old Testament canon.

Here are the books most commonly identified as the Apocrypha:

Deuterocanonical Books (recognized in Catholic Bibles):

Tobit

Judith

Wisdom of Solomon

Sirach (Ecclesiasticus)

Baruch

1 Maccabees

2 Maccabees

Additions to existing Old Testament books:

Additions to Esther

Additions to Daniel, which include:

Prayer of Azariah

Susanna

Bel and the Dragon

In some traditions (especially Orthodox), you may also see additional writings such as:

1 Esdras

2 Esdras

Prayer of Manasseh

Psalm 151

3 Maccabees

4 Maccabees (sometimes included as an appendix)

For Protestants, the issue has largely been about how the Old Testament canon has been recognized historically.

Protestant Bibles follow the canon of the Hebrew Scriptures — the collection of books preserved and received by the Jewish people.

That canon did not include the Apocryphal books.

One of the details that often gets mentioned is language and its pretty easy to understand the reasoning.

The books of the Old Testament were written primarily in Hebrew with small portions in Aramaic.

No book is written completely Aramaic.

Aramaic was the common international language of the Near East during later Old Testament history (especially the exile and post-exile periods).

1. Daniel

Large section in Aramaic:

Daniel 2:4b – 7:28

These chapters focus heavily on Gentile kingdoms, which fits the language shift.

2. Ezra

Several official documents and correspondence:

Ezra 4:8 – 6:18

Ezra 7:12 – 26

These include Persian government records and letters.

3. Jeremiah

One brief verse:

Jeremiah 10:11

This verse addresses the nations, hence Aramaic.

The Apocryphal books, however, were mostly written in Greek. That may sound like a small technical point, but it actually tells us something important about their origin.

The Hebrew Scriptures are rooted in Israel’s covenant life, prophetic tradition, and worship. The Apocryphal writings came later, largely within the Greek-speaking Jewish world.

By the time of Jesus, there was already a recognized body of sacred Hebrew texts. And Jesus quotes from the Old Testament a lot.

The Apocryphal books were known and read, especially because they were included in the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Old Testament.

But they were not part of the Hebrew canon itself. That distinction has mattered for Protestants, since the Old Testament was entrusted to Israel.

When you read the New Testament, you see Jesus and the apostles constantly appealing to “the Scriptures.” Yet there is no clear moment where the Apocrypha is explicitly affirmed as carrying the same authority as the Law and the Prophets. That doesn’t mean those books were ignored or despised — just that they were not treated as the foundation for doctrine.

And I’m not here to disparage or talk down about other Christian Denominations.

I want to clearly articulate why we believe the Bible is 39 Old Testament books and 27 New Testament books.

Even in the early church, there were thoughtful discussions about this.

Some early church leaders spoke very positively about the Apocryphal books. In fact, at the Council of Rome in 382AD— addressed Canon Clarification and included the Apocrypha books. The early church mostly read the Old Testament in Greek (Septuagint tradition). Others, like Jerome— who is believed to be at the council, thought there wasnt a attendance sheet, made a distinction between books that were helpful and books that were fully canonical.

and that tension never disappears — it later explodes at the Reformation.

When questions of authority were being carefully examined.

The Reformers did not argue that the Apocrypha had no value. They acknowledged its historical and devotional usefulness.

Their concern was rooted in a broader conviction: the church must be governed by Scripture with clarity about what truly carries divine authority.

The hesitation was about authority — whether those writings should carry the same weight as what was understood to be the inspired Word of God.

So from a Protestant perspective, this is not really about “removing books,” but about which books were recognized as Scripture to begin with. The Old Testament canon reflects the Hebrew Scriptures — texts historically preserved in Hebrew and received within Israel’s sacred tradition.

In other words, the conversation is less about usefulness and more about authority.

The question is not, “Are these books interesting or meaningful?” The question is, “Do these writings carry the full authority of ‘Thus says the Lord’?”

Underlying this decision was a theological conviction central to the Reformation:

Scripture alone must function as the final, binding authority for the church.

And this is where I want us to make an important shift.

Conversations about Scripture, authority, and the canon are not side discussions. They are not theological trivia. These are matters that define whether the church is actually anchored to the Word of God or merely borrowing religious language.

