Lenten Reflection – Day 37 of the Great Lent
The Spirit Who Prays When You Cannot: Romans 8:12–27
“Likewise the Spirit also helps in our weaknesses. For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.” (8:26)
Thirty-seven days. We have fasted. We have prayed. We have examined, confessed, forgiven, stretched out withered hands, climbed trees, walked toward pools we could not see. We have heard about grace and effort, about the potter and the clay, about the hem and the mountain. We have met the I AM on the water and watched the dead get up.
And in all of this, we have barely mentioned the One who has been making it all possible.
The Holy Spirit.
He has been here since Day 1. In every prayer we managed to pray. In every fast we managed to keep. In every moment of repentance, every act of forgiveness, every stretching of a withered hand. The Spirit was the power behind the obedience. The breath beneath the breathing. The groan beneath the groan.
Today Paul introduces us to the Person we have been depending on without acknowledging. The Spirit of adoption. The Spirit who cries “Abba, Father” when our mouths cannot form the words. The Spirit who intercedes for us when we do not know what to pray. The Spirit who holds the creation together while it waits for redemption.
This is the reflection the series should have had weeks ago. It arrives on Day 37 because the fast has been long enough for us to realize something. We have not been doing this alone. We have never been doing this alone.
You Are Not Debtors to the Flesh (vv. 12–14)
“Therefore, brethren, we are debtors — not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh. For if you live according to the flesh you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God.” (8:12–14)
Paul begins with a debt. But not the debt you expect. We are debtors. But not to the flesh. The flesh has no claim on us. We owe it nothing. The appetites, the cravings, the old patterns that have been pulling at us for thirty-seven days of fasting have no legal authority over our lives. They present their invoices. They demand payment. But the debt has been canceled. We do not owe the flesh a single thing.
“If by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live.”
By the Spirit. Not by willpower. Not by determination. Not by the strength you have been summoning for thirty-seven days. By the Spirit. The putting to death of the old patterns is the Spirit’s work through you, not your work for God. The fast has been training you. The running has been real. The discipline has been genuine. But the power behind all of it has been the Spirit. You did not generate the capacity to fast for thirty-seven days. The Spirit generated it in you.
On Day 27, Paul said “I discipline my body and bring it into subjection.” On Day 26, we heard “we are unprofitable servants.” Today the missing piece arrives. The discipline was real. The servants were unprofitable. And the Spirit was the One making both the discipline and the service possible. The athlete runs. But the wind is at his back. And the wind is the Spirit.
“As many as are led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God.”
Led. Not driven. Not forced. Not dragged. Led. The Spirit leads the way a shepherd leads. Gently. Patiently. At the pace of the slowest lamb. The person who is led by the Spirit is not a slave being commanded. He is a son being guided. The relationship is not master and servant. It is Father and child.
St. Athanasius the Great, in his Letters to Serapion on the Holy Spirit, insists that the Spirit is not a created force or an impersonal power. The Spirit is God. The Third Person of the Holy Trinity. Equal to the Father and the Son. When Paul says “led by the Spirit of God,” he means led by God Himself. Not by an emanation of God. Not by a lesser divine being. By God. The same God who spoke at creation, who became flesh in the Incarnation, who will raise the dead at the end. That God, in His Third Person, is the One who has been leading you through this fast.1
The Spirit of Adoption: Abba, Father (vv. 15–17)
“For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, ‘Abba, Father.’ The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs — heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him, that we may also be glorified together.” (8:15–17)
Two spirits. Two relationships. Two postures before God.
The spirit of bondage. The relationship of a slave to a master. Fear. Obligation. Duty without love. The cringing obedience of someone who serves because the consequences of not serving are terrible. The fast lived in the spirit of bondage is a fast of dread. I must not eat because I will be punished. I must pray because God is watching. I must confess because the alternative is condemnation. Every discipline motivated by fear. Every act of worship a payment against an infinite debt.
