The phrase comes from Tennyson in Idylls of the King, but it is reminiscent of phrases given to Joshua as he prepared to lead the Israelites across the Jordan and into the promised land.
Joshua 1:2-3 (NKJV) 2 “Moses My servant is dead. Now therefore, arise, go over this Jordan, you and all this people, to the land which I am giving to them—the children of Israel. 3 Every place that the sole of your foot will tread upon I have given you, as I said to Moses.
God tells him several times to “Be strong and courageous..” (Joshua 1:6), “Be strong and very courageous.” (Joshua 1:7), “…be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9)
When I think of being strong and courageous, I don’t usually think of ducklings! I think of hero bodybuilders or armored knights of old…people who are prepared to crush and conquer and face an army. Yet God repeats the phrase to Joshua, including at last the command to “not be terrified; do not be discouraged..”, which indicates that Joshua was close to terror and despair, rather than filled with hope and adrenaline.
And little wonder. Joshua had to be experiencing a slight sense of Déjà vu. About forty years earlier, he had been part of the group of spies sent to scout out the promised land…spies who had come back terrified and discouraged. The entire nation was ready to rebel against Moses and even God. Now, forty years later, Joshua was to try again– this time as Moses’ replacement, a new leader for a new generation already prone to complain and rebel.
Some days I feel a little like Joshua– facing walled cities, giants, and feeling totally inadequate to the task. Some days it even feels like a struggle to “arise”, let alone going forth to conquer.
And then God reminds me…”Every place that the sole of your foot will tread upon I have given you, as I said to Moses.” It’s not that God is literally leading me into the promised land as I go to the grocery store or face a difficult customer at work or walk around the neighborhood. But, figuratively, He is helping me win battles against temptation, discouragement, anger, and bitterness. He IS with me wherever I go, and He wants me to trust HIS strength and wisdom to triumph. I become “more than a conquerer” (Romans 8:37) when I stop trying to fight in my own strenth and rely on His. My strength may be minimal, my motivation questionable, and my wisdom lacking, but I can waddle confidently into battle, knowing that the victory is certain!
This is also true for my pursuit of prayer– My prayers are often flighty, inadequate, sporadic, and even grudging. I keep a prayer journal, and that can help with motivation, discipline, and even praise, but it doesn’t guarantee that I will draw perfectly near to God or follow Him with total faithfulness. The more I rely on MY efforts, the more I am fighting to replace God’s strength and wisdom with my own. God doesn’t want me on the sidelines, or sleeping in– He wants me in the game. But the outcome doesn’t depend on my ability or my performance (or my lack of feathers!)
A few months ago, I went to the theater to see the movie “Paul, the Apostle of Christ.” It was an excellent movie, not the least because I found so much of it relevant to what is happening in the world today. The movie was centered around Paul’s time in prison in Rome; the upheaval and persecution facing the early church, and the looming certainty that Paul would be martyred and his words and leadership sorely missed. The church in Rome was facing division– some were militantly opposed to the corruption in Rome under Nero, and wanted to form a rebellion. Others wanted to flee Rome in hope of supporting outlying churches, starting new churches, or just finding a safer haven. Still others were losing hope and wanted to give up or hide.
The movie also covered (in a series of flashbacks) scenes of Paul’s earlier life. I don’t want to spoil the movie for anyone who hasn’t seen it, but this part of Paul’s life is covered in the Bible, so I will stick to the facts presented there, rather than the drama from the screen…
Saul of Tarsus was both a Jew and a Roman citizen by birth. He had studied God’s word intensely his whole life, and became a Pharisee. He had studied under some of the greatest scholars of his age–in today’s world, he would have been one of the greatest legal minds of our time– a superstar in the arena of law, philosophy, and logic. Of all the people in Jerusalem and throughout the Jewish world, Paul KNEW right from wrong. He KNEW the words of God, the laws of God, the traditions of God’s people. The result of all that knowledge was an obsession with wiping out those people (Jews, especially, but also Gentiles) who followed Jesus of Nazareth and “The Way.” Saul was a man filled with righteous anger, and a zeal to have everyone conform to what was “right.” He was a man of power and influence– a man to be feared and respected. In his letters, we can still see some of that intensity and the way he has of arguing both sides to their logical ends. But something happened to Saul..something that changed his entire future, including his name.