If Scripture is truly the Word of God — and it is — then that settles the issue. It does not sit alongside our opinions, our preferences, or our strategies. It stands over them.

That is not a suggestion. That is reality.

And once that is understood, everything else begins to fall into place. Because a church that rightly understands the authority of God’s Word will also rightly understand its dependence on God Himself.

We are not as strong as we think. We are not as wise as we imagine. We are not as capable as we sometimes pretend.

And prayer is where that truth becomes unmistakably clear.

Prayer is not a sentimental exercise. It is the recognition that without God, we have nothing of lasting value to offer. A church that genuinely believes that does not treat prayer as a decorative feature of church life.

It treats prayer as essential.

It is the core reason— instead of preaching another sermon during our mid-week service, we have been praying. We pray for the majority of the service.

God didn’t say His house is a house of preaching. God didn’t say His house is a house of worship music. God said his house is a house of prayer.

And that tells me— that one of the Core Values of the church is prayer.

A church must be led by prayer.

not in theory, not in language, but in practice.

So if you have your Bibles, turn with me to Ephesians chapter 3.

We will be in Ephesians 3:14–21.

As we come to the book of Ephesians, it helps to understand the setting before we move into the passage itself.

Ephesians is a letter written by the Apostle Paul.

The city of Ephesus was one of the most significant cities in the Roman world. It was wealthy, influential, and deeply pagan. The temple of Artemis dominated the religious landscape, and idolatry was woven into everyday life. This was not a neutral environment for Christianity. The believers there were living in a culture saturated with competing loyalties, spiritual confusion, and moral pressure.

Paul’s relationship with Ephesus was not casual. Acts 19 shows us that he spent an extended period there. He taught, he reasoned, he endured opposition, and the gospel took deep root. The church was born in the middle of spiritual resistance and social tension.

By the time Paul writes this letter, he is in prison.

Paul repeatedly emphasizes that the Christian life is not sustained by human effort. It is rooted in divine strength, divine grace, and divine activity. God is not presented as an accessory to the life of the church, but as the source of everything the church is and does.

Which is exactly why Paul’s prayer in chapter 3 carries such weight.

So lets read God’s Word together and see where He takes us. Ephesians 3:14-21

Ephesians 3:14–21 ESV

For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Prayer

I. A Posture of Humility.

Paul says, “For this reason I bow my knees before the Father.”

Now that’s an interesting statement, especially coming from Paul. This is not a man short on credentials. If resumes mattered in the Kingdom of God — which they don’t, but let’s just play along for a moment — Paul’s would be difficult to top.

This is the same man who writes elsewhere:

“If anyone else thinks he has reason for confidence in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee.” (Philippians 3:4–5, ESV)

In other words, if spiritual pedigree, religious training, and theological education were the currency of the Kingdom, Paul would be exceptionally well-funded.

He is not unimpressive. He is not underqualified. He is not lacking discipline, intellect, or religious accomplishment.

And yet — Paul kneels.

Not because he lacks confidence. Not because he lacks ability.

But because he lacks delusion.

Paul understands something that we are often slow to admit: competence is not the same thing as sufficiency.

Most of us are quite comfortable being capable.

We like being prepared. We like being organized. We like knowing what we’re doing.

We especially like the subtle sense of control that comes with all of that. Then, once everything is planned, structured, and largely decided, we pray.

“Of course we prayed about it.”

Naturally.

Problem is we want to treat prayer like how companies have us click I agree on the terms and conditions.

Companies know we don’t read all that— and we agree to it. We want God to just scroll to the bottom of our prayer and click I agree.

Because nothing says dependence on God like presenting Him with a fully formed plan and asking for a signature at the bottom.

Paul kneels because prayer is not a ceremonial gesture in his life. Prayer is the acknowledgement of reality. He understands that spiritual strength does not originate in human ability, no matter how exceptional that ability may be.

Prayerful humility is not Paul thinking poorly of himself.

It is Paul thinking clearly about God.

And the problem is most of use aren’t thinking clearly about God.

Paul writes in Romans:

“Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand…” (Romans 5:2, ESV)

By Faith we have ACCESS to God. We can go directly to God in prayer.

One of the things I’ve always noticed with Judah is how naturally he understands access.

