Wouldn't you like a bit of real magic now and then? What's the difference between magic and asking for results in prayer? 

We've all heard lots of people pray for sunshine for the picnic, rain for the garden or good snow for skiing. Is the assumption that God's job includes changing our circumstances if we ask hard enough? Catholic school taught us about the nine first Fridays and we collected more plenary indulgences than we could count. Is that what religion is all about?

As children, my brother, cousin and I tried to force Mary's hand by praying like the children at Fatima, convinced that with the right combination of cousins and an abbreviated rosary, Mary would come to us like she did to them. We wasted a lot of time in that endeavor — she didn't come, and we didn't really pray. We couldn't find the magic formula that would make heaven do our bidding.

Today's story of Moses praying with arms outstretched so that his army would win the battle sounds like our childhood theology. Whenever Moses' muscles failed him, the battle went the other way, but arms up made his people the winners. Happily, he didn't need to do it all alone. Unlike Sen. Cory Booker, Moses got to sit on a rock while others bolstered his arms until the victory went to his people.

Why did Moses' raised hands work their effect? Was it a contract: "God, I'll do this if you do that"? Did the Israelites win the battle because Moses' raised hands persuaded God or did his persistent vigilance inspire his people with the strength they needed?

Today's Gospel doesn't give us any magic. This story seems to favor the squeaky wheel. As Jesus was teaching the disciples to "pray always without growing weary," he told the story of a disreputable judge who didn't give a whit about anyone. Confronted by a widow who pestered him incessantly, the judge finally ruled on her behalf, not for any good reason, but because his discomfort at her persistence overpowered the laziness or prejudice that allowed him to ignore her in the first place.

Did Jesus spin this parable to explain the relationship between God and creatures who need help? Would Jesus have depicted the Father as needing to be cajoled? Some people may think so. 

When we see wars and famine and dishonesty in the highest places, does that indicate that God doesn't care enough to step in? Have we not prayed long or sincerely enough for things to change? Are we supposed to wear God down like a parent who doesn't want a 9-year-old to have a smartphone but can't bear the whining?

Paul's letter to Timothy offers a perspective on this. Paul tells Timothy to be persistent whether it is convenient or not: "Convince, reprimand, encourage through all patience and teaching." Now, that's a different sort of perseverance! Paul wants Timothy to do everything possible to encourage others to live the Gospel. 

How might that idea refocus our perception of the widow at the judge's door? She got what she needed and more, because she wouldn't stop. She shook the judge out of his apathy. She didn't quit until, in desperation, he did something righteous. 

That may not have changed him deeply, but it did bring him to do at least one just thing. She did what Paul told Timothy to do, and she got a result that was good for everyone.

How are we supposed to be persistent? Is it in asking God to transform cruel and dictatorial people into good, loving individuals? If so, just how do we expect God to do it? If God could intervene like that, why do we see the suffering we do?

Let's consider the idea that Jesus was talking from his experience of trying to convince the dubious and to hearten people who thought his message would cost them too much. His most basic prayer was, "Your will be done." That followed what his mother had taught him by her prayer, "Let it happen to/through me according to your will."

When we pray for the good that should happen, we can't do it like students at Hogwarts who only need to practice using their wands or find a good wizard. Praying in the style of Jesus is an exercise in self-offering. When we long for the right outcomes in our world, sincere prayer needs to spring from a longing for God's will, combined with our readiness to carry it out.

A warning: Persistence in generous prayer will cost us our lives. The good news? There's no better way to spend one's life.

God is persistent in planting good desires in us. Let us be ever more persistent in offering ourselves to carry out God's loving will.

Today's Liturgy of the Word starts with part of a great story. In 1 Kings 5, we hear about a military commander named Namaan, a little girl captive and the prophet Elisha. When Naaman contracts a skin disease, the child tells Namaan's wife that there's a prophet in Israel who can heal him. Amazingly, the proud and powerful Namaan decided that it would be worth seeking the prophet. 

So, he headed off with an overabundance of luxurious gifts for the prophet Elisha. The fearful king of Israel could see nothing good coming from the incident, worrying that it was just a provocation from Namaan's king.

Elisha told him not to worry. When the ostentatious entourage arrived at his door, Elisha didn't even bother to come out. He simply sent a message telling the commander to bathe seven times in the Jordan River. Having expected something much more spectacular, Namaan was ready to leave in anger — fulfilling the fears of the king of Israel.

Enter Namaan's servants to persuade him to get over himself and follow the prophet's prescription. He humbly took his sevenfold plunge and came out thoroughly cured. When Elisha refused his copious gifts, Namaan carried soil from Israel back to his land to worship the God of Israel from his home. Healing and conversion, all in a tale that warmed the hearts of Israelites who wanted others to honor their God.

Those who compiled our lectionary chose this story to accompany the one of Jesus with 10 people who had leprosy. As Jesus met this small group at the entrance to a town, they cried out for mercy, a word that connotes not just compassion but genuine solidarity with those who need help. Merciful people make others' needs their own and will do anything possible to alleviate them.

Feeling the pain of the afflicted people, Jesus did nothing more than tell them to go and show themselves to the priest. As they journeyed into town, they noticed that, like Namaan, they had been cured. So, they did what Jesus had told them to do — all but one of them went to show themselves to the priest.

The outlier was a Samaritan. As he walked along, he experienced something more than a cure. Forgetting about the priest, he ran back to Jesus, glorifying God and thanking Jesus profusely. Jesus, in one of the few instances in which we hear him complain, asks about the others. "Were they not all made clean?" Yes. But the one who returned saw more in the incident than a simple return to a clear complexion.

The Samaritan received a miracle. He experienced God's work of healing, of mending what was broken, of comforting an outcast. The Samaritan experienced the miracle of a new healed and healing outlook on life. He could now believe and proclaim that suffering and sadness are not God's will. He had experienced the mercy of God, God among us, God taking on our burdens. He saw much more than others around him and that led him to burst with praise and joy and gratitude. 

Yes, Jesus was disappointed. It's not that he was looking for acclaim, he wanted others to perceive what his mercy meant. His mercy extended to anyone who asked; the nine missed the depth of what Jesus had given them. Disappointed, but probably not surprised, Jesus knew that he was offering more than many could take in.

In the mid-1800s, Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote the poem "Aurora Leigh," which included the following lines:

Earth's crammed with heaven,
and every common bush afire with God:
but only he who sees, takes off his shoes;
the rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

The Samaritan perceived the fire of God in his experience with Jesus. From then on, nothing would be the same. Namaan underwent a humbling and healing experience that left him worshiping Israel's God. Both found more than they expected, because they were open to seeing more than they expected.

Today, it's as if Christ were standing before us, begging us to open our eyes. In response, we can ask ourselves, "What is there to see that I am missing — be it on purpose or because of low expectations? Is my hope too limited? Might my vision be too small or overly centered on me and mine? How can I open my eyes to perceive God's action among us?"

There's a lot more than blackberries all around us. Seeing more will change us, more of God's good and suffering world will invade our being. Are we willing to ask for solidarity with Christ and to know and share his mercy?