Paul, the Apostle of Christ, was still a Jew and a Roman citizen. He was the same man who had studied vigorously and knew the laws of Moses and God’s words through the centuries written by prophets and historians and psalmists. But the Paul we see in scripture, while still bearing the intensity of his youth, is a man of gratitude and peace. Here is a man who works steadily with his hands for honest but meager wages compared to what he might have made as a Pharisee. He is a man who boldly faces down even Peter and James in Jerusalem, but who nevertheless takes orders from a council made up of former fishermen and tradesmen. Paul undergoes flogging, arrests, prison, cold, hardship, physical pain, poverty, and disgrace with the kind of stoic acceptance, and even joy, that makes him a great hero of the early church. Never once does he return to the anger that drove him to persecute others who did not agree with him. Instead, he is willing to be the victim of persecution at the hands of those he used to serve.
I was scrolling through Facebook the other night, and I chanced upon posts from two women I know. Both are about the same age, both mothers of five children, and both are practicing Christians. The first woman was posting about two recent difficulties faced by her family, and how God had been faithful and gracious in spite of a huge loss and a tense situation that could have turned into another tragedy. She spoke of God’s answers to prayer, and how their family was reminded of God’s goodness as people came alongside at just the right moment, and the loss was not as great as it might have been. I was inspired and encouraged by the way she saw God’s love, and gave credit to all who had helped them.
The second woman spoke in vicious tones about how she would not associate with certain Christians who hold political and social views she sees as hateful. She cursed fellow followers of Christ for being “anti-Jesus,” and condemned several of her early teachers and pastors. I read her remarks with great sadness, because I remember her as a younger woman, eagerly memorizing scripture and being a loving and encouraging example to others. I also read her remarks with pain, because I think she includes me in the “hateful” group based solely on the type of church I attend.
It is not my place to say that one woman is a “better” Christian than the other– on another day, their FB posts might cause me to think very differently. And God sees more than just what we post on FB or say in passing conversation–He knows our every thought and motive. So I want to be careful–these women, though similar in some superficial ways, lead very different lives and have very different experiences of following God. But I saw in their posts two ways of “seeing” Christ.
When Saul of Tarsus, in his anger and zeal, traveled toward Damascus intending to kill people he may have never met, he was already a crusader for Jehovah– ready to mete out justice against anyone who didn’t meet his standards. He KNEW all about God. He knew what it took to be righteous.
But when he actually encountered Christ– he was knocked off his horse, blinded and overwhelmed by a vision. And when Christ spoke to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” (Acts 9:4), Saul didn’t recognize the voice of the very God he so proudly served. Saul remained blinded for three days, but his vision was never the same again.
As Paul, he became a man of prayer– his letters are filled with prayers for the well-being and spiritual growth of those he misses and longs to see. They overflow with doxologies and prayers of worship for the Savior he loves and serves with gladness. He can’t stop talking about God’s goodness– to him, to Israel throughout the centuries, and to the Gentiles who now have access to the throne of Grace. He still has harsh things to say to some of the followers who “don’t get it.” To those who want to compromise with sin or go back to legalism. But he pleads with them; he doesn’t throw stones.
It can be very frustrating in today’s world and in our society to see Christians who have very different ideas about worship styles, ways of interacting with others, even ways of living out the words of Christ. Sometimes, it seems that fellow Christians are blind to the needs of the poor, or the sins of their friends, or the hypocrisy in their lifestyle. I think scripture gives us a clear directive:
Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? Hypocrite! First get rid of the log in your own eye; then you will see well enough to deal with the speck in your friend’s eye.
Matthew 7:3-5 (English Standard Version)
We should not rush to condemnation, name-calling, and finger-pointing. Instead, we should do a “vision” test and see if we are looking and acting in love or in self-righteous hypocrisy.
God doesn’t want us to be blinded by the light of our own knowledge and self-righteousness. Instead, He wants us to walk in the light of His Word–His Word made flesh! May we live in the light of Paul’s example of prayer, loving correction, and running the good race.
Mother’s Day is coming, and I wanted to say a few words about the mothers in my life and their legacy of prayer. My Mom is a prayer warrior. I blog about prayer, and I pursue a better prayer life, but my Mom is a seasoned soldier, and the daughter of another mighty woman of prayer. Most of what I know about prayer, I learned through the examples of my Mom and Gram, but I have also been blessed by the godly examples of my mother-in-law, sister and sisters-in-law, aunts, cousins, and many more.