My son does not hesitate to come to me. He doesn’t pause outside the door evaluating whether the timing works for my schedule. He doesn’t wonder if his concern is important enough. He certainly doesn’t rehearse language.

He just walks in.

Sometimes confidently. Sometimes urgently. Sometimes mid-thought. Sometimes just because.

Why?

Because he’s my son.

Access is not something he negotiates. It’s something he assumes.

Now imagine Judah standing outside my office thinking,

“I’m not sure Dad wants to hear from me.”

“I’ll try to handle this myself.”

“I don’t want to bother him.”

That wouldn’t be humility.

That would be absurd.

Of course, I want to hear from my son, I want him to come to me with anything and everything.

And at his age its normally not some big spiritual question. Right now, it probably has something to do with wrestling.

And I don’t even mean the sport I coach. I mean Hulk Hogan, Randy Savage, John Cena, Wrasslin.

And I love it. He can always come to me. And If I, a sinful imperfect man, want to hear from my son, how much more does our sinless perfect father want to hear from us.

And yet, when it comes to prayer, many believers operate with a set of assumptions that Scripture never actually gives us.

Somewhere along the way we picked up the idea that prayer works best when the conditions are just right.

Right words. Right tone. Right frame of mind.

As though there’s a preferred script God is hoping we’ll eventually discover.

So we hesitate.

We think, I need to say this better. I need to be more focused. I need to get my thoughts together first.

Meanwhile, Paul writes something that cuts straight through all of that:

“Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” (Romans 8:26, ESV)

Notice how uncomfortably honest that is.

“We do not know what to pray for as we ought.”

Not occasionally. Not on bad days.

As a general rule. We do not know what to pray for as we ought.

Which means even on the days when you feel fairly confident about your prayer life — when the sentences sound smooth and your thoughts feel organized — Scripture quietly reminds us that we are still operating with limited understanding.

Prayer was never upheld by our verbal precision.

The Spirit helps.

The Spirit intercedes.

The Spirit carries what we are unable to express with clarity.

And that reframes things rather significantly.

Because if Paul is right — and he is — then prayer is not an exercise in careful phrasing. It is not dependent upon finding the perfect words or achieving some ideal mental state.

We come in weakness.

We come with thoughts that are sometimes clear, sometimes scattered.

We come with prayers that are occasionally well-formed and other times little more than burdens we struggle to articulate.

And rather than presenting that as a problem, Scripture presents it as normal.

“The Spirit helps us in our weakness.”

Yet many believers continue to wait.

Waiting for better words. Waiting for better focus. Waiting for a moment that feels more spiritual.

As though God were primarily concerned with delivery.

Prayerful humility is not about getting everything exactly right.

It is simply the willingness to approach God as we are, fully aware that even our best efforts lean heavily on His grace.

Which, whether we prefer it or not, is how this relationship has always worked.

Prayerful humility is not insecurity. It is simply living with the awareness that you are not self-sustaining — regardless of how competent, disciplined, or experienced you may be.

Historically, the Church has always had men and women who understood this with unusual clarity.

Edward Payson is one of those names we rarely mentioned during the Second Great Awakening. While names like Charles Finney and David Brainerd are celebrated, Payson’s story is often overlooked which is unfortunate, though perhaps understandable.

Payson prayed with such consistency that historical accounts describe visible impressions left in the hardwood floor of his prayer room. This guy prayed so much and so often that there are knees prints where he did it.

That detail alone tends to unsettle modern sensibilities. We hear something like that and immediately start filtering it through our contemporary instincts.

Surely that’s exaggeration. Surely that’s poetic language. Surely no one actually lived that way.

Because if it’s true, it forces us to reckon with a category of devotion that doesn’t fit comfortably inside our efficiency-driven frameworks.

Years of kneeling.

Not weeks. Not seasons. Years.

Years of returning to the same posture, day after day, without the need for novelty, without the demand for visible spectacle, without the constant search for something new to keep things interesting.

And if we’re honest, that kind of steadiness is foreign to us.

We live in a culture that celebrates optimization. Everything must justify itself in measurable outcomes. Time must produce something visible, something quantifiable, something that can be pointed to as proof of effectiveness.

Payson’s prayer life would not fare well under those standards.