The Spirit of adoption. The relationship of a child to a father. Love. Trust. Intimacy. The confident approach of a child who runs to his father not because he must but because he wants to. The fast lived in the Spirit of adoption is a fast of desire. I fast because I want to be close to my Father. I pray because the conversation is precious. I confess because the relationship matters more than the pride.
“By whom we cry out, ‘Abba, Father.'”
Abba. The Aramaic word for father. Not the formal “Father” of theological discourse. The intimate, domestic, personal address of a child to a parent. The word a toddler uses. The word Jesus used in Gethsemane (Mark 14:36) when the Cross was hours away and the prayer was at its most desperate. Abba. Daddy. Papa. The word that strips away every pretense and every formality and says: You are my Father and I need You.
And Paul says: the Spirit is the One who puts this word in your mouth. You do not generate the intimacy. The Spirit generates it. You do not work up the courage to call God “Abba.” The Spirit cries “Abba” in you. Through you. With your voice but His breath. The most intimate prayer you have ever prayed was not your achievement. It was the Spirit’s gift.
“The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God.”
There is a witness inside you. A testimony. A voice that is not your voice but that speaks alongside your voice. And what it says is: you are a child of God. Not a slave. Not a servant. Not an employee. A child. An heir. A joint heir with Christ.
St. Cyril of Alexandria, in his doctrinal writings on the Holy Spirit, teaches that the Spirit of adoption is the Person through whom humanity participates in the life of the Trinity. When the Spirit cries “Abba” in us, we are not imitating the Son’s relationship with the Father. We are being drawn into it. The Spirit does not give us information about God. The Spirit gives us access to God. Not access as petitioners in a courtroom. Access as children in a family. The Spirit places us inside the relationship that has existed between the Father and the Son from all eternity. And from inside that relationship, we discover that the distance we felt during the fast was not real. We were always inside. The Spirit was always testifying. We just were not listening.2
“If indeed we suffer with Him, that we may also be glorified together.”
This is the verse that connects the Spirit of adoption to the Cross. The children who cry “Abba” are also the children who suffer. The intimacy and the suffering belong together. The relationship with the Father includes the road to the Cross. The child who is led by the Spirit is led not only to the mountain of prayer (Day 31) but also to the hill of Calvary.
On Day 23, Christ offered rest for the heavy laden. Today Paul says the rest includes suffering. Not suffering as punishment. Suffering with Him. The “with” changes everything. Suffering alone is torment. Suffering with Christ is participation. The fast has been hard. The disciplines have been demanding. The thirty-seven days have cost something. And today Paul says: the cost is not wasted. It is participation in the sufferings of Christ. And participation in His suffering leads to participation in His glory.
The Whole Creation Groans (vv. 18–22)
“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groans and labours with birth pains together until now.” (8:18–22)
The lens widens. From the individual (the Spirit of adoption in you) to the cosmos (the whole creation groaning).
This is the passage the series has not yet touched. Creation care. The environment. The material world. The earth itself. Paul says the whole creation is groaning. Not just humans. Not just the Church. The rivers and the mountains and the animals and the soil. Everything that God made is in pain. Waiting. Longing. For the revealing of the sons of God.
“The creation was subjected to futility, not willingly.”
The creation did not choose to fall. When Adam sinned, the earth suffered the consequences without being consulted. The ground was cursed because of human sin (Genesis 3:17). The animals were subjected to death because of human rebellion. The rivers are polluted because of human greed. The forests are burning because of human carelessness. The creation is groaning. And the groan is not anger. It is the groan of childbirth. Labour pains. The agony that produces new life.
“The creation itself also will be delivered.”
Delivered. The creation is not disposable. It is not a temporary stage set that will be discarded when the play is over. It will be delivered. Freed. Liberated. The same language Paul uses for human salvation is applied to the material world. The trees will be saved. The oceans will be redeemed. The earth will be set free from the bondage of corruption.