From my Mother, I learned to pray from the depths of my heart. I have seen and heard her pray through pain, grief, and despair– not just her own, but more often that of someone else. I have caught her holding back sobs over relatives and neighbors who don’t know or aren’t following Christ. I’ve seen her pause in silent prayer over the plight of a person who is facing a lost job, or chemotherapy, or a migraine. She very seldom offers to pray aloud,”in the moment”, but she prays fervently, nonetheless.
From my Grandmother, I learned to be patient and consistent in prayer. Gram was quiet and unassuming, but she had an unshakable faith. She prayed for years over situations that looked hopeless; often for people who or situations which never changed. I asked her once how she kept from getting angry and frustrated. She looked me straight in the eye and said, “We can’t change somebody else, and we can’t make them do what’s right. That’s not our job. Our job is to love each other, pray for each another, and let God deal with the rest.” She died never seeing answers to some of what she prayed for, but that didn’t stop others from taking up the banner, and it never stopped her from earnestly and joyfully “taking it to the Lord in Prayer.” She never gave up, never lost hope, and never stopped showing compassion.
There have been many other prayer warriors in my life– women (and men) of great faith who sought the Lord, and whose lives and words have had an unimaginable impact. My family, members of my church family, classmates and friends from school or college, neighbors through the years…some of them have held my hand and prayed with me face-to-face; others have prayed on their knees in private; some have prayed for special needs and circumstances; others have prayed at the Holy Spirit’s prompting, never knowing why, but bowing in obedience.
Praying mothers are a treasure. If you have one, or had one, don’t underestimate the value of her example. And don’t just say, “Thank you”…Pay it forward. Pray for family, neighbors and friends. Pray early, pray often, pray without ceasing. We all need more praying mothers, fathers, cousins, neighbors, co-workers, etc. If you did not have a praying mother, you have a golden opportunity to become that good example to someone else. You also have the opportunity to adopt a prayer partner– a surrogate praying mother–to pray with you and for you.
The world is full of surprises– some good, some bad. Open your mailbox on any given day, or walk down the street…you are bound to see something unexpected. You may get a bill you forgot about, or run into an old friend. There are surprises in the weather patterns, in traffic patterns, in relationships, in jobs, all around our houses and neighborhoods, in world events. Some are shocking, some delightful, and any of them can change our days or even our lives.
We like pleasant surprises; we fear the unpleasant ones. But most of us don’t pray for them. We pray for miracles–healing and rescue and transformation–pleasant outcomes that we hope for or imagine. We pray for ease and comfort, or wisdom and strength to face the bad times. But we don’t ask God to surprise us.
Why don’t I ask God to awe me? Dazzle me? Surprise me? Sometimes I fear that he might surprise me with what my past actions deserve. More often, I simply want to stay in the comfort and simplicity of what I already know. I don’t want to be delighted; I just want to be entertained.
One thing I know, but I need to be reminded: God does not give bad surprises. He does not send ANYTHING into my life that can’t be used for my good and his glory. The world will send tragedy and I will have to face the consequences of Sin– mine and others’. I may be unfairly treated at work; I may be struck by a drunk driver and paralyzed. I may face difficult losses, and inexplicable circumstances. And the mistake is to see these as “surprises” from God. God never promised a pain-free, problem-free life in this world, but he surprises us with the kind of gifts that overcome and even confound our tragic circumstances– the power to forgive, to be joyful, to have peace, and share love.
John 16:33English Standard Version (ESV)
33 I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”
Matthew 7:9-11New International Version (NIV)
9 “Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone?10 Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake?11 If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!
The road ahead is full of surprises–that’s a great reason to pray. God loves to surprise us with good things– that’s another great reason to pray for them!
The most common symbol of the Christian religion is the cross. And, while many statues and necklaces and artistic renderings include a dying Christ figure , the kind you most often see is the empty cross. On this day between the crucifixion and the resurrection, I want to consider the significance of the empty cross.
First, the empty cross reminds us that Christ lived. In spite of those who continue to challenge the historical evidence, there was a man named Jesus of Nazareth. He lived in a particular time and place, and he was tried and sentenced to death by crucifixion. His existence caused the modern Western Calendar to be split into two distinctive parts based on the estimated year of his birth, and his life, death, and resurrection gave rise to a movement that has never been stamped out, equaled, or eclipsed.