Imagine explaining that schedule to a modern productivity expert.

“So let me get this straight — hours spent alone, kneeling, speaking words no one hears, producing results you cannot immediately chart?”

It would be classified, without hesitation, as inefficient.

Yet Payson was not confused about what he was doing.

He was not hiding from responsibility. He was not avoiding meaningful work.

He was operating from a conviction that prayer was not a preliminary exercise to real ministry.

Prayer was not the warm-up. Prayer was not the background activity supporting more important efforts.

Prayer was central.

Payson understood something that we tend to admire in theory but resist in practice: spiritual power is not generated by activity, intelligence, or effort alone. Dependence upon God is not a sentimental ideal — it is the operating reality of the Christian life.

What stands out about Payson is not merely intensity, but endurance.

It is relatively easy to be passionate for a while.

It is far more difficult to be consistent for years.

Modern Christianity often searches for breakthroughs, for moments, for dramatic experiences. Payson’s life suggests something much less glamorous and, frankly, much less appealing to our preferences.

Faithfulness.

Steady, unremarkable, disciplined persistence.

And the discomfort we feel when confronted with a life like that is revealing.

Because it exposes how thoroughly we’ve absorbed the assumption that value must always be visible, that effectiveness must always be measurable, that time must always produce something we can immediately recognize.

Payson, apparently, was not burdened by those concerns.

He seemed quite content to invest himself in what many today would struggle to classify as “productive,” yet what Scripture consistently presents as foundational.

Dependence expressed through prayer.

I pray we all start putting knee dents in the hardwoods again.

So we see the posture of prayer now lets look at the second truth.

2. The Power of Love’s Depth Ephesians 3:17–19

As Paul continues this prayer, he moves from strength to love, which is not a change of subject. It is a continuation of the same concern.

He writes:

“…so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith — that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge…”

Paul is drawing our attention to something that is both foundational and frequently misunderstood.

The Christian life is not sustained merely by correct doctrine or disciplined behavior. It is anchored in the love of Christ.

Not a sentimental version of love, but the settled, unchanging, covenantal love of the Son of God for His people.

And let me be clear about what I mean by that.

I am not talking about emotionalism. I am not talking about the warm fuzzies people often attach to the word love.

I am not talking about sentimentality, romance, or the kind of affection that shifts with mood and circumstance.

I’m talking about real love— Biblical love — especially the love of Christ — is not built on feelings. It is anchored in covenant. It is rooted in truth. It is steady, durable, and unmoved by the emotional volatility that so often defines our thinking.

And this is something our culture has a remarkable ability to blur.

Just think about some of the most beloved movies of all time. The movies that tell us what Love is.

The biggest one might be the worst one of all time.

Alright, let’s be honest about Titanic for a second.

We’ve all been emotionally manipulated by this movie for years. The music swells, the ship sinks, Jack freezes, we cry… but if you actually step back and think about it, Rose is absolutely the villain of the story. She’s a bigger villian than the iceberg.

First of all, this woman survives one of the most catastrophic maritime disasters in history. Incredible. Miraculous. But what does she spend the rest of her life doing?

Hoarding generational wealth.

She’s walking around with the Heart of the Ocean like it’s a sentimental trinket from Claire’s. That diamond could have funded schools, hospitals, scholarships, entire charitable foundations. But no — Rose keeps it tucked away for decades like, “This is my little memory.”

And then — THEN — at the end of the movie, after listening to a crew of researchers pour their time, money, and sanity into finding this thing… she just chucks it back into the ocean.

No discussion. No warning. Just yeets generational wealth into the abyss.

That’s not poetic. That’s financial vandalism.

And let’s talk about Jack.

She knew Jack Dawson for what — three days? Three. Days.

Three days on a boat and suddenly he’s the love of her eternal existence.

Meanwhile, somewhere in her actual life story, there’s a husband. A man who presumably got up every morning, went to work — not because he had to, but because that’s what responsible adults do. Paid bills. Built a life. Probably endured Rose occasionally staring dramatically out windows thinking about a guy she met on a cruise.

And when Rose dies?

Does she reunite with her husband?

Nope.

She spiritually respawns back on the ship to be with the vacation fling.

We all watched this and said, “What a beautiful love story.”

No.

