“That was the worst prayer I’ve ever heard,” my language nurturer whispered to me.
I chuckled. He wasn’t wrong.
In the few months I’d been on the field, I had heard many locals praying in flowery and semi-rhyming phrases, with a beautiful cadence. But when the host of the event we were at invited me to open the night with prayer, my first attempt in the local dialect was unplanned and awkward. It was full of false starts and language mistakes.
Even so, after the event, a few attendees told me they still appreciated it.
A few weeks later, a man named Goran stopped to talk with me at another get-together.
“I recently had a heart attack,” he said in a hushed voice. “Now the doctor says I need open-heart surgery.”
Immediately I offered to pray for him, and I was surprised by his response.
Goran scratched his head, and I could tell he wasn’t sure what I could say with my limited language skills. Though he looked doubtful, he finally nodded and said, “I suppose.”
Putting my hand on his shoulder, I offered my best prayer. I still struggled through the words, pausing when I couldn’t remember a phrase and stumbling over unfamiliar pronunciations, but afterward, Goran told me he could sense the heart behind my words.
Over the next several months, I thought about my early attempts to connect with my Muslim neighbors through prayer. Even though my language skills were improving, I still felt like I was missing something. I began to think about the way I was praying and to pay attention to the phrases my Muslim friends used.
They prayed to Allah with respect and awe, and I wanted to show God the same reverence when I spoke to Him and maybe help my neighbors hear the truth. So, I changed the way I pray.
Now, after years on the field, I have a new rhythm of prayer. Whether on a bustling street, in a noisy coffee shop, or in the peace of a locals’ home—when I hear a concern, I offer to pray.
Then, we set down our teacups or cellphones because it’s a holy moment. I open my hands, palms up, in front of my chest and lift up their needs to the King of Kings. I start by echoing the phrases my friends use in their prayers.
“Allah Allah, Allah Allah, Allah Allah,” I begin. “Bismişah Allah Allah.”
In the name of Allah Allah.
But I don’t leave it there. I adapt their phrases to acknowledge the truth of who Jesus is: “Kelimetullah Ruhullah Shah İsa Adina.”
In the name of King Jesus, who is the Word of God, and the Spirit of God.
At the end of my prayer, I again say, “Allah Allah,” in the way they do. Wiping my hands over my face, I gratefully receive God’s blessing and signal the end of my prayer.
I’ve done this often enough that my neighbors have begun calling me Vaiz—a name for someone who preaches or prays for others. That’s a title I’m honored to accept.
So far, my prayers haven’t resulted in breakthroughs of salvation or healing. What they have done is help people understand that I love God, love them, and believe that God wants to work in their lives.
Wherever we live, God is drawing people toward himself. As we step out in faith to pray in Jesus’ name, God changes the spiritual environment, enabling people to hear the truth about Christ more clearly, to sense God’s presence, and to listen to His voice.
Pray:
- Ask the Lord to use field workers’ prayers to bring about spiritual breakthroughs among unreached people groups.
- Pray for Muslims to experience answers to prayer that lead them to faith in Jesus.
- Pray for workers struggling with language learning—ask God to give them the words to speak in the moments that they need them.
**This account comes from a long-term worker. Names and places have been changed for security.**
Main photo on iStock: herkisi
Original article: https://frontiersusa.org/blog/praying-like-a-local