St. Ephrem the Syrian, in his Hymns on Paradise, writes extensively about the renewal of creation. He teaches that Paradise was not destroyed by the Fall. It was veiled. Hidden. Waiting behind the veil of corruption for the moment when the children of God would be revealed and the veil would be lifted. Ephrem says the Lenten fast is a participation in creation’s groaning. When we fast, our bodies groan. When we pray, our spirits groan. And the groaning is not meaningless. It is birth pain. The old world is in labour. The new world is being born. And every groan brings the delivery closer.3
For Day 37, this is the perspective the series has been missing. The fast is not just about you. It is not just about your soul. It is not just about the Church. The fast is a participation in the groaning of the whole creation. When you deny your appetite, you are standing in solidarity with a creation that is denied its fullness. When you simplify your life, you are easing the burden on an earth that is groaning under human excess. When you fast from consumption, you are giving the creation a moment of rest.
The Great Lent is not only a personal spiritual discipline. It is an ecological act. A cosmic solidarity. A human participation in the groaning of a creation that is waiting for the children of God to be revealed.
The Spirit Intercedes (vv. 23–27)
“Not only that, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body. For we were saved in this hope… Likewise the Spirit also helps in our weaknesses. For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. Now He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He makes intercession for the saints according to the will of God.” (8:23–27)
The groaning narrows again. From the cosmos to you. “We ourselves groan within ourselves.” You are groaning too. Like the creation. From the same cause. For the same reason. Waiting for the same deliverance.
And in the middle of the groaning, a confession that is the most honest sentence Paul ever wrote.
“We do not know what we should pray for as we ought.”
Thirty-seven days of prayer. And Paul says: you do not know how to pray. Not properly. Not the way you ought. The words are insufficient. The understanding is incomplete. The petitions are misdirected. After all the training, all the discipline, all the running to win, you still do not know what to pray for.
This is not a failure. It is a fact. And the fact is the setup for the most comforting truth in the entire epistle.
“But the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.”
When you cannot pray, the Spirit prays. When you do not know the words, the Spirit supplies them. When the prayer dries up and the fasting leaves you empty and the morning prayer feels like talking to the ceiling, the Spirit is underneath your silence, groaning in ways that words cannot capture.
The Spirit’s prayer is not polished. Not eloquent. Not theological. It is a groan. Stenagmois alaletois. Groanings that cannot be spoken. Sub-verbal. Deeper than language. The prayer that happens below the floor of consciousness. The prayer you did not know was being prayed.
The creation groans (v. 22). You groan (v. 23). The Spirit groans (v. 26). Three groanings. Creation waiting for redemption. You waiting for the fullness of adoption. The Spirit translating your inexpressible need into the will of the Father. The whole universe is groaning toward the same thing. And the Spirit is the One who holds it together.
St. Isaac the Syrian, in his Ascetical Homilies, teaches that the deepest prayer is the prayer you are not aware of praying. He calls it the “prayer of the heart that precedes the prayer of the lips.” Isaac says that when the Lenten fast has stripped away every comfort and every distraction, what remains is not emptiness. It is the Spirit. The noise has been removed. The clutter has been cleared. And in the silence, you can finally hear the groaning that has been there all along. The Spirit has been praying in you since your baptism. You just could not hear it over the noise. The fast quieted the noise. And now you can hear the groan.4
“He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is.”
The Father knows what the Spirit is saying. Even when you do not. The prayer that is too deep for you to articulate is perfectly clear to the One who hears it. The groan that makes no sense to your conscious mind makes perfect sense to God. You do not need to understand your own prayer. The Father understands the Spirit’s interpretation. And the Spirit interprets according to the will of God.
This means something extraordinary. Our worst prayer, our most confused prayer, our most inarticulate, exhausted, empty, dry-mouthed, thirty-seventh-day-of-fasting prayer is being translated by the Spirit into exactly the prayer the Father wants to hear. We cannot pray badly enough to exceed the Spirit’s ability to intercede. We cannot be too empty for the Spirit to fill. We cannot be too silent for the Spirit to groan.
