The Holy Art of Prayer

Dr. Olin Hallesby, a seminary professor in Oslo until his death in 1961, was one of Norway’s leading Christians, active with Inter-Varsity and other evangelical causes. The following is drawn from his classic, Prayer, which has sold very widely and is still in print (Augsburg).

When we seek only the glorification of the name of God in prayer, then we are in complete harmony with the Spirit of prayer. Our hearts are at rest. And we can wait for the Lord. We have learned to leave it to him to decide what will best serve to glorify his name—either an immediate or a delayed answer to our prayer.

Permit me to cite an example to show how bold, even importunate, prayer can become when the one who is praying desires nothing but the glorification of the name of God.

In 1540 Luther’s good friend Frederick Myconius became deathly sick. He himself expected to die within a short time. One night he wrote with trembling hand a fond farewell to Luther, whom he loved very much.

When Luther received the letter, he immediately sent back the following reply: “I command thee in the name of God to live because I still have need of thee in the work of reforming the church.… The Lord will never let me hear that thou art dead, but will permit thee to survive me. For this I am praying, this is my will, and may my will be done, because I seek only to glorify the name of God.”

Myconius had already lost the faculty of speech when Luther’s letter came—yet in a short time he was well again. And, true enough, survived Luther by two months!

Nothing makes us so bold in prayer as when we can look into the eye of God and say to him, “Thou knowest that I am not praying for personal advantage, nor to avoid hardship, nor that my own will in any way should be done, but only for this, that thy name might be glorified.”

The Forms Of Prayer

As we have seen above, prayer is really an attitude of our hearts toward God. As such, it finds expression in words and, at times, in quiet.

One day my little boy stuck his head into the doorway of my study. Now he knew that he was not supposed to disturb me during working hours, and his conscience troubled him. But he looked at me nevertheless with his kind, round baby eyes and said, “Papa, dear, I will sit still all the time if you will only let me be here with you!”

That he received permission when he approached my father-heart in that way, every father knows.

Is not that just the way we often feel with regard to our heavenly Father? We do so love to be with him, just to be in his presence! (Moreover, we never disturb him, no matter when we come nor how often we come!)

We pray to God. We speak to him about everything we have on our minds both concerning others and ourselves. There come times, not so seldom with me at least, when I have nothing more to tell God. If I were to continue to pray in words, I would have to repeat what I have already said. At such times it is wonderful to say to God, “May I be in thy presence, Lord? I have nothing more to say to thee, but I do love to be in thy presence.”

It is not necessary to maintain a conversation when we are in the presence of God—with someone we know well. We can come into his presence and rest our weary souls in quiet contemplation and tell him better than words how dependent we are upon him.

As evening drew nigh, and our little fellow had played until he was tired, I noticed that he drew closer and closer to his mother. At last he found the place he was longing for—mother’s lap. He did not have a great deal to say then either. He simply lay there, and let his mother caress him into sleep.

We, too, become tired, deathly tired, of ourselves, of others, of the world, of life, of everything! Then it is blessed to know of a place where we can lay our tired head and heart, and say to our Heavenly Father: “I can do no more. And I have nothing to tell you. May I lie here a while and rest? Everything will soon be well again if I can only rest in your arms a while.”

The School Of Prayer

One of the tenants of my father’s farm was a faithful intercessor. His name was Jørn.

Our Lord had imposed severe limitations upon him from birth. His eyes were weak, and as a result it was always difficult for him to earn a living. Trials and tribulations became Jørn’s lot, and many a day was dark and dreary.

But he humbled himself beneath the mighty hand of God, and little by little, in the school of difficult experiences, he learned the holy art of prayer. He would pray for his home community day and night. And, in due time, God exalted him. He became the spiritual counselor of the whole parish. People came to his little hut from the whole vicinity to get advice and help. And if Jørn could not help them in any other way, he could give them some of the unfeigned love of his own tender heart. As the years passed, many a soul left his humble dwelling with a lighter tread and a happier heart.

Two elderly Christian women, who were with him and cared for him, told me that he would be awake a great deal at night, at which time they could hear him pray for all the people of the parish. He mentioned each one of them by name, as in his thoughts he went from house to house. Even children whom he had not seen, but who he knew had been born, were carried to the throne of grace.

How much such people do mean to us! How empty their places become when they are gone!

There was something remarkable about the way Jørn left us. Everyone thought that his passing would be like a beautiful ascension, and believers vied with one another for the privilege of being with him and watching over him. And when he died, they stood at his casket and wept as though they had lost a father. Even ungodly people, who had never cared to hear the Word of God, came to his funeral. And they, too, wept.

Even in death, Jørn was a blessing to others. Both his life and his death were a fulfillment of the words of Scripture, “Ask, and ye shall receive.”

Have something to add about this? See something we missed? Share your feedback here.