Study raises question:
Who prayed for control group?

The end of March greeted us with news reports about an article in the American Heart Journal. It said heart patients who were prayed for had just as many complications as heart patients who were not, and those who knew they were being prayed for actually fared worse.
So there we have scientific proof: Intercessory prayer won’t work.
I see no reason to think this study was anything but a legitimate effort, conscientiously executed. But imagine for a moment what might have gone on.
> Scenario 1: One of the intercessors is dramatically confronted by God.
“Why,” God asks, “are you praying for this specific person?” Confounded that God himself would suddenly intrude into a time of prayer, the terrified intercessor answers honestly: “The researcher told me to!”
> Scenario 2: A second intercessor has caught on to the study. Stung by the ethical implications of the situation, she prays something like this: “God, please protect person X as he goes into surgery. I know others are going into the same surgery. Please protect them, too.”
> Scenario 3: The study results are out, and the prayer teams meet for one last time. Members sit quietly, casting furtive glances from one to another. A single, burning question weighs heavily on everyone’s mind.
Finally, someone blurts it out: “Just exactly who prayed for the control group?”
If we’re honest, I suspect what many of us want to see is Elijah standing on Mount Carmel, surrounded by a crowd of people. After a long day of futile supplications and general silliness from the priests of Baal, the lone man of God steps forward and prays simply, “Lord, please incinerate this altar.”
Wham! The altar is engulfed by flame. The Lord is vindicated. Elijah stands victorious, and the peoples’ hearts are changed.
Unfortunately, we have far fewer altars incinerated by a bolt out of the sky than many of us would like. Worse, according to Luke, Jesus himself indicated that fire from heaven would no longer be the modus operandi.
What we settle for is something closer to the classic case of piously hedging our bets.
“God can save us from that fire,” Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego boldly announce to King Nebuchad-nezzer just before he throws them into the furnace, “but if he doesn’t, know this: We still won’t worship anyone else.”
The way out, I think, lies in the parable of the rich man and Lazarus.
To the entreaties of the rich man for his surviving brothers, God answers, “They would not believe, even if they saw someone rise from the dead.”
It’s a terrifying portrayal of hell: the place where all our willful misperceptions are finally stripped away.
More to the point, though, the response illustrates a maxim better said by others than I could say it here: We cannot perceive what we do not believe to exist.
If God grants my request, I thank God—and others, too, if it’s appropriate. If God denies my request, then a painful, hopefully prayerful, reassessment begins.
In any case, no matter how mundane or miraculous the response, to the skeptic it will always be a coincidence, an observational anomaly or simply lost in statistical noise.
So, do I still “by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving” present my requests to God? Of course. Scripture commands it. It does me good (the existentialists were right about that, at least), and God can provide my request.
But, if for some reason he doesn’t, know this: I still will worship no one else.