Effectual Prayer

In the days following Pentecost the story of Jesus Christ crucified and risen fueled a revolution of love. Never a man loved the way Jesus did. Never men loved Him so greatly for it.

How does God rouse this kind of devotion in creatures prone to want rather than give, and to horde rather than sacrifice? The answer is found in the mystery of prayer. A man or woman who effectually prays (James 5) becomes a person capable of great love. Here’s how.

First, through prayer self dissolves…Oswald chambers described it as, “so absolutely humanly His, that we are utterly unnoticeable.” Prayer weakens the hold on our stubborn rights, which refuse to bend under God’s leadership. In that kiln the ties that bind us to personal needs are consumed, freeing us to be willing intercessors.

Second, through prayer we identify with others… The act of pleading on someone else’s behalf takes sacrifice. When we spend our intercessional capital on someone else, we reflect Christ, who ever lives to intercede for us. He loves when we ruthlessly identify in prayer with those in need. Just as the cross defines sacrificial love, to take the place of another defines effectual prayer.

Third, through prayer our faith is strengthened. The time we spend waiting in God’s presence elevates a hallowed image of God. The long obedience of that wait harrows the heart-the place where faith is refined and approved. The silver smith knows the alloy is pure when he sees his clear reflection. In our love embrace (prayer) others will see a clearer image of God, because matured faith marvels over the love shared in the godhead,(John 17) and offers it to others.

Finally, through prayer we learn the cost of love. When fear, rejection or uncertainty stare us down, prayer moves us beyond the shawls of convenience, and into deep waters of desperation. When this becomes an unconscious act of worship, we begin to taste something of Christ’s suffering, a willing ministry which transcends our comforts, self interests and passions.

Henry Nouwen once said, “Prayer is not a pious exercise, but the breath of human existence.” To the extent we cultivate a heart to pray, God does and will distill our devotion to what I call the irreducible core—the residue of love left from engaging veiled mystery. We are never closer to Christ than when we are locked in prayer.

The Voice

My feet take me across the counties of New York City, and everywhere they step I seek a Voice to give reason for the chaos, insight to confusion, concrete steps to despair, and kind words for disbelief. The Voice discovered can be the voice to explain. The faces of all I pass search my eyes for a hint, a shard of light to bring hope where darkness has strangled, suffocated, reduced a life to a rote unanswered question leading to apathy, and worse—a tenuous détente that knows not light or darkness, only gray shadows. The Voice leads me away from myself, and towards the pain inherent in place sharing. The Voice moves my steps to places that time has stopped, hearts pierced against inevitable abandonment, ready to break; the Voice sends me there in time to infuse that grain of ash, that reminder of my surrender, the fire that had consumed my claim on time and living, but now wholly given to Him who assures me I am known.
My greatest pursuit is the voice. Only the Voice can bring clarity to the blur, lift to the droop, a smile for sadness, or knowing to perplexity. In every moment of every day I can seek the voice, and so know my place, and feel His assurance. Where the Voice is, that’s where I belong, if not there, then I must turn to the sound by faith. Children always see the face of their Father (Matt 18); therefore humility, child like trust, and a dogged tenacity, ignite through a will that strives to hear it, and obey it when it calls me out of lethargy and into ambiguity. This week a young woman said these words, “I don’t want to wake up when I’m forty years old and realize that I had done nothing to make a difference in this world.” When we walk with God straining by faith to hear the voice, we can rest from striving and anxious longing, and know that if at our post long enough, and faith filled, we will hear unmistakable utterances from the other side. We stand in the cleft, and by us God races to His appointed hour, but never leaves us behind. Instead, He stops long enough to speak, and wills our will to follow. That moment we are suspended between fear and belief tests the metal of our moral courage, and shows us once again that it’s Him from first to last. We do not obey the Voice without His Spirit’s counsel and power.

Studebaker's can teach us....