Let’s do another one- How about the The Notebook?

We’ve all been conditioned to see this as the gold standard of love. Rain kiss. Passion. “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.” The whole emotional circus.

But when you actually lay the story out plainly?

Allie is chaos wrapped in soft lighting.

First, she meets Noah Calhoun one summer. A teenage romance. Intense, dramatic, fueled by hormones and questionable decision-making. Fine. We’ve all been there.

But then life happens.

They separate. Years pass. Entire seasons of adulthood unfold.

Enter Lon.

Stable. Successful. Respectful. Financially secure. A literal war hero. The human embodiment of “your parents would be thrilled.” This man offers Allie a life of comfort, stability, and air conditioning that doesn’t depend on sanding floors in August.

He proposes.

She says yes.

Everything is moving along like a normal adult decision.

And then…

She sees Noah again.

Suddenly, decades of emotional maturity evaporate.

Now listen — reconnecting with an old love? Understandable.

But Allie doesn’t just reconnect.

She detonates her entire engagement.

Lon is out here being a decent fiancé, planning a wedding, existing in good faith… while Allie runs off to rekindle a romance with a man who still lives inside a construction project.

And the movie frames this like:

✨ True love has returned ✨

No.

This is emotional whiplash with a soundtrack.

And let’s not forget the larger pattern.

Allie spends years building a relationship with Lon — accepting his love, his commitment, his future — while still carrying this unresolved torch for Noah like a ticking time bomb.

That’s not romance.

That’s delayed emotional processing at catastrophic levels.

Lon did absolutely nothing wrong except be too reasonable for a Nicholas Sparks universe.

Then comes the ending — the part we’re all supposed to ugly cry over.

Elderly Allie, memory fading, drifting in and out of recognition. It’s meant to be tragic and beautiful.

But if we’re staying in villain-analysis mode?

This entire story is built on decades of instability that began with Allie’s inability to choose a lane and stay in it.

Because the underlying message is essentially:

“Commitment is flexible if nostalgia hits hard enough.”

Which is… not ideal marital advice.

Last one just so I can really drive this point home. And its actually one of my favorite movies of all time. Forest Gump.

Jenny is an emotional hurricane with excellent timing.

Let’s start at the beginning.

Forrest Gump spends his entire life loving Jenny Curran with the purest, most unwavering devotion imaginable. No games. No mixed signals. No ego. Just wholehearted, ride-or-die loyalty from childhood onward.

Meanwhile, Jenny’s entire relationship strategy is basically:

Appear → Accept unconditional love → Disappear into chaos.

Rinse. Repeat.

Forrest is out here becoming a war hero, a ping-pong champion, a shrimp mogul, accidentally influencing American history… and every single time Jenny pops back into his life, he’s like:

“Oh hey Jenny 😊”

Like a golden retriever who never learns.

And Jenny?

Jenny treats Forrest like an emotional Airbnb.

She checks in when life falls apart. Checks out when stability appears.

Need comfort? Forrest. Need safety? Forrest. Need someone who loves you without conditions? Forrest.

But commit?

Absolutely not.

Because Jenny has places to be. Bad decisions to make. Questionable life choices to pursue with relentless dedication.

Forrest offers her love, security, loyalty, and a literal mansion at one point.

Jenny’s response?

“I gotta go find myself.”

Ma’am. You have been “finding yourself” for two decades.

At some point, that turns into “actively avoiding peace.”

And then — THEN — comes the plot twist.

After years of drifting in and out of Forrest’s life like a mysterious emotional ghost, Jenny suddenly returns with:

A child.

Forrest’s child.

Which means this woman spent years keeping Forrest at arm’s length while quietly holding onto the single most life-altering piece of information imaginable.

That is not quirky.

That is psychological warfare.

Forrest — being Forrest — doesn’t explode, doesn’t accuse, doesn’t spiral. He just instantly steps into father mode like the human embodiment of grace.

And Jenny?

Jenny finally settles down once:

• Forrest is wildly successful • Forrest has proven eternal loyalty • Forrest represents absolute stability

Amazing coincidence.

And then — because this movie refuses to give Forrest a break — Jenny dies, leaving Forrest to raise their child alone.

Which, narratively, is tragic.

But from a “let’s examine patterns” standpoint?

