So, the real problem of prayer is not how difficult it can be to pray once we gain access to God. It’s our lack of access to God in the first place. The real problem of prayer is not a subjective problem (having to do with our own emotions and feelings), but rather an objective problem (having to do with our relationship with God). If there’s a friend from whom you’ve become deeply alienated, your main problem is not the nuances of how to speak to her — rather, it’s her refusal to hear you at all. What you need is access. You need her favor instead of her anger. You need restoration of the relationship. This is the real problem of prayer.

I remember a blessed season of my life in which I sat under deeply, doggedly God-centered preaching. And I learned a surprising lesson: often, the sermons didn’t specifically address practical topics — such as marriage, singleness, career, tithing, relationships, or time management — and yet they did. By getting to the very center of all things, the preaching touched everything. By being “impractical,” it became eminently practical.

I think that’s often the way it is with the Bible. Ephesians 2:11–22 is not specifically about prayer, and yet it has everything to do with prayer. That’s because it’s about our relationship with God, and our prayer lives are a big piece of that relationship. This passage can transform our experience of prayer by giving us important insight into the real problem of prayer, the only hope for prayer, and the true pattern of prayer.

Real Problem of Prayer

What comes to mind when you think about prayer? Perhaps you remember peaceful moments of communing with God, or times when you pleaded with God to fulfill a deep desire, or agonizing seasons when you cried out to him in fear or frustration. Maybe you recall sweet times of gathered prayer with God’s people.

When some of us think of prayer, we mainly feel defeated. We think of the problems we encounter: a distracted mind, a weak will, a cold heart, a conscience plagued by shame. Why is it that when we’re praying that ticking clock or buzzing insect suddenly becomes so distracting? Why do we find it so difficult to pray?

We face a lot of problems in prayer. But Ephesians 2 identifies the real problem, and it’s much more serious than any of those just mentioned.

Remember that at one time you Gentiles in the flesh, called “the uncircumcision” by what is called the circumcision, which is made in the flesh by hands — remember that you were at that time separated from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. (Ephesians 2:11–12)

In these verses, the apostle Paul reminds Gentile believers that before they became Christians they had a horizontal problem (they were separated from God’s people) and a vertical problem (they were separated from God himself). Prior to this passage, Paul says that people apart from Christ aren’t just separated from God; they’re his enemies, dead in sins, under his righteous wrath (Ephesians 2:1–3).

So, the real problem of prayer is not how difficult it can be to pray once we gain access to God. It’s our lack of access to God in the first place. The real problem of prayer is not a subjective problem (having to do with our own emotions and feelings), but rather an objective problem (having to do with our relationship with God). If there’s a friend from whom you’ve become deeply alienated, your main problem is not the nuances of how to speak to her — rather, it’s her refusal to hear you at all. What you need is access. You need her favor instead of her anger. You need restoration of the relationship. This is the real problem of prayer.

Only Hope for Prayer

Thankfully, Paul doesn’t leave us stuck with a huge problem. Ephesians 2:13 begins with a pivotal phrase: “But now . . .” Something big has happened, and Paul hammers it repeatedly in the passage that follows. “But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ.” That’s a reference to the death of Jesus, which deals with both horizontal and vertical alienation, producing well-being between Gentiles and Jews, and between God and human beings. Paul repeats himself in Ephesians 2:14: Jesus “has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility.” And just in case we haven’t yet gotten the message, he says it again: Jesus’s purpose was to “reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility” (Ephesians 2:16).

The only way we can be brought into communion with God (and therefore have him hear and answer our prayers) is through the death of Jesus: his blood, his flesh, his cross. Only this will address the real, objective problem of prayer — not how we feel, but rather the way we are (sinful), the way God is (holy), and our lack of access to this holy God. Jesus’s death is the only hope for our prayers.

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