Jesus and His Own Dependency in Prayer

Relationship is inescapable, we are known from birth

Over the past two-three years, I have been meditating on the inescapability of living in relationship to others. We are defined by others, not our own persons. We come forth from the womb known. We are born into relationships with our family. We are, from birth, received into the inheritance of the church, a community. From the beginning, we are inter-related and swimming in relational connections.

Paul E. Miller, below, writes of Jesus and His connectional, communional, Trinitarian relationship. He prays. He lives in communion with His Father.

Miller accents the practice of dependency, that Christ is dependent on His Father for all things. Miller also goes deeper (his words) on the subject of being and communion, a relationship living, thriving and inescapable.


The reality of Jesus Christ in communion with His Father shows the pattern of our living with Christ in the beloved of the Trinity; it is our reception of hiddeness in God in Christ. See Colossians 3:1-3. 


We read Miller on this:

You’d think if Jesus was the Son of God, he wouldn’t need to pray. Or at least he wouldn’t need a specific prayer time because he’d be in such a constant state of prayer. You’d expect him to have a direct line to his heavenly Father, like broadband to heaven. At the least, you’d think Jesus could do a better job of tuning out the noise of the world. But surprisingly, Jesus seemed to need time with God just as much as we do.

On the first day of his public ministry, Jesus is teaching in the Capernaum synagogue on the Sabbath (see Mark 1:21-39). While the audience marvels at his authority, a demon-possessed man cries out, “I know who you are—the Holy One of God.” Jesus rebukes the demon sharply and effortlessly casts it out. The crowd is stunned.

After the synagogue service, Jesus returns to Peter’s house for the Sabbath meal, only to discover that Peter’s mother-in-law is in bed with a fever. Jesus takes her by the hand and instantly heals her. She gets up and prepares lunch.

Word of the healing and the exorcism race through the seaside city of Capernaum. But the tradition of the elders doesn’t permit healing on the Sabbath unless it is life threatening, so the town waits until evening. Mark tells us that as soon as the sun went down, “the whole city was gathered together at the door.” It is easy to imagine the street in front of his house illuminated by the soft glow of hundreds of flickering of lamps. Jesus heals far into the night. That’s why he came—there aren’t supposed to be mute children, abandoned wives, or thoughtless bosses.

The next morning before sunrise, Jesus wakes up, makes his way out of town to a desolate place, and prays. He is gone long enough that the crowds gather again, prompting the disciples to go searching. When Peter finds him, he tells Jesus, “Everyone is looking for you.”

It’s a remarkable day—the evening and morning of the first day of a new creation. The new Adam rolls back the curse and cuts through evil. Demons and sickness flee the presence of Life. Aslan is on the move.

WHY JESUS NEEDED TO PRAY

Why does Jesus pray in the morning, in a desolate place where he can’t be interrupted? His life offer three cues. [I give one of the author’s cues here.]

Clue#1 His Identity

Whenever Jesus starts talking about his relationship with his heavenly Father, Jesus becomes childlike, very dependent. “The Son can do nothing of his own accord” (John 5:19). “I can nothing on my own” (John 5:30). “I can do nothing on my own authority, but speak just as the Father taught me” (John 8:28). “The Father who sent me has himself given me…what to say and what to speak (John 12:49). Only a child will say, “I only do what I see my Father doing.”

When Jesus tells us to become like little children, he isn’t telling us to do anything he isn’t already doing. Jesus is, without question, the most dependent human who ever lived. Because he can’t do life on his own, he prays. And he prays. And he prays. Luke tells us that Jesus “would withdraw to desolate places and pray” (5:16).

When Jesus tells us that “apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5), he is inviting us into the life of a living dependence on his heavenly Father. When Jesus tells us to believe, he isn’t asking us to work up some spiritual energy. He is telling us to realize that, like him, we don’t have the resources to do life. When you know that you (like Jesus) can’t do life on your own, then prayer makes complete sense.

But it goes even deeper than that. Jesus defines himself only in relationship with his heavenly Father. Adam and Eve began their quest for self-identity after the Fall. Only after they acted independently of God did they have a sense of a separate self. Because Jesus has no separate sense of self, he has no identity crisis, no angst. Consequently, he doesn’t try to “find himself.” He knows himself only in relationship with his Father. He can’t conceive of himself outside of that relationship.

Imagine asking Jesus how he’s doing. He’d say, “My Father and I are doing great. He has given me everything I need today.” You respond, “I’m glad your Father is doing well, but let’s just focus on you for a minute. Jesus, how are you doing?” Jesus would look at you strangely, as if you were speaking a foreign language. The question doesn’t make sense. He simply can’t the question “How are you doing?” without including his heavenly Father. That’s why contemplating the terror of the cross at Gethsemane was such an agony for Jesus. He had never experienced a moment when he wasn’t in communion with his Father. Jesus’ anguish is our normal.

His prayer life is an expression of his relationship with his Father. He wants to be alone with the person he loves.

Paul E. Miller A Praying Life ©2009 Nav Press, pp.43-45


G. Mark Sumpter