“Build yourselves up in your most holy faith.” Jude 20

Growing up there was an old Studebaker in the forest behind our house. It hadn’t moved in two decades. The tires had sunk into the dirt, windows smashed; and the hood stuck straight up, as though the doctor were asking it ‘open real wide.’ My friends and I hatched a plan one day to get her back on the road. We set to work, but it wasn’t long before our naïve zeal, turned to boredom. That old relic needed something more than a screwdriver, hacksaw and greasy grins.

In the start up of a year, the business of reconnecting, planning, and engaging in a myriad of relationships can take its toll. If it’s been a while since you paused long and hard to listen, or simply were ‘wowed’ by something God revealed to you, then in some ways you may have parked your pursuit of God in the deep woods. The right tools can make a difference. Jude 20 gives us something to “build yourselves up,” or if you prefer—to re-fire the cylinders.

“Pray in the Holy Spirit”—True prayer originates in the heart of God, and is borne by the Spirit into our spirit. He, the Holy Spirit “helps” our weakness when we don’t know how to pray. To pray reminds us that a fresh surrender to God’s will is a daily need for those on the front lines.

“Keep in the love of God”—All other loves require something from us to keep our end of the bargain. God’s love eliminates the need to work to keep, compare to feel good, or perform to please. Prayer reminds us that perfect love sits between our desire for Him, and His willingness to lavish upon us more than we could ever hope for.

“Wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ”—Hope springs eternal in the day to day, for those willing to sit at Jesus feet. Prayer reminds us that when everything else pales, we still hold on, for to pray with hope raises our chin to see eyes of mercy.

Make prayer a habit, until it becomes a passion. It’s more important than any discipline, because it’s the best tool to carry into the woods to get our ‘Studebaker’ back on the road.

Bending Birches

Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us…    Eph 3:20

            It’s no secret that God uses Bible study and prayer to build intimacy between us. But something more is at play while we pore over the word, or carve out time to pray.  He’s planting moral courage,  and planning a funeral for our fear.

            As kids romping through the woods of northern New Jersey, my brother JoJo and I would occasionally come across a stand of white birch. We could never resist the urge to shimmy up their slender, branchless trunks. When we got to the point where we felt the tree bend against our weight, we would stretch one more length, grasp the trunk with both hands, take a deep breath and throw our legs out into nothingness. The tree would bend with elastic grace all the way to the ground! 

            Bending birches has a lot to teach us about the way God grows our heart. Let’s use the shimmying as our devotional life.  It’s hard work, routine—repeatable. We feel like we make progress, but then slip again. But we know we’re barking up the right tree! To open our Bibles is an act of faith, and to pray requires our eyes to focus on the unseen.  As we grip these devotions day to day, without knowing it, we inch upward, we build faith; until the moment God decides we’re ready. That’s when we feel the tree begin to bend. 

            If often starts with a flutter in the belly, as God reveals His will. ‘You want me to do what?’ Other times we may feel agitated, or be admonished, or even suffer disappointment. God wants to break into our contented equilibrium, because He knows our deepest desire is to come face to face with Him. That requires all the focus and faith we can muster. We grow when we trust Him to land us on our feet, even though our hearts are racing, and our mouth is dry. Bible study and prayer prepare us for that critical moment God asks us to jump. These are the times where faith deepens and our view of God expands.  The organ music plays, and God lays our fear to rest.

                         Are you feeling the bend of the birch today?  Hold fast to Him, He is able to do immeasurably more!

            To fear God is to fear nothing but God.

