Perhaps the greatest opening line to a novel, undeniably yet inexplicably encapsulating the pages to come, lies between the covers of the esteemed Russian writer Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina: “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” This aphorism ranks among my personal favorites in the entire novel, prompting one to ask why all families are alike and what that elusive trait is. However, my favorite sentence from Anna Karenina is, in fact, the exact counterpart—the final sentence of the novel (no, I didn’t just read the first and last pages), particularly because it offered an answer to a question I’ve been wrestling with, although calling it an answer is ironic, as you will see. Perhaps a better word than an “answer” is that it has had a revelatory effect on me, a reorienting of familiar ground as opposed to an innovation. The struggle has been: Why should Christians pray? More particularly, why ought Christians petition to God?
I acknowledge the psychological benefits and theological foundations of prayer. Reflecting on my actions, cultivating gratitude, and releasing self-control feel entirely within my control, resembling a kind of stoic introspection. Similarly, repentance of sins, a cornerstone of Christian doctrine, carries eternal significance and aids in personal growth. Praying, “Forgive me, Lord, for lying to my parents today,” seeks both mercy and, ideally, self-improvement. These practices, though polar, suffice for me: one is an act of personal agency, the other a surrender to divine purpose. Yet, challenges arise with the grey area that is petitionary prayer—asking God for something, whether for myself or others. “Lord, please guide me to make the right decision; Lord, I’m crying out for you to heal my sick mother; Lord, give me strength and peace.” Petitionary prayers are hence contingent upon God’s intervention to be “answered.” This premise naturally raises intuitive challenges, two of which I have chosen to explore:
a) It is beyond doubt that not all prayers are answered.
b) If God is omniscient, our asking would seem unnecessary.
Plenty more complications concerning petitionary prayer arise beyond the ones I’ve raised, and a dedicated exploration of these additional concerns might be warranted in the future. However, my current focus is not on the specifics of petitionary prayer but on its broader theological obligation—and I believe the two aforementioned counterarguments capture the heart of the issue. First, it’s undeniable that some prayers go unanswered. One might suggest that a prayer, though not fulfilled as requested, sets in motion a better divine plan. I have my reservations. Given the reality of human suffering—wars, illness, genocide, etc.—can we truly claim that petitions for their alleviation are answered? The second issue seems self-evident: if God already knows our desires, why is petitioning necessary? And if I receive what I wanted without praying, what’s the point of prayer at all? It has been proposed by some that petitionary prayer be abandoned, deeming it futile—a path I’m often tempted to take. Although, if anyone holds authority in Christianity, it is Jesus who unequivocally endorses petitionary pray, most notably in his words, “Give us this day our daily bread,” and “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.” Words of hope? Hardly. Audacious, even vexing, as one recalls the stark silence that accompanies even the most desperate of prayers. Our prayers seem to shoot up to the sky, pierce through the clouds, and land upon the highest point. Yet God doesn’t reside upon Mount Olympus. And even if the message has been delivered and the seal has been torn, does it even matter? “Thank you, Lord, for answering my prayer!” “Lord, why didn’t you answer my prayer?” “Thank you, Lord, for granting what I would have prayed for, even though I didn’t pray!” “Lord, had I prayed, would this suffering have been avoided?” I hope you can understand my struggle.
Thus, the question persists: why must Christians petition? Frankly, I never delved deeply into this question, a shortcoming on my part. I suppose I hoped an answer would come adventitiously, not merely an answered prayer to spark hope or dismiss as coincidence. Yet, an answer did find me, unexpectedly—no, fortuitously; no, providentially—here I am again. Enter Tolstoy.
Now that we’ve circled the runway, we arrive at the ending of Anna Karenina. To some, these closing words may seem mundane, even anticlimactic given the buildup, but their significance will soon unfold. The novel’s final words are spoken through Levin, a character widely recognized as mirroring Tolstoy himself, whose journey from skepticism to faith grapples with life’s meaning, the limits of rationalism, and the moral tension between good and evil, culminating in an existential embrace of Christianity, much like Tolstoy’s own life. Reflecting on his newfound faith, a topic rich enough for an entirely separate discussion, Levin facilitates the novel’s final, quietly resounding line:
“My reason will still not understand why I pray, but I shall still pray, and my life, my whole life, independently of anything that may happen to me, is every moment of it no longer meaningless as it was before, but has an unquestionable meaning of goodness with which I have the power to invest it.”
