A Taste for Solitude

“I waited patiently for the Lord, and He inclined to me and heard my cry.”

Psalm 40:1

The word patiently here actually means intently, and conjures an image of intense focus, elevating a single desire above all others. It’s like the solitude needed by athletes getting ready for the big game. Spiritual leaders train themselves in this discipline, because from it comes the creative juices needed to hatch fresh ideas, and the candor required to lead out of conviction.

If a leader denies the tug of the Spirit for solitude, he forfeits a well-spring of foresight-where God’s leading, insight-how He’s leading, and hindsight-why God’s taking him there. The early church fathers didn’t give over-activity a second thought. When confronted by the church to help with a logistical challenge related to irate widows, they responded, “no” by reiterating their priorities. “We will devote ourselves to prayer and to the ministry of the word.” A “no,” even to very good things, is always the fruit of a stronger “yes.” How strong is your yes to the invitation for solitude?

The great challenge of our day is to exchange fragmented sound bytes and data, with an unbroken stream of mercy gushing like a cataract from above the throne of grace. Solitude helps us taste that river like nothing else will.

If solitude eludes you, try the following, but keep in mind baby-steps that lead to progress are better than bounding gaits ending in failure.

Find a place: Whether it’s a park, an attic or a walk in closet.

Make a space: Long enough to settle; nothing scheduled after, and no chance of interruption.

Breathe grace: Listen for kindness and compassion. If you hear anything to the contrary, though you’re alone, you may not be with Jesus. Remember, we wait intently at the throne of grace.

“O taste and see that the Lord is good.” Ps 34

God's Front Door

“Call to me, and I will answer you, and tell you great and mighty things, which you do not know.” Jeremiah 33:3

I have always thought of Jeremiah 33:3 as God’s telephone number. But after a recent study, I’m more inclined to say it’s His front door! Here’s a translation in the New KJY version. “Cry aloud from a place of desperation, I will answer with My Presence (and it will be unmistakable-conspicuous!), in order to reveal and unlock inaccessible places.”

When we enter times of prayer, our mental list of urgent requests can lead us to petition too quickly, when all along God wants us to simply rest, wait and trust that His presence will be enough. Often I am more excited to bend the knee in order to unload my baggage, rather than humble myself before God and enjoy the silence that can often sit between friends. Don’t get me wrong. God says to ask, and don’t stop asking. But it’s His presence that reveals the answers, because during that exchange God lifts my eyes away from the request, and brings my gaze up to His level. Here He speaks. Here I absorb strength. Here demons cannot tread. For a little while at least, I am captured by a love that reassures, a peace that settles and a courage that lets me rest upon an invisible Bosom. When I can hear His heart, I will not give pause, find excuses or rationalize away what He says to do.

The battle can leave us exhausted, thirsty and too tired to care, yet God has a silver lining. Beth Moore says, “He never meant for us to sip His Spirit like a proper cup of tea. He meant for us to hold our sweating heads over the fountain and lap up His life with unquenchable thirst.” It was when Elijah was at his wits end, that God had him ‘stand upon the mountain before the Lord.’( At His front door!) Prayer is holding our head over that fountain of living water.

When we want His presence, we knock on a door He opens. He makes Himself conspicuous in the hard work of fighting for a time and place where earth drops away, and nothing remains but us, together. In these moments words fail, and love prevails, deepening His hold upon us, and unlocking inaccessible places.

‘In His presence is fullness of joy, at his right hand are pleasures forever more.’

A Spiritual Chess Match at 37,00 Feet

His name was Igor, a Russian software developer from Atlanta, bound for St. Petersburg, Russia. The DC-10 was seating perhaps 100 passengers with vast stretches of empty seats, yet there we were squeezed side by side next to the window. At first I wanted to move across the isle, to stretch my cramped legs and enjoy some reading. I’m glad I didn’t. We started talking about the Hermitage museum, and particularly the enormous six by eight painting of the prodigal son on display there. It was easy to transition from that into faith. Igor told me he was Jewish, but that his faith had not been a central part of his life. Twenty-three years ago on his honeymoon, during a four-day train ride he had shared a car with an Orthodox priest, and had been intrigued and challenged by their long conversations. “This feels like that time,” he said, “only I see it much clearer now, the way you put things.”