 

Let's pass the "Stick"

“And I sought for a man among them….” Ezekiel 22:30
I was still wet behind the ears in ministry. He was the keynote speaker at a small gathering in northern Minnesota; a portly silver hair, who invited us on a sojourn to find the secret of loving God through prayer. The first night he told us that as a young man he had handed God a fragmented list of goals and desires, and He had fused them into a single passion to seek His heart. He told stories about spending hours in prayer, afraid to rise for fear of missing God’s invitation to draw near enough for transformation.
And when he said, “let us pray,”….Oh my…. His words and posture reflected the fire that simmered in the subterranean depths of his convictions, the flame that had consumed his “discretionary time, silly hobbies, and self serving dreams.”
At first I thought he was unbalanced, too radical. But radical means rooted, and this man had learned that a heart depending on God must be rooted and grounded in love. He kept saying over and over, “the portal to love is prayer.” At some point that weekend, I glanced over my shoulder, stretched out my hand, and grabbed the “stick” from Mr. Silver Hair.
“Stick.” It’s a phrase screamed over the deafening crowds in track & field at the moment one runner passes the baton to another. This aged saint had used the entire weekend to cry “stick,” in hopes that someone would respond. I’m sure he left the weekend a bit disappointed. No one went forward. However, sitting in the second row to the left, still in awe over what he had witnessed, a young man decided he would follow this old man’s lead by learning how to pray.
Lets not forget to yell “stick” loud enough for this generation to hear. The world has become deafening.
Here are a few ideas for passing the stick:
Start Well-Seek out students who show a heart to pray-
Focus –Lead them to the scriptures to build conviction to pray
Listen for the steps -Suggest biographies of great men and women of prayer
Grip the stick-Build stamina in God’s presence through extended times of corporate prayer.
Run to Win-Encourage students to begin prayer movements in their schools.

The Seed and the Husk-Musings in 1 Peter

During this Lenten season I have been reading and studying nothing but 1 Peter. If the first chapter was an opera, verses 22-23 would be the aria. The pinnacle of maturity as a follower of Christ is love. We find here the secret for the context and content of love, as God would have us express it to our brethren in the world. I wrote the following during a train ride into Manhattan after meditating on what it meant when Peter said, "Having purified your souls by your obedience to the truth for a sincere brotherly love, love one another earnestly from a pure heart."

“The degree of love I exhibit is directly related to how well I obey truth as God reveals it. The refining process of obedience distills my character to the essence of the seed of salvation—the seed of love, which the husk of service encases. When I trust God to obey Him, He will lead me into unfamiliar, unkind, unresponsive and unrefined places and people, to whom I am called to love. What I don’t often realize is that the first ministry is love—the SEED! The husk of service blinds me to God’s ultimate desire and destination. We can fall into the trap of saying our ministry is our expression of love, but this is only the husk! If I stumble this way on the husk, I miss the purpose for His leading me in the first place—to love earnestly from the heart—to activate the seed of God’s love.”

The Porch--when Silence Rests Between Us

While journaling, I remember writing, “front porch—that place where silence can sit between friends.” What could be more life giving than feeling understood, knowing that that person sharing space with you can wait indefinitely in your presence without needing to fill the air with words. This is especially true during times of intense pressure, or severe hardship, a trial that has no end in sight, or a loss that has left the world without answers, and God a million miles away.

The presence of friendship without the trappings of words fuses two hearts together, and quite literally, though no science could prove it, let them walk together bonded, and sustained by the united sense of resolve they silently share. In the same way, when we sit in silence with God, we first of all are saying that we trust Him. Often it’s our words when we feel either anger, fear or anxiety that gushes senseless musings. It makes us feel better, thinking we are praying, but it’s hardly that. It’s a cathartic riot act pointed at God, demanding relief. Of course, there’s a place for this kind of banter. We need look no further than David, in a host of psalms that reassure us that we can vent, and feel safe doing it. But a better, more redemptive interchange happens when we can meditate upon the truths of God , and let our hearts rest from the emotions that swell our heads with possibilities, at least during the time we are in each others space. In the silence that hangs heavy between us, it can be maddening to imagine all sorts of falsities, exaggerated wondering and forgone conclusions. But if silence can be at home in the space you share with Him, then through a disciplined act of faith, we can clear even our minds of the clutter that dissipates faith, and enhances fear. When words are few, God sees a heart trusting in the unseen, and desiring Him above understanding, above the machinations that clamor for supremacy, and beyond the reach of any mortal touch to console. It was the woman caught in adultery that had exhausted her defenses, or rationale who could do nothing but lie in a heap before perfect love. It was Job who could do nothing else but wait in silence, with friends at hand. When our hearts become content to wait, then our entire posture changes from one of arbitrator to one of humble suppliant. Our options lie strewn in the wind, and we cling to the belief in a God who has judged and found us wanting, but whose heart gushes compassion.

