The Open-Handed Father and His Importunate Children Text: Matthew 7:7-11
Introduction: The Logic of Prayer
We have come to a section of the Sermon on the Mount that is, on the one hand, gloriously simple, and on the other, profoundly challenging to our modern sensibilities. It is simple because a child can understand it. It is challenging because we are not like children. We are sophisticated, cynical, and self-reliant. We have been taught by our culture that the universe is a closed system, a great machine that grinds on, deaf to our pleas. And even within the church, we have developed a kind of practical deism, where we affirm God's existence but live as though He is a distant, absentee landlord, not an attentive Father.
Jesus here demolishes that entire framework. He does not present prayer as a religious duty, a pious ritual, or a desperate shot in the dark. He presents it as the fundamental logic of the covenant relationship between a good Father and His beloved children. Prayer is not about twisting God's arm; it is about taking Him at His Word. It is not about overcoming His reluctance, but about laying hold of His eagerness. The problem is not that God is tight-fisted, but that our asking is paltry, our seeking is half-hearted, and our knocking is timid.
This passage is a triple-layered, iron-clad assurance from the mouth of the Son of God Himself. He gives us a command, a promise, and a logical argument from the lesser to the greater. He is not just encouraging us to pray; He is commanding it. And He is not just commanding it; He is grounding that command in the very character of God. To neglect prayer, therefore, is not just a failure of discipline; it is a failure to believe what God says about Himself. It is a form of practical atheism. It is to look at the open arms of the Father and to turn away, muttering that we'll handle it ourselves.
So as we come to this text, we must ask ourselves if we truly believe it. Do we live as though these words are true? Is our life characterized by a persistent, expectant, importunate asking, seeking, and knocking? Or have we made our peace with a silent heaven and a self-sufficient earth? Jesus intends to ruin our self-sufficiency and to give us a holy, childlike boldness before the throne of grace.
The Text
"Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened. Or what man is there among you who, when his son asks for a loaf, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, he will not give him a snake, will he? If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him!"
(Matthew 7:7-11 LSB)
The Threefold Command and Promise (v. 7-8)
Jesus begins with a series of three commands, each with an attached promise.
"Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened." (Matthew 7:7-8)
Notice the progression here. Asking, seeking, and knocking describe an escalating intensity. To ask is to voice a need. To seek is to add action to your asking; you begin to look for what you need. To knock is to add persistence to your action; you have found the door and you will not leave until it is opened. This is not three different kinds of prayer; it is a picture of what all true prayer should be: vocal, active, and persistent. It is the portrait of a child who knows his father is home and has what he needs. He asks. If he doesn't see his father, he seeks him out. When he finds the study door closed, he knocks. And he keeps knocking.
Jesus is teaching us to be importunate. He is telling us to bother God. This runs contrary to our stiff, formal religiosity. We think it is polite to ask once and then quietly retreat. Jesus says the opposite. He tells the parable of the persistent widow and the unjust judge precisely to make this point: if a corrupt judge will give in to a pestering woman, "will not God bring about justice for his elect who cry out to him day and night?" (Luke 18:7). The logic is that God is not an unjust judge, but a loving Father, so how much more should we be persistent!
And the promise is absolute. It is not "ask, and you might receive." It is "ask, and it will be given." The verbs are in the divine passive, meaning it is God who does the giving, the revealing, and the opening. And in verse 8, Jesus universalizes the promise: "For everyone who asks receives." This is a divine law, as certain as the law of gravity. Now, of course, this must be understood within the context of the whole of Scripture. James tells us we ask and do not receive because we ask wrongly, to spend it on our passions (James 4:3). John tells us that we have confidence if we ask according to His will (1 John 5:14). This is not a blank check for our greeds. It is a covenant promise to His children. The child who is asking, seeking, and knocking is asking for things that a child should want from his Father: bread, not stones; fish, not snakes. He is asking for "good things."
The Father's Heart: An Argument from the Lesser to the Greater (v. 9-10)
Jesus now grounds this audacious promise in an analogy that is both simple and devastatingly effective. He appeals to the natural affection of an earthly father.
