Rooted, Renewed, and Restored

John 14:25-27, Ephesians 3:14-21

Have you ever eavesdropped on a prayer? When I was in seminary, I once came upon a classmate fervently praying out loud in an empty room next door to the classroom where we were gathering to take our final exam in biblical Hebrew. This was not a quiet, murmured prayer, but a full voiced, impassioned appeal. He was asking the Holy Spirit to give him knowledge, confidence, and clarity so that he might pass the exam. I confess that I lingered outside the door longer than I should have. I listened, and as I did, I realized I was holding two conflicting feelings at once. On the one hand, I was a little judgmental of what I thought was a rather bold petition. On the other hand, I was envious, envious of his confidence, his freedom, his expectation that God’s Spirit might actually show up and help. When he finished, I told him, “I wish I could pray like that.” And he replied, without hesitation, “It’s not me. It’s the Holy Spirit.”

There’s an old joke among pastors about a preacher who neglected to prepare a sermon, telling colleagues that he would simply rely on the Spirit to give him the words. On Sunday morning, during the prelude, he prayed fervently, “Come, Holy Spirit. Place your wisdom on my tongue, that I might preach your good word this morning.” And as the final strains of the organ faded into the back of the sanctuary, he heard a voice say, “You should have prepared a sermon.” At the time, I thought the joke exposed something pretentious, treating the Spirit as if God were on call, ready to provide inspiration on demand. But looking back, I wonder if the greater danger isn’t presumption, but modesty, expecting far too little of the Spirit at work in our lives and in the life of the church.

If I’m honest, I think I’ve often discounted the power of the Spirit in my prayers and in my expectations. I’ve tended to think of prayer primarily as a spiritual discipline, a way to grow closer to God, a way to reflect, a way to become more centered and attentive. All of that is true and good, but I didn’t often expect much in the way of response. Perhaps that was immaturity. Perhaps I’m still growing. I grew up in the Presbyterian tradition. I learned how to pray, beautiful prayers, thoughtful prayers, but I don’t remember much connection being made between prayer and the active, empowering work of the Holy Spirit. I believed in the Spirit. Sometimes I even felt the Spirit in an emotional way. But I didn’t really know what it meant to be strengthened by the Spirit, or transformed by the Spirit, or carried by the Spirit when faith felt thin. Looking back, I realize that what I was missing wasn’t faith, but expectation. I believed in God, but I had a fairly modest vision of what God’s Spirit actually does among us, how the Spirit roots us when we feel unsteady, renews us when we are weary, and restores us when love has frayed.

In many ways, that is exactly what Paul is praying for in his letter to the church in Ephesus. And that’s what we get to listen for today as we overhear Paul’s prayer. Paul is writing from prison. He is confined, uncertain of his future, and yet he is on his knees, praying not for his own release, but for the church. He prays that they do not lose heart. He prays before the God who has named and claimed every family on earth. And in overhearing Paul’s prayer, we discover something important about ourselves and about what prayer is meant to do.

The first thing Paul’s prayer reveals is this. Our life with God is inseparable from our life with one another. Experiencing fellowship with God is tangled up with being bound to each other. Christians are blessed with one another and stuck with one another. Charles Schulz captured this tension well through the great theologian Snoopy, who once admitted, “I love humanity; it’s people I can’t stand.” We need community. We depend on it, even when it’s difficult, even when it’s messy, even when disagreement turns sharp or relationships strain.

So Paul prays that the Creator of every people would strengthen the church in their inner being with power through the Spirit. The word translated as power is dunamis. It means potential, capacity, possibility. And the you in this prayer is plural. Paul is not praying for individual spiritual toughness. He is praying for power at work in the whole community. If Paul were in Texas, he might say, “I pray y’all have the gumption to see all the ways that God is in your life.” Our life together is anchored not in certainty or agreement, but in love. Theology matters. Doctrine matters. But only love reconciles.

At the heart of Paul’s prayer are several intertwined hopes, not abstract virtues, but realities meant to take shape in the life of the church through the work of the Trinity. First, Paul prays that the church would be strengthened by the Spirit. This strengthening is not about individual resolve or personal grit. It is something that happens together. We are strengthened by the witness of those alongside us in worship, by the faith of those who sing even when their hearts are heavy, by prayers spoken aloud and prayers quietly carried, by acts of courage and generosity that remind us who we are. We are strengthened by those we remember, saints who have gone before us, whose faith still steadies us. And we are strengthened when we gather in hymns, in Scripture, in preaching and teaching, in the shared rhythms of worship that hold us when we feel unsteady.

Second, Paul prays that Christ would dwell in the hearts of the congregation. Not as an idea. Not as a story from the past. Not as a memory. But as the living, risen Christ who comes to us in Word and Sacrament and seeks a home among us. Where Christ dwells, love is produced, love that is patient, love that bears with one another, love that refuses to let fear or resentment have the final word.
Third, Paul prays that together we might comprehend the breadth and length and height and depth of God’s love. This is not a private insight. It is something we discover together with all the saints, through listening to one another’s stories, through paying attention to prayers that are not our own, through witnessing acts of kindness and generosity that widen our vision of what God is doing. Through one another, we encounter new dimensions of grace, dimensions we could never discover on our own. Paul prays that we would come to know a love that surpasses knowledge. This is the great paradox of faith. There is a knowing that goes beyond information. Christ becomes the lens through which all other knowing is measured. In worship and in community, we are reminded again and again that God’s love exceeds our expectations.

Paul ends his prayer with praise. “Now to the one who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to God be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus.” God is glorified not in isolated spirituality, but in the life of the church. The power Paul describes is already at work within us, not around us, not someday, but within us right here and now. So if you could overhear my prayers for you, if you stood quietly outside the door and listened, I think they might sound something like this.

I would pray that we would be rooted, rooted in the love of Christ that holds us fast when the world feels unsteady and our footing unsure. Rooted not in fear or certainty, but in the grace that has named and claimed us as God’s own.
I would pray that we would be renewed, strengthened in our inner being by your Spirit at work among us. Renewed through worship and word, through song and silence, through the faith we borrow from one another when our own feels thin.

I would pray that Christ would dwell among us, not as an idea or a memory, but as a living presence shaping how we love, producing patience where there is frustration, compassion where there is pain, and courage where there is fear.

nd I would pray that we would be restored, restored in our life together as your people. That we would come to know, together with all the saints, how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ. A love that reconciles what knowledge cannot, that heals what has been wounded, and that opens us to one another and to the world you so love.

Give us courage to confront division with grace, to tend grief with gentleness, to welcome those who are lonely, searching, or in need of belonging.

Restore us as a community of peace and hope. I pray all this with confidence, trusting that the power at work within us can do more than we ask or imagine.

To you, O God, be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus, now and forever. Amen.