The Porch is the place where friends sit quietly on rockers, and watch the coming dusk. It’s the place promises are given, and failures are forgotten. The Porch opens it’s sequestered arms to the scents of a dying day, and brings to our senses the robust energy pulsing from it’s pores like a silent sentry. If we could imagine this as we rest quietly before our heavenly father, we could capture one of the secrets of gaining strength and finishing well. Our often knee jerk reaction to circumstances which threaten our equalibrium exerts our will upon God through intercession, instead of asking for patience to wait. We learn to trust in the silence, as a child will lie exhausted in the arms of her father, after a sudden loss, or a perplexing hurtful experience. We don’t know why we feel buoyed, but it’s affect changes how we see God’s part in our daily affairs. Instead of wrestling with uncertainty, we find the grace of a living God, not an idol. Our silence demonstrates that God is alive in our affairs. Only silence presupposes a living fire, an infinite strength that holds out to our tired attempts at peace, a garland dipped in blood. To remain silent before god means that He is more than wood, stone or precious gems. We are building strength in our belief that when He decides, He will act, speak, and bring us forward, and out of the dilemna for which we cry inwardly for help. The events of the cross assure our heart that sitting with us is Someone who has tasted death, and in doing so, has showed us how to live. He offers a hand to hold, while nothing is said, so that you know beyond nuance, intuition or premonition that His presence has a tangible affect upon our stubborn independence. Where else can we be reminded how our hiding may end in loneliness, and eventual hell.

The porch creeks under the weight of our rocking. The settled dusk brings a finality to the all the activities of the day, whether fragmented or focused, all is behind us. Nothing else can be done, but quietly ruminate on the choices and decisions made in the cauldron of spiritual affairs, and very mundane routines. There are no words, because our heart understands that everything has passed the grade with Him, nothing fallen outside of His perfect purposes, and little left for morbid review. Silence tells Him, you are content to receive the good, and no so good; the brilliant moments, and the perplexing washouts. What rests between God and man is palpable, because when words are absent, faith fills the void. His faith in us has been constant, without tarnish, or degradation. Our faith in Him, though waffling through the days journey, has settled for the moment, upon a certainty that He is pleased, and poised to renew and rejuvenate our tired souls. “Come.” The invitation has been heeded without hearing it. It’s the universal and timeless urging of a God who hurts in the stomach for his children to return to Him, and receive all comfort and grace.

It must have been a porch where angels and incense came together, so that God could deliver His message to the earth (Rev 8). Heaven was completely silent for half an hour, but not idle. Here an angel received an abundance of incense to mix with the prayers of God’s holy people, and lifted it before the golden altar of God as an offering. When the incense holder emptied, God filled it with fire, which upon the blasts of trumpets, he sent to the earth with devastating affect. All this was done with no words spoken. Our fragrance as holy people breathes the prayer God uses to send fire upon the earth, the fire of revival. It’s no mistake that silence encased this scene, because when prayer and silence wed, faith rests between God and man. The depth of this union glorifies God beyond anything that man can manufacture. True worship is waiting in silence for Holy God to speak. The porch invites us all to sit with Him, wait and enjoy the coming dusk. Together we will find strength and hope to press forward under the coming night. While we wait, God enjoins angels to our hearts desire in order for His Kingdom to come.