Tag: prayer

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How to pray, #349 (more or less)

I say this prayer to you Lord,

for at daybreak you listen for my voice;

and at dawn I hold myself in readiness for you—

            I watch.  For you.                     Psalm 5:3

When I pray, I usually find myself listening to me.  And it often doesn’t seem as though anyone else is listening.  But (thank God) David knew better: day breaks, the LORD tunes in.  My servant rises.  Let’s hear what he has to say.

Hard as it is to believe, God is actually listening for me.  This Psalm gobsmacked me when I first heard what it was saying.

God doesn’t need to arise, of course, because he’s always up.  Every hour is daybreak somewhere and every pray-er has a listener.

God does his part.  My part is to hold myself in readiness (to “prepare the sacrifice and watch,” ESV).  What helps with this and what doesn’t?

  1. Get up.  Praying in bed is fine for the dark hours (Ps. 149.5), but not for the morning sacrifice.  Again (poke, poke): bestir these stiff lazy bones and get up.
  2. Wash my face and hands.  I have an important meeting to keep.
  3. Raise my voice (because he is listening).  I feel self-conscious praying out loud, but I know lots of hymns.  Sometimes I sing them.
  4. Present my body as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to him.  He owns it, after all.
  5. Listen.  Then talk.  Then listen some more.  Then talk some more.  Remember it’s a two-way conversation.

Learning how to pray is a lifelong quest, at least for me.  After sixty-plus years, it’s sometimes discouraging: haven’t I got a handle on this yet?   Then a Psalm comes along and cheerfully rings a bell: hey, you!  Don’t you know he’s listening?  He’s waiting to hear your voice—open up!

Can it really be that simple?

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Tabernacles in the Air

And behold there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him.  And Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good that we are here!  If you wish, I will make three tents here, one or you and one for Moses and one for Elijah.”  Matt. 17:3-4

I’m the world’s most distractible pray-er.  This is a bit like saying I’m the chief of sinners, because voices out there are already saying, Oh no you’re not.  I am.  But I’m sticking to my story.  Just as Paul, chief of sinners, knew what went on in his own heart, so I suddenly, and frequently, recognize how my mind has been pattering off on little feet in every direction when it’s supposed to be focused on God.  And I gasp in dismay.

I suddenly, and frequently, recognize how my mind has been pattering off on little feet in every direction when it’s supposed to be focused on God.

Here’s what happens.  I have begun a method for praying which is supposed to develop habits of devotion.  Does it work?  I’ll get back to you on that, as I haven’t been doing it very long.  The main idea is to make prayerful responses to specific passages.  So I read the above passage from Matthew and try to think of Jesus with a face shining like the sun, his clothes white as light:

That would be something to see . . . wish I’d been there . .  What do I need to mine from this passage?  What can I write about—No, don’t go there (always fishing for material to write about)—focus!  Three tabernacles; what would they look like? . . . Sounds like a praise and worship song: Lord, it’s good for us to be here . . . . Would make a cool Sunday Morning parody, like . . . No wait, where was I?  Focus!  What was the original tabernacle for?  What’s Peter thinking—like, some kind of first-century church camp meeting?  Camping retreat . . . Hey, how many people at church would be interested in a camping retreat?  Great way to bond . . . Should I bring it up, or . . . Or do I want to be the organizer because nobody else will . . . Did I remember to defrost the ham?

You see the problem here.  Can anyone relate?

Eventually—before too long—I feel conscience brandishing a whip to get my straying thoughts back in line.  Now it occurs to me that I’m tabernacle-building, just like Peter.  I assume he was much more focused than I on the splendid sight right before his eyes, but he was not overwhelmed into speechlessness.  Mark says he didn’t know what to say (Mark 9:6), in which case he shouldn’t have said anything.  But he was still weirdly distracted. The sight that should have filled his head and drawn all his worship and awe sends him in a sideways direction: What can we do with this?  I know!—

The rebuke from above redirects him, and us: Don’t speculate—look!  Don’t talk—listen!  And specifically, Listen to him.

Why is that so hard for us?  Even—or especially—in the quiet and solitude of prayer.

He made us to think and he made us creative; that’s the positive side.  The negative side is that we seek out many schemes (Eccl. 7:29), or find a way to twist every good gift, such as direct access to the Father through the Son, and use the opportunity even there to build our own tabernacles.

God made us for himself, but we find all kinds of ways to take ourselves back.  Plunking down on the altar every morning, and then crawling right off.  Back on, back off.  It gives a different meaning to “wrestling in prayer.”  Rather than wrestling with God, as I think the idea is supposed to represent, I’m head-blocking and pinning myself while God stands patiently aside, waiting to get my attention again.

But you notice, I did come up with enough material to write about it.  As creatively wool-gathering as I am, God is more creative still.  While I find a way to wander, he finds a way to use the wandering.  Just think how much better it would be if I could stay in one place and let him do the building!

Wretched mind that I have, who can rescue me from this persistent plague of tabernacle building?

These distracted occasions usually end with petitions for forgiveness, and thanks for the same.  Still: wretched mind that I have, who can rescue me from this persistent plague of tabernacle building?  Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ!  He saves us through himself rather than handing down a self-improvement plan.

Still, does anybody have any helpful suggestions for staying on point?

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When NOT to “Pray about It”

“I’ve prayed about it and I feel at peace.”

Peace about what?

“About filing for divorce.  No—he’s not abusive or neglectful; we just can’t agree about anything.  We fight all the time and the kids are picking up on the tension.  This isn’t what marriage is supposed to be about.  He’s not going to lift a finger—of course—but if I file he won’t object.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“We’ve prayed about it, and it seems like the thing to do.”

What’s that?

“Leaving the church.  Yes I know, it’s only been two years since we formally joined and stood up in front of the congregation and made those promises, but we aren’t happy with the way things are going.  There’s also that one guy that really rubs us the wrong way . . . no, we can’t put our finger on why it is, but they made that guy an elder!  We’re going to start looking around next Sunday.”

But remember, we prayed about it.  It’s always good to pray . . . unless what you really mean is, We talked to God and decided we were all on the same page about what we should do.  But God already has a page, and that’s the one we’re supposed to be on.

How often do you catch yourself trying to get Him to agree with what you want to do, rather than searching out what he wants, and then asking for faith to do it?  Because—let’s face it—what he wants you to do is often going to be hard.  Maybe so hard it seems impossible.  Maybe you even know, way down deep, what God wants, but you personalize it or generalize it or rationalize it or hedge it around with so many qualifiers the central command is smothered.

I know God hates divorce, but— (the bills, the fights, the chill, the drag, the chain)

I know Christ loves his church but— (the leadership, the bad decisions, the misunderstandings)

If you find yourself rationalizing, the first thing to do is surgically remove that three-letter word BUT.  The reason is because it opens the door to every excuse.  So cut it off and kick it out.  When it whimpers and scratches at the door, harden your heart.  Expel the fatal conjunction, invite the conjunctive adverb:

I know God hates divorce.  Therefore . . .

I know Christ loves his church.  And so . . .

Yes, there are valid reasons to end a marriage or leave a church.  If the reason is not so valid, prayer will not get God on your side.  When not to pray:

  • When you already know what the Bible says
  • When you know your own will is leaning against what the Bible says
  • When you’re fishing for justification for those inclinations

Don’t pray about what you already know.  Pray for what you desperately need—the strength, faith, love, and determination to do it.