Every now and then I am tempted to throw up my hands in frustration over the whole process of petitionary prayer.  The other three kinds of prayer don’t seem so hard to engage in, or to appreciate the effectiveness of.  Adoration—check.  God’s pretty amazing; and it’s not hard to get lost in meditating on his power in the richness of a piece of music or a majestic cloudscape or the faces of people on the subway.  Contrition—check.  My parents raised me to feel guilt when I do something wrong, and that’s a psychological habit that requires no effort to keep up.  Thanksgiving—check.  How hard is a simple “Thank you” when everything around you is going smoothly?

Supplication—aka petition—aka “Asking God for Stuff”—is another story.  Perhaps I find it uncomfortable because having to request things rubs me the wrong way (“Really?  I have to ask for it?”).  But I think it’s just as often the fear of hearing “No!” that keeps me from obeying Christ’s command to “Seek” and accepting his promise that “Ye shall find.”  Sure, I’ll find; and what I’ll find is probably not what I was looking for, not what I was prepared for, not what I wanted …

God does answer all prayers, though; and he most certainly says yes—provided we are praying for the right things.  Everyone who seriously desires evidence of this gets it at some point, and I got my evidence this summer.

Most of my Facebook friends are practicing Catholics of about my own age.  It’s not uncommon, in consequence, for the status updates in my feed to include items like “Grandad in for heart surgery—prayers needed” or “Cousins traveling cross country—pray they stay safe!” Depending upon the gravity of the situation these statuses will collect anywhere from five to fifty replies: a beautiful example of the Mystical Body in action.

I’d had occasion to use the “prayer feed” from time to time, sometimes with a specific request and sometimes with the oblique “Prayers for a special intention.”  There had always been a few answers from the usual suspects.  I had kept these requests rare, saving them for things like family illnesses or important interviews.  It seemed like a bad idea to use the feed for personal needs, even under the innocent “special intention” label; it seemed selfish, grabby …

Then came the day when my ongoing struggle to be charitable to a certain person reached its limit.  The circumstances are unimportant; suffice it to say that I had so far repressed my irritation at the person’s (in my mind outrageous) behavior.  Insult was added to injury, and my blood boiled—literally, my blood pressure probably went up in a way that would have concerned a conscientious nurse.  I fumed internally; considered punching my fist through a few walls; wished I could go running (my usual way of dealing with any mental or physical problem); and fumed some more.  Then in desperation I opened Facebook and typed (fingers clicking in angry staccato) “Prayers for a special intention.”  Enter status.  Close Facebook.  There, God.  You want me to be charitable to so-and-so?  You darn well better help me out.

I will never forget the outpouring of replies I got to that post.  People who never used their Facebook accounts.  People who (I’d thought) despised the prayer feed.  People who weren’t very close to me.  I toyed for about half a second with the idea that I’d gotten all these replies for some other reason.  Was it close to my birthday?  Maybe it was just the day of the week or the hour of the day when everyone checked Facebook?  But I couldn’t really kid myself.  I’d had the temerity to throw a challenge at God, and he’d answered it with his usual graciousness.

You want me to be charitable to so-and-so?  You darn well better help me out.

That’s one prayer which, however poorly put, God will always answer, whether or not we really want him to.