What This Means for Day 37
The Spirit has been missing from the series. For thirty-six days, we have talked about what God has done, what Christ has said, what we must do in response. We have talked about grace and effort, about commands and obedience, about the potter and the clay, about the mountain and the sea.
But we have not talked about the Person who makes all of it work.
Today is the correction.
Every prayer we prayed during this fast was enabled by the Spirit. Every morning we managed to drag ourselves out of bed and face the discipline was the Spirit’s strength in our weakness. Every confession that broke through pride was the Spirit bearing witness with our spirit. Every “Abba, Father” that escaped our lips in the dark was the Spirit crying through us.
We are not an unprofitable servant working alone in a field (Day 26). We are a child of God with the Spirit of adoption in our heart. We are not a clay pot being shaped by a distant potter (Day 29). We are a living being indwelt by the Third Person of the Trinity. We are not an athlete running on our own strength (Day 27). We are a runner with the wind of God at our back.
The Spirit has been here all along. Through every day. Through every failure. Through every success. Through the storms and the calms and the stretching of withered hands and the climbing of sycamore trees. The Spirit was the one enabling the obedience when the command seemed impossible. The Spirit was the one softening the clay when the sun should have hardened it. The Spirit was the one praying when the words ran out.
Thirty-seven days. And the most important discovery of the fast might be this: we were never alone. Not for a single moment. The Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead (v. 11) has been living in us this entire time. Groaning with us. Praying for us. Crying “Abba” through our tired lips.
For Our Journey Today
Stop and listen. The Spirit has been praying in us. Today, stop our own prayer for five minutes and listen. Not for words. For the groan. The sub-verbal movement of the Spirit beneath our consciousness. The prayer we did not know was being prayed. It is there. It has been there since Day 1. The noise of the fast has been covering it. Today, be quiet. And hear the One who has been praying through us all along.
Say “Abba.” Not “Father” in the formal theological sense. Abba. The intimate word. The child’s word. The word the Spirit puts in our mouth when every other word has failed. Today, in our prayer, say it. Abba. Feel the weight of it. The tenderness of it. The access it implies. We are not a servant begging an audience. We are a child calling a parent. The Spirit gives us the right to use this word. Use it.
Groan with creation. The fast is an ecological act. The simplicity of Lent, the reduction of consumption, the denial of appetite, is a participation in the groaning of the creation that is waiting for redemption. Today, extend our fasting beyond food. Fast from waste. Fast from excess. Fast from the casual consumption that makes the creation groan harder. Stand in solidarity with the earth that is in labour. The birth pains are real. And our fasting is a participation in them.
Holy Spirit, who has been present in this fast since before we knew You were here, forgive us for taking thirty-seven days to acknowledge You. You have been the breath beneath our breathing. The prayer beneath our prayer. The groan beneath our groan. Every morning we thought we were dragging ourselves to prayer by willpower, it was You. Every confession that broke through pride, it was You. Every “Abba, Father” that escaped our lips in the dark, it was You crying through us. We did not know what to pray for. We still do not. But You know. And You have been interceding with groanings too deep for words. Thank You. For the prayers we did not know were being prayed. For the witness we did not know was being borne. For the adoption we did not know was already complete. We are not slaves. We are children. And the Spirit of adoption in our hearts is the proof. Cry “Abba” through us today. Groan in us today. Pray in us today. Because we are tired. And our words are spent. But Your intercession never runs dry. By the prayers of the Most Holy Theotokos, the holy Apostle Paul, and all the saints, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.
Patristic References
- St. Athanasius the Great (c. 296–373). Letters to Serapion on the Holy Spirit (Epistolae ad Serapionem), particularly Letters 1 and 3. ↩︎
- St. Cyril of Alexandria (c. 376–444). On the Unity of Christ, translated by John McGuckin (St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, Popular Patristics Series, 1995). ↩︎
- St. Ephrem the Syrian (c. 306–373). Hymns on Paradise (Madrāshē d-ʿal Pardaysā). ↩︎
- St. Isaac the Syrian (7th century). Ascetical Homilies. ↩︎