Jenny essentially spent an entire lifetime orbiting Forrest’s love without fully embracing it until every other path had burned down.

Forrest loved Jenny consistently.

Jenny loved Forrest… situationally.

Yet the movie presents this like:

✨ The greatest love story ever told ✨

No.

This is a story about a man with infinite patience and a woman with catastrophic decision-making radar.

And the reason that kind of story works so well on screen is because we are constantly being trained to define love by emotion, intensity, and personal impulse rather than stability, faithfulness, and truth.

Which brings us right back to what Paul is saying.

The love of Christ is not an emotional hurricane. Its also not reckless— sorry not sorry.

When Paul speaks of being rooted and grounded in love, he is not describing emotional turbulence. He is describing something steady, anchored, and immovable — the kind of love that does not drift with circumstance or fluctuate with feeling.

These are words of stability. Words of structure. Words that describe something capable of bearing weight. Paul is saying that believers are meant to live with their lives firmly planted in the love of Christ.

And the implication is difficult to ignore.

Much of our instability — much of our fear, anxiety, insecurity, and spiritual inconsistency — flows from a failure to truly grasp this love. We may affirm it intellectually, yet functionally live as though God’s posture toward us is fragile, uncertain, or easily disrupted.

Paul will not allow that kind of shallow understanding.

He stretches language to its limits: breadth, length, height, depth.

That langugage took my mind to Romans 8.

Which I didn’t really find suprising because Ephesians is called Mini-Romans.

Romans 8:34–39 ESV

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, “For your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

breadth, length, height, depth.

Not because the love of Christ can be measured, but because it cannot. He is pressing us to recognize that the love of Christ exceeds categories, exceeds comprehension, exceeds what the human mind naturally contains.

And yet, this love is not abstract.

It is deeply practical.

To be rooted in Christ’s love produces endurance in suffering. It produces steadiness in trial. It reshapes how we view hardship, obedience, and even our relationships with one another. A church grounded in the love of Christ does not have to manufacture compassion or courage. Those things flow from hearts shaped by the security of being loved by God.

As J. I. Packer wrote:

“There is tremendous relief in knowing that His love to me is utterly realistic, based at every point on prior knowledge of the worst about me.”

That is precisely the kind of assurance Paul is praying for.

Not a vague awareness that God is loving, but a deep-rooted confidence that the love of Christ is not threatened by weakness, failure, or struggle.

And again, this drives us back to prayer.

Because this kind of comprehension is not produced by effort alone. Paul prays for it because only God can press this reality deeply into the human heart.

3. The Potential of God’s Power Ephesians 3:20–21

As Paul brings this prayer to its conclusion, he directs our attention to a truth that is both familiar and, if we are honest, often underappreciated.

“Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us…”

Paul is reminding believers of something fundamental about God’s nature. God’s ability is not measured by human limitations. His power is not confined by what appears realistic, probable, or manageable from our perspective.

He is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think.

That statement quietly challenges the way we tend to pray. Many of our prayers are shaped by what seems reasonable to us. We ask within the boundaries of what feels attainable. Our expectations often reflect our sense of possibility rather than God’s.

Paul’s language stretches beyond that. It points us toward a God whose power exceeds both our requests and even our imagination.

And this is not merely a theological observation. It has practical implications for how we understand prayer, especially in moments of uncertainty.

It is difficult to ignore that we, as a nation, find ourselves at something of a crossroads.

Questions about identity, morality, truth, and even the basic direction of Western civilization are no longer abstract debates. They are visible, pressing, and deeply consequential.

Which way Western man?

Which values will anchor us? Which truths will govern us? Which authority will ultimately shape our thinking and our living?

These are not small questions.

In times like this, there is a temptation to place ultimate confidence in political structures, cultural movements, or human leadership. While those things have their place, Scripture consistently calls God’s people to remember that the deepest needs of humanity are not solved by human power alone.

Paul’s words recalibrate our vision.

God is able.

Able to work beyond what we can calculate. Able to accomplish beyond what we can foresee. Able to act in ways that exceed both strategy and prediction.

Throughout history, there have been moments when circumstances seemed fixed, outcomes appeared inevitable, and yet events unfolded in ways few could have anticipated. Not every historical turn can or should be neatly interpreted, but they do remind us that human perspective is not the final measure of what is possible.

