Written for the Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 20, Track 2, Year B, Revised Common Lectionary
Words can themselves be magical in the sense that they exhibit power in the sense that both possess the ability to compel, receive, and affirm. Remember to say the magic words—“please” and “thank you.” But tied to their power is the power of asking—of requesting, petitioning, and appealing.
To ask is to desire for something to happen. In preceding the request for a cup of coffee from a cashier in a cafe, one is politely requesting for an item; upon reception of said item, polite courtesy would warrant a “thank you” from the recipient. But what about the desires and circumstances and that are far more existential and disrupt our very lives?
In speaking of the purity and gentility of true wisdom, James observes in his letter that the quarrels taking place both within and outside ourselves stem from contrasting desires—with desire being. Borrowing language from the Decalogue as found in Exodus,1 states that it is wrong to desire and pursue things in a covetous spirit lest one be. He goes on to say that:
You do not have, because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, in order to spend what you get on your pleasures.2
When we ask, we must not only ask for the right things but as in the right manner—doing so with humility and hope. And in receiving, we must do so with gratitude and thoughtfulness.
The emphasis is not on reception but on extension, for our petitions should not focus solely on ourselves but must also extend to others so that our neighbors and fellow creatures may be blessed as well.
But before we can recieve and express gratitude, we must ask in the first place. Doing so is an exercise in humility, for in it we recognize that in many cases we depend on others for guidance, clarity, assistance, and support.
Mark recounts in his writings a brief scene in which Jesus is speaking to his disciples about his inevitable betrayal, death, and resurrection. However, it becomes quickly apparent that these words fell on bewildered ears, but understandably so do to their weight and unusual matter:
But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.3
Despite Jesus—the one who possessed the remedy to their confusion—being in their midst, they did not ask. Imagine the clarity they would have if they had. For the remainder of this chapter from Mark, Jesus remains silent on this matter, but eventually returns this to this subject as this time nears and the unfolding of salvific drama continues.
We fear asking for a multitude of reasons: we do not want to be scolded, belittled, or ignored, nor do we want our questions turned against us. Being a shy kid who grew up in a household with a toxic father figure meant, among other things, being hesitant to ask questions out of fear that I would be scolded for questioning authority or not listening properly. Fear is indeed debilitating, and it takes a whole lot to overcome it.
At its best, the spiritual life is as much about confusion, doubts, quandary, and exploration as it is about clarity, answers, affirmation, and truth. It is in the exploration of possible answers and the various paths to such that makes the pilgrimage of faith so invigorating while giving it its contours.
In asking, we are expressing a desire from within, but we must have the courage to do so knowing that our doubts and confusion are valid while ensuring that we are posing them in a spirit of humility. We cannot expect to receive what we have asked for, but we can hope that in this process of searching we will grow in hope, flexibility, and openness.
This weekly scripture reflection is written in accordance with the Revised Common Lectionary—utilized by the Episcopal Church and numerous other Christian traditions as a common way to engage with scripture in liturgy throughout the year.
For more information on the Lectionary, visit Lectionary Page for the cycle of scriptural readings for Sundays, feasts, and seasons in accordance with the Revised Common Lectionary and its use in the Episcopal Church.
John Lee Wagas 
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