USE YOUR VOICE FOR PRAYER
THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS
In the episode, Boom, of Doctor Who on Disney+ last year, there is a massive battle raging. The ambulances for the injured are robots. They roll up on the wounded, scan the damage, and if the system decides the injuries are too severe or not profitable for the company, the screen flashes the words: “Thoughts and Prayers.”
Throughout the episode, prayer is a punchline. Not compassion. Not hope. A snarky phrase that tells the injured, “You’re on your own." You are not profitable enough to actually save.
Well, that is a little harsh, isn’t it? People don’t really feel that way about prayer, right?
Jack White of the White Stripes and The Raconteurs—who I loved from the first time my son Zane played Consolers of the Lonely for me back in 2008—said in a 2019 interview about his song Help Us Stranger that “thoughts and prayers” is meaningless and basically an insult.
A former White House Press Secretary said, “Prayer is not freaking enough… enough with the thoughts and prayers.”
And an elected U.S. State Representative said, “F*** your thoughts and prayers!”
Are you ready for a moment of honesty that you may not appreciate, or you may identify with? I get it. I get exactly what they are saying. Here’s my confession: I have a hard time praying for—really praying for—people I do not know, or whose situation is so far removed from me that I know I can’t do anything to help because of distance and lack of actual relationship.
So, I need this teaching as a pastor just as much as the people in the opening illustrations do. Really, that is the objective of this article: to help believers see why we pray for people who are far removed from us in their tragedies, and to equip us to explain to skeptics of Jesus and prayer why this matters. We can help them understand our faith a little more and play a role in hopefully one day bringing them to Christ.
So here we go. Here are the biblical reasons I needed to be reminded of.
WITH THE HURTING, BEFORE THE HEALER
When Paul writes to the church in Colossae, he is writing to people he has never met. In fact, he admits in Colossians 2:1 that they are absolute strangers to him. Yet in Colossians 1:9–12, he tells them, “We have not stopped praying for you since we first heard about you.” Picture that scene: Paul, far away, chained at times, and limited in what he can physically do, still lifting up a community he only knows by reputation. He asks God to give them endurance, strength, wisdom, and joy. That is intercession in its purest form. It is prayer for people beyond your reach, people you cannot visit or rescue, people you cannot even touch. Intercession transcends geography and circumstance because God is not bound by either.
The same picture emerges in Hebrews 13:3. The writer urges believers to “remember those in prison, as if you were there yourself. Remember also those being mistreated, as if you felt their pain in your own bodies.” The church he is writing to was not standing outside the prison walls. They could not hear the chains or see the bruises. Yet they were called to enter those places through prayer and remembrance. This is active intercession.
Prayer is solidarity with skin on. When Christians say, “I’m praying for you,” it is not a throwaway line. It is stepping into someone else’s pain and dragging it before God.
Prayer keeps us bound to people when it would be easier to stay detached, stay cynical, or ignore their pain.
“Virtue signaling” stops at appearance—it is about being noticed by your post or hashtag. Solidarity in prayer, by contrast, is hidden, in the closet, God-directed, and costly. Jesus warned against public displays meant to win approval (Matthew 6:5–6). True solidarity does not announce itself; it kneels. It does not put itself at the center; it puts the other before God. Where virtue signaling looks outward for recognition, biblical solidarity looks upward for mercy and downward in love, bearing one another’s burdens and so fulfilling the law of Christ (Galatians 6:2).
WHEN OUR ABILITY TO HELP IS LIMITED, STILL PRAY
Our culture shrugs and says, “They don’t need your prayers; they need your help.” And yes, help matters (we’ll get to that in the next section). Yet there are moments when help is not possible. Medicine reaches its edge. Justice slips through the cracks. Or geography and political oppression block the way. And that’s where prayer steps in—not as a cheap substitute, but as the one thing we can still do when everything else has failed.
When famine grips a land we may never see.
When war tears apart cities we will never walk through.
When another headline announces a mass shooting and faces we do not know.
And in all of that, this is what we do—we intercede for people we will never meet, we are joining Christ Himself, who “lives forever to intercede with God on their behalf” (Hebrews 7:25). We may never step into their streets or carry their burdens with our hands. Still, through prayer, we stand before the throne of grace for them. And that is no small thing. That is kingdom work.
PRAYER IS A MATCH FOR ACTION
Prayer is the match that lights the action. This is where our culture’s caricature of prayer really breaks down. In Scripture, prayer leads to movement. Nehemiah prayed right in the middle of a conversation, then immediately asked the king for papers and resources to rebuild the wall (Nehemiah 2:4–8). The early church prayed for boldness and, within the same breath, went out preaching, serving food, and giving money to anyone who had need (Acts 4:31–35). James is blunt: if you pray but ignore the hungry or the poor, your so-called faith is dead (James 2:15–17). So for Christians, “I’ll pray for you” isn’t a cop-out — it lights the fuse that sends us into action.
So when you pray for people you will never meet — flood victims in another country, refugees scattered across borders, families grieving a tragedy you only saw on the news — let that prayer push you toward action. Give to the relief fund. Volunteer for the ministries serving in those places. Send the encouragement. Prayer isn’t staying on the sidelines; it’s what lights the fire that moves us to act.
I NEED TO GROW
Praying for those we will never meet is stepping with Jesus into their struggle.
We carry their pain into the presence of the Healer.
We stand in solidarity with their suffering, even beyond borders.
We bind our hearts to brothers and sisters we may never meet.
Intercession is the work of the Kingdom, and it pushes back the dark.
So here’s the challenge—for me first. When the story isn’t mine, I still need to pray. When the faces aren’t familiar, I still need to pray. When the suffering is halfway around the world, I still need to pray. Because if I don’t, I slip back into distance, into detachment. Prayer carries their pain before the Healer, even when my hands can’t reach. And that’s where I need to grow. How about you?
©2025 Greg McNichols, All rights reserved.
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