A Doxology in the Darkness
A Response to a Fool’s Assessment of Prayer
I felt compelled to respond to those who have foolishly—and even heartlessly—mocked prayer as useless in times of tragedy, saying, “After all, the children who were shot were praying.” Such scoffers are not only uninformed but unformed. Yet even for them we pray, as our Lord commanded.
What follows are reflections that pressed upon my heart through the long hours of the night until this morning.
Though evil persists, even as children kneel in prayer, the fool deduces prayer’s futility—mistaking it for a mere transaction designed to bend God’s will. But prayer is no barter. Prayer is transformative. It forges spiritual eyes to pierce the storm, to behold the light, to trust in God as an act of defiant faith. Thus we pray, and in praying, we proclaim, “I will yet praise Him,” our voices rising like a triumphant tide. For ḥesed endures. And through it we are anchored, unvanquished, in the eternal promise. And so we pray.
We who believe gather before the Lord, the hot ashes of evil still burning our skin, the tears of grief taunting our confessions, the scoffing of unbelievers jeering at the sight of Christians singing doxologies in the darkness.
Do not heed the scoffers. Listen instead for the Word from Another World: “praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication. To that end keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints” (Eph. 6:18 ESV).
An Excursus on Prayer: The Believer’s Song of Hope in the Face of Evil
“Pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thess. 5:16–18).
Prayer is the human soul singing “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” amidst the rubble of the skeptic’s laughter. Prayer is the promised child of Abraham, blessing the world in darkness from the barren womb of aging Sarah: “With God all things are possible.” Prayer is the weeping Shunammite woman laying her lifeless son before the man of God, Elisha. Prayer is the unholy visage of God-in-the-flesh, crucified by thankless creatures whom He Himself knit together in their mothers’ wombs, nailed to the splintered timber of a tree He created and caused to grow, as the only begotten Son cried through indescribable pain, “Father, forgive them …”
Prayer is a broken man named Job, naked except for the open sores covering his body, writhing in both physical and emotional pain, his spirit crushed inside him, while his enemies laugh at him, as he utters his prayer of affirmation: “Though he slay me, I will hope in him” (Job 13:15a).
Prayer is the centurion’s Spirit-gifted confession, beholding the cosmic crucifixion and whispering a doxology in the darkness: “Surely this was the Son of God.” Prayer is not a transaction binding a deity to the will of man, but a transformation unleashing the human spirit to the presence of God. Those who boast in their wisdom while denying the unseen God will, at last, bow to those who confess their faith in the crucified Christ, standing in defiance of the inexplicable madness of evil and death.
The dragon’s roar may shake the air, its claws churn the black waters of despair, but it cannot prevail. That truth—singular, piercing—cuts through the tumult like a lighthouse beam, steady and searching, sweeping across a storm-swept harbor under a moonless sky.
—Michael A. Milton, PhD
Beautiful. Powerful. Thank you.