For the church, this truth shapes how we pray.

Prayer is not a symbolic gesture or religious routine. It is the acknowledgment that God’s power is neither theoretical nor distant. It is active, sufficient, and not bound by the limits that define us.

We pray for God to work in this country, in this state, in this city, in this community, in this church.

We pray and we go.

Matthew 9

37 Then he (Jesus) said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; 38 therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”

Then in Matthew 10:1

And he called to him his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal every disease and every affliction. 

God had them pray and they were the answer to their own prayer.

You better wake up. We are in a war. A Spiritual War. Christianity is the fastest growing religion in exactly 0 states.

Hinduism is the fastest growing religion in 3 states. Buddism in 6 states. Judaism in 15 states. Islam is the majority of states.

Thats a problem. Instead of us raising the next generation of Christians. We are raising or have raised a generation of nones. Nones who don’t believe in nothing and fall for anything.

And we better get off our blessed assurance and start by getting on our knees in prayer. Repent for our willful ignorance.

Repent for falling asleep when we were supposed to be standing firm in the faith.

The Bible does not call the people of God to passivity. It does not present a vision of faith that retreats from responsibility or disengages from reality. Scripture consistently portrays believers as watchful, steadfast, and fully aware that the world is marked by conflict — not merely political or cultural, but deeply spiritual.

When Jesus told His disciples that two swords were enough, He was not delivering a lesson in military strategy. He was preparing them for the seriousness of the road ahead. The Christian life would not unfold in a vacuum. It would unfold in a contested world.

Historically, the Crusaders and many Christians came to understand that imagery in layered terms —the two swords of Christ— not only the reality of physical existence, but the far greater reality of spiritual struggle.

And the primary weapon entrusted to the church is not political leverage or human force.

It is the Word of God.

Scripture repeatedly describes the Word as living, active, piercing, and powerful. It is called the sword of the Spirit for a reason. It is through truth that deception is confronted. It is through truth that hearts are awakened, minds are reshaped, and lives are transformed.

But Scripture also makes something else unmistakably clear.

We are not left to engage this struggle alone.

We are given direct access to God Himself.

Prayer is not a ritual formality. It is not religious background noise. It is participation in the very means God has ordained for His people to depend upon His power.

John Piper captures this well:

“Prayer is a wartime walkie-talkie for spiritual warfare, not a domestic intercom for increasing our conveniences.”

That perspective is necessary.

Prayer is not primarily about comfort. It is not primarily about ease. It is not primarily about preference.

Prayer is the posture of a people who understand that the strength required, the wisdom required, and the endurance required do not originate with them.

In a world marked by confusion, hostility, and spiritual opposition, prayer remains one of the clearest expressions of where the church believes its help truly comes from.

If prayer is truly as central as Scripture presents it — and as necessary as we claim it to be — then we need to talk plainly about something very practical.

How do we actually pray?

Because for many believers, prayer is sincere, but often unstructured. The mind wanders. The focus drifts. We move quickly to our problems, our pressures, our circumstances, and before long prayer becomes little more than a running list of concerns.

Which is why I often encourage a very simple pattern— this is the pattern we pray on Wednesday Nights:

Upward. Downward. Inward. Outward. This is based on the model prayer Christ gave His disciples.

UPWARD — REVERENCE

When Jesus taught His disciples to pray, He did not begin with needs. He began with God.

“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name.” — Matthew 6:9

That opening line establishes the entire posture of prayer. Before requests are voiced, before concerns are named, attention is directed upward. Prayer begins with reverence.

By reverence, we mean a deliberate focus on the character of God — who He is, what is true of Him, what remains unchanged regardless of our circumstances. This is worship-based prayer rather than need-based prayer.

It is where we slow ourselves enough to acknowledge that we are speaking to the holy, sovereign, faithful God of Scripture.

Here, prayer is shaped by praise and thanksgiving. We reflect on God’s attributes, His works, His faithfulness. We resist the instinct to immediately move toward ourselves.

Helpful prayer focuses in this movement are straightforward:

Praising God for His character. Giving thanks for His faithfulness. Remaining in worship without rushing into requests.