An answer so uncharacteristic of my usual thinking, yet profoundly inspiring in its emphasis on prayer not as a utility but as a duty. Petitioning God is, again, a perplexing middle ground between trusting God’s sovereignty and fulfilling one’s moral obligations. Choosing not to lie, for instance, is a deliberate act of virtue, and I find satisfaction in the clear logic of reason, choice, consequences, and cause and effect, where I’m firmly in control of my actions. Conversely, I find peace in accepting that God exists in a realm beyond my comprehension. My belief in God stems from both empirical and rational grounds, but once I affirm His existence, that’s where I draw the line of apprehension, or rather, my lack thereof. Yet, this uneasy middle space persists. If I am to engage in prayer, shouldn’t I understand its purpose? Must I fully deduce the logic of prayer and my petitions within if I’m to practice something that claims real-world impact? If not, why bother? I can see the tangible benefits of Christ’s command to love my neighbor, but why does the nature of prayer elude me? Does the absence of answered prayers justify abandoning it or even belief in God altogether? Levin’s spiritual awakening in Anna Karenina offers clarity: he sees prayer not only as a bridge between God and humanity but as an intersection between reason and faith. Grappling with intellectual doubt, Levin discovers that prayer—irrational though it may seem—connects him to the universal law of right and wrong he feels within his soul. This truth surfaces instinctively during his wife’s labor when, despite his unbelief, he prays and briefly believes. Levin realizes that prayer is not a logical act but a response to a divine truth he has always known. He embraces prayer’s mystery, accepting that he will “still not understand why” he prays, but will “still pray.”
We have the pieces; bear with me as I weave them together.
Consider this line of questioning I posed to myself: Why do I believe in Christianity? My conviction stems largely from natural theology, philosophy, and evidence like the resurrection (topics I’m eager to present). Your reasons may differ, but if you believe, something must anchor your faith. Now, to be a Christian, you must accept certain doctrines, some of which defy full comprehension. Take the Incarnation, for instance—the belief that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, possessed both a divine nature and a human nature. This raises significant questions: Does His will stem from His divine or human nature? What does it even mean to embody both? It seems irrational, yet it’s a cornerstone of the faith. In his Summa contra Gentiles, medieval Italian priest Thomas Aquinas argues that truths like God’s existence, the order of creation, and the purpose of human life can be grasped through reason. But when addressing doctrines like the Trinity and the Incarnation, he shifts to the authority of Scripture, acknowledging that these mysteries transcend reason and belong to the realm of faith. I see petitionary prayer as akin to these mysteries, although it’s unique in that it’s not something we believe but an act we undertake. This distinctive junction between action and surrender, certainty and ambivalence, reason and faith, is the source of my struggle. Yet the fulfilment or neglect of mortal appeal doesn’t prove or disprove God’s existence; such questions lie elsewhere. Yet, for those who believe in the Gospel, petitionary prayer is part of the Christian commitment. The reason? As Levin comes to realize, perhaps the answer isn’t reason alone, but faith, faith that there is a reason that Christ Himself commissions it. And though I may not understand it, I will continue to do it, and if I continue to do it, maybe I’ll understand it.
A Final Aside. . .
While plenty more can be said regarding the counterarguments to petitionary prayer, there is one verse in particular that warrants addressing: Mark 11:24. C.S. Lewis calls this an “embarrassing” promise by Christ Himself. Originally, I planned to include some remarks on this verse here, but instead, I will dedicate next week’s piece to briefly addressing this verse. Even with Mark 11:24 in mind, the words for this week’s post still stand and will hence be illuminated all the more next week. For now, like Levin, recognize that you have within you a power, a power for goodness. So invest it. And while you’re at it, pray. Pray the Lord’s Prayer, whether explicitly or as a format, wherein there is a petition to God who hears your prayer. And if reason has brought you and grounded you in Christ, even amidst the tempest, as it has for me, then let faith ground your petition—not because there’s a clear, consequential reason for such faith, but because Christ has directed us to, the very Christ that reason brought you to.
References:
- Craig, W. L. (2008). Reasonable faith: Christian truth and apologetics. Crossway Books.
- Thomas, & Shapcote, L. (2018). Summa contra Gentiles. Emmaus Academic ; Aquinas Institute.
- Tolstoy, L., Pevear, R., & Volokhonsky, L. (2000). Anna Karenina. Viking.