It was as though time stood still, God melding our hearts together in a seamless stream of theological and cultural facts and anecdotes. At one point he asked me with a serious scowl, “why do Jewish people convert to Christianity?” I remember praying, O God how much better could you lead this discussion? The next hour was filled with animated gestures, sullied brow, anger and smiles of revelation. It felt like a chess match, and my Russian counterpart seemed to be always two or three steps ahead in trying to piece together this amazing story about Jesus. I had the chance to tell it in detail, from the cradle to the cross, and watched as God opened his mind and heart to the possibility that it all could be true. God forged a friendship in those hours, and as traffic at JFK backed up, and the flight was delayed on entry, I silently thanked God for the extra time to answer the myriad of questions he still clung to. Pulling up to the gate, we exchanged information, and plan to have dinner this spring when he comes to New York.

Sitting at the Feet of Jesus

Over the past month an image of sitting at Jesus feet has taken hold in my imagination. The madman in Luke found himself there, “dressed and in his right mind.” Mary sat there, content with only Him. Another woman, “who the Scriptures say, “lived a sinful life,” poured perfume on Him there, and wept in great broken sobs of love. Jairus fell down there, and “pleaded earnestly with Him, “My daughter is dying.”

That one got me. Our oldest daughter Audrey, has been ill now for some time. I have felt gnaws of uncertainty as doctors scratch their heads, and prescribe what may cure. Like Jairus, I have fallen in a heap at Jesus feet and cried for her deliverance, both physically, and spiritually. Sometimes the most powerful prayers course down our cheeks.

Do you find yourself today at Jesus feet? Though many of the instances in Scripture include desperation, we don’t have to wait until the bottom falls out before we go there. His invitation comes to us incessantly, fervently—“come!” As easy as it may seem, how difficult it turns out to be, and how subtle the lies that keep us aloof. Oswald Chambers said it best: The meaning of prayer is that we get hold of God, not the answer.” I like that.

Before you close this, take a moment and imagine yourself at His feet. What do you want to tell Him? What questions are still unanswered? Is there something you dread, that consumes your waking nights? Have you given up on anyone? Have you suspended your faith, traded it for something more manageable or secure?

Nothing is off limits at the feet of perfect Love.

Vision

“For lack of vision, the people run wild….”
Ginnette and I joined staff in the summer of 82.’ We were at CSU along with about 40 other fresh legs, and to say we were ‘Gung Ho’ is putting it mildly! Even so, listening to our leadership reiterate the mission refreshed us, and built a solid frame around our own vision.
Since then, I’ve occasionally needed to step back and kick the tires, so to speak. Do I still believe the mission is possible? Am I still as passionate about reaching every student as when I began? Will I still sacrifice as God leads, putting others first and my own needs behind?
Honestly, I can go a long time without knowing my ‘tires’ need attention. But certain symptoms alert me that my vision has blurred, and my faith has atrophied. I’ve forgotten those first heart stopping, mouth gaping God sightings that kept me lean and hungry in the Great Commission.
Here are a few nails I’ve had to pull from the tire over the years.
I think the organization exists for me. The subtle shift from remembering why I’m here and taking personal responsibility, to thinking corporate owes me. It’s a mental, backward step from adult to child, and it keeps me thinking small. The worst part; it can affect younger leaders. Remember, status quo is a transferable concept.
I think security is found in a place, or through ministry partners. The subtle shift from knowing my hope and trust lie in God, to thinking I’m in God’s will because things run smoothly, or my needs are being met. Fear of change is the single greatest detriment to fresh visionary leadership. When that suffers, the movement shifts into neutral.
I think proven methods equal God’s heart for the mission. The subtle shift from knowing that; ‘unless the Father draws them,’ to thinking because I saw fruit before, I will do this again, and again, and again. I need to ask myself; is my strategy based on history, or the leading of the Holy Spirit?
I think ministry gives life to my spirit. The subtle shift from knowing that love fuels my devotional life, to thinking that my call and duty in ministry will reward my spirit with energy and purpose. If I cater to this usurper, I will eventually find myself in a time capsule, unable or unwilling to move forward through fresh revelation.
At the start of the new decade, ask yourself: Do I remember the mission? Do I believe the mission is possible? Do I remember why I joined the mission, and what I meant to do?

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.