Because prayer that begins with God keeps God rightly centered.

DOWNWARD — RESPONSE

From reverence, prayer naturally moves downward.

“Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” — Matthew 6:10

This movement brings the implications of worship into our lives. If the upward focus centers on who God is, the downward focus centers on our response to Him.

This is where surrender becomes unavoidable.

Here we acknowledge God’s will, not as an abstract idea, but as the rightful authority over our thinking, our desires, our decisions. This is where confession belongs. Where pride is laid down. Where resistance is named honestly.

Introspection and surrender define this season of prayer.

Helpful prayer focuses here include:

Acknowledging God’s authority. Yielding to His will. Listening carefully to the conviction and guidance of the Holy Spirit.

Because prayer that never moves toward surrender easily becomes admiration without submission.

INWARD — REQUESTS

Having centered on God and yielded to His will, prayer then turns inward.

“Give us this day our daily bread…” — Matthew 6:11

This is where requests are properly placed. Not first, but not neglected.

Even here, prayer is not about informing God. Jesus has already made that clear:

“Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” — Matthew 6:8

This movement is about trust. Trusting God as the one who defines our needs rightly and provides according to His wisdom.

Helpful prayer focuses here include:

Personal concerns. Relational burdens. Needs within the church and among others.

All anchored in confidence that God remains the faithful provider.

OUTWARD — READINESS

Finally, prayer moves outward.

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” — Matthew 6:13

This movement reminds us that the Christian life unfolds within a real spiritual struggle. Temptation is real. Opposition is real. Weakness is real.

Prayer is where we consciously acknowledge our dependence upon God’s sustaining grace and protection.

Helpful prayer focuses here:

Seeking God’s guidance. Resting in His protection. Walking in obedience with vigilance.

Because prayer is not simply about relief. It is about readiness — readiness to live faithfully in a world that does not drift naturally toward God.

Because prayer that never moves outward becomes self-contained. Scripture continually widens the horizon. The Christian life was never meant to orbit personal concerns alone.

Paul ends with the proper emphasis:

“…to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.” Outward.

The focus remains where it belongs — on the glory of God, whose power sustains His people and whose purposes extend far beyond what we can see.

As we come to the end of our time this morning, I want to speak plainly for a moment.

Truth is never given just to be heard. It is given to be responded to.

We have spent this time looking carefully at what Scripture says about prayer, about dependence, about what it means for a church to truly rely on God. But understanding something and responding to it are not the same thing.

There is always a next step.

For some of you, that next step is simple, but it is life-changing. It is surrendering your life to Jesus Christ. Not just knowing about Him. Not just trying to be a better person. But truly turning from sin and placing your faith in Him.

For others, the next step is prayer.

Not as routine, not as habit, but as honest dependence. To come and kneel, to lay your burdens before the Lord, to seek His help, His strength, His guidance. This is not something unusual. This is what believers do when they understand their need for God.

For some, the next step is baptism.

You believe. You have trusted Christ. But obedience has been delayed. Baptism is not a small detail in the Christian life. It is the clear, public step of obedience that follows faith.

And for others, the next step is covenant membership.

Not simply attending. Not just showing up. But making a clear commitment to the life and mission of this church.

In just a moment, we are going to stand and sing one more song.

And during that time, I want to encourage you to respond as the Lord leads. Not out of pressure. Not out of emotion. But out of obedience.

If you need to surrender your life to Christ, then come. If you need to pray, then come. If you need to take steps toward baptism or membership, then come.

20 Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Let us pray.

Father, we come before You this morning acknowledging who You are. You are holy, You are sovereign, and You are faithful in every way. You are not uncertain, not distant, not limited. You are God, and we worship You.

Lord, we humble ourselves before You. We confess that we are often too self-reliant, too distracted, too slow to trust You as we should. Forgive us for the ways we resist Your will and lean on our own understanding.

Strengthen us, Father. Steady our hearts. Give us clarity where we are uncertain, peace where we are burdened, and obedience where we are hesitant. Shape us into a people who genuinely depend on You.

And Lord, we lift up this church, our families, and those around us. Work in us and through us for Your glory. Use us as You see fit. Guard us, guide us, and keep us faithful.

We ask these things in the name of Christ.

Amen.

Lets stand— lets respond.