"Or what man is there among you who, when his son asks for a loaf, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, he will not give him a snake, will he?" (Matthew 7:9-10 LSB)
The logic is unassailable. A son comes to his father, hungry. He asks for basic sustenance, a piece of bread. What kind of father would mock his son's hunger by handing him a rock that looks like a loaf? What kind of father would respond to a request for a fish by giving him a poisonous serpent? The very thought is monstrous. It is a perversion of fatherhood. Even in a fallen world, the natural love a father has for his son is a powerful, God-given instinct. We expect fathers to provide for and protect their children, not to mock and harm them.
Jesus's point is that this natural, earthly fatherhood is a dim reflection, a faint echo, of the perfect Fatherhood of God. He is using a common human experience to teach us a profound theological truth about the character of God. God is not a cosmic trickster. He is not a malicious deity who enjoys dangling blessings before us only to snatch them away. When His children come to Him with legitimate needs, asking for that which is good and necessary, His response is driven by a perfect, paternal love. He will not give us a stone when we ask for the Bread of Life. He will not give us the Serpent when we ask for the things of the Spirit.
The "How Much More" of God's Goodness (v. 11)
This brings us to the climax of the argument, where Jesus drives the point home with what we call an a fortiori argument, an argument from the stronger reason.
"If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him!" (Matthew 7:11 LSB)
This is one of the most straightforward statements in the Bible about the doctrine of total depravity. Jesus doesn't soft-pedal it. He looks out at the crowd, at these ordinary, decent men who love their children, and He says, matter-of-factly, "you then, being evil." He uses the word poneros, which means actively, malignantly evil. This is not just a statement about our occasional missteps; it is a diagnosis of our fundamental nature apart from God's grace. We are bent, twisted, and selfish at our core. And yet, here is the marvel. Despite this inherent evil, the residual image of God in us is still strong enough that we know how to do good for our own children. Our love is flawed, inconsistent, and often mixed with selfish motives, but it is real enough that we provide for our kids.
Now comes the "how much more." If you, in your fallen, sinful state, can manage to do this basic good, how much more will your Father, who is in heaven, do it? The contrast is staggering. On the one hand, you have sinful, earthly fathers. On the other, you have the perfect, heavenly Father. He is not evil; He is perfectly good. His resources are not limited; they are infinite. His wisdom is not flawed; it is perfect. Therefore, His willingness and ability to give "good things" to His children is infinitely greater than ours.
This is the bedrock of Christian prayer. We do not pray to a reluctant God. We do not pray to a stingy God. We pray to our Father. And because He is a good Father, He gives good gifts. Luke's parallel account says He gives the Holy Spirit (Luke 11:13), which is the ultimate good gift that encompasses all others. When we ask for wisdom, for grace, for strength, for forgiveness, for our daily bread, we are asking for good things. And our Father delights to give them. If our prayers are weak, it is not because His hand is short, but because our faith is small. We have not because we ask not, or because we ask as though we are addressing a stone-hearted tyrant instead of a warm-hearted Father.
Conclusion: Praying Like Sons, Not Orphans
The implications of this passage are revolutionary. Our prayer life is a direct reflection of our theology of God. If we have a low view of God's fatherly goodness, we will have a low expectation in prayer. We will be hesitant, fearful, and ultimately prayerless. We will live like spiritual orphans, trying to scrounge and scrape for ourselves in a hostile world.
But Jesus calls us to live as sons and daughters. He calls us to a bold, confident, persistent asking, seeking, and knocking. This is not arrogance. It is faith. It is the confidence that comes from knowing who you are and, more importantly, whose you are. You are a child of the King. You have a Father in heaven who is not only all-powerful but who is also perfectly good and who loves you with an infinite, unchanging love.
Therefore, when you are in need, ask. When you are lost, seek. When you find the way blocked, knock. Do not be deterred by silence. Do not be discouraged by delay. Your Father heard you the first time. The delay is not a sign of His displeasure, but a part of His good gift. He is teaching you perseverance. He is strengthening your faith. He is conforming you to the image of His Son, who prayed with loud cries and tears and was heard because of His reverent submission.
So, come to your Father. Come with your needs, your fears, your hopes. Come as a child, with simple trust. He will not give you a stone. He will not give you a snake. He will give you good things. He will give you Himself. And there is no greater gift than that.