Second, it reminds us that Christ died. He was fully human in his capacity to feel pain, rejection, betrayal, hunger, thirst, and grief. Yet he also experienced joy, companionship, hope, love, compassion, laughter, and growth. He didn’t just grow old or fade into obscurity. He didn’t leave his life’s work unfinished, he didn’t compromise or change his message; he didn’t give up or start over with a different “crew.” Though he never staged a coup, or built up an arsenal, or rose to a seat of power or influence, this homeless, itinerant, soft-spoken rabbi was seen as enough of a threat to the leaders of his time that he was framed, tried and convicted, and sentenced to death.
The empty cross also reminds us how he died. Modern crosses often look imposing and even triumphant, as they tower over a mega church parking lot, or hang on a chain of elegant silver, or stand in rows of chiseled rock in a military cemetery. “O death, where is your sting? O grave, where is your victory?” (I Cor. 15:55) But the torture before and during the crucifixion were brutal– bones were not broken, but they were pulled out of joint and then forced to bear the full weight of a bloody, swollen and bruised body of ripped muscles and exposed flesh. Heat caused the salty sweat mixed with blood to drip into his eyes, his open wounds, and around his nose and mouth, but he was unable to wipe any of it away. Flies gathered; he couldn’t keep them from buzzing or biting. Each breath was a torturous push and pull of the arms and body upon the nails holding him at an unnatural angle against a wooden bar that rubbed against his already raw back. And all of this was public; entertainment for the masses of hecklers, and those who were rejoicing in his humiliation and failure. There was nothing pretty or majestic about the cross on that day.
The empty cross reminds us that Jesus was buried and put under Roman guard. His emaciated, bloody, barely recognizable remains were wrapped up and prepared with spices. Guards, whose lives depended on this body remaining in the tomb and undisturbed, were posted, and a huge boulder rolled into place to block entry to and exit from the tomb. Jesus didn’t spontaneously climb down off the cross, or waltz out of an air-conditioned cave.
Finally, the empty cross reminds us that Jesus was the Christ–death could not stop him; the grave could not hold him. His victory was complete. He didn’t claw his way out of that tomb; he didn’t sneak out in the dead of night; he didn’t hobble into hiding for several weeks because he was only “mostly dead” of his torturous injuries. He arose, victorious, recognizable to those who knew him best; healed and full of power.
There are hundreds of reasons why we “cherish the Old Rugged Cross.” And, though the cross stands empty, our reasons are not. Hallelujah! Tomorrow, hundreds of millions of Christians will be celebrating the empty tomb. But for today, I want to celebrate the empty cross.
Good Friday is a stumbling block for many people who would be Christians. Some get angered at the mere mention of “Good” Friday. They see nothing good in it, and no reason to celebrate. They mock Christian celebrations and practices throughout Holy Week. They ask, “What could be good about being arrested, beaten, tried in an unfair court, mocked, and condemned to death?” “What could be good about celebrating someone’s final meal, and following the gruesome details of his humiliating crucifixion?” “Why remember someone being tortured by his enemies and abandoned and even betrayed by his friends?” I know someone who uses the crucifixion of Jesus as “proof” that God is neither omnipotent, nor holy.
Yet the Bible chooses to focus time, detailed description, and several varying viewpoints to make this the pivotal event (along with the resurrection) of history. The Crucifixion does not come as a sudden and inexplicable episode in Jesus’ ministry. He predicts it; not just once, and not just in one account–he doesn’t hint vaguely at some “future trouble,” or potential danger–he gives a detailed description of what will happen to him:
Mark 10:33-34New American Standard Bible (NASB)
33 saying, “Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be [a]delivered to the chief priests and the scribes; and they will condemn Him to death and will [b]hand Him over to the Gentiles.34 They will mock Him and spit on Him, and scourge Him and kill Him, and three days later He will rise again.”
Luke 24:6-7New American Standard Bible (NASB)
6 He is not here, but He has [a]risen. Remember how He spoke to you while He was still in Galilee,7 saying that the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men, and be crucified, and the third day rise again.”
Why do we need Good Friday? Why, my acquaintance posits, does a loving God make salvation contingent upon the death of himself in human form? Is it that God is incapable, or unwilling to offer “unconditional” grace? After all, does he not offer “unconditional” love? Why must salvation be achieved only by the unjust death of a perfect being? Why must reconciliation and new life be forged in suffering and death?
These are not unreasonable questions, but I think they miss the broader picture. Before the cross, before the scourging and the betrayal, let’s look at the life of Christ. Jesus, the second person of the Trinity, the author of creation, could have stepped out of Heaven at any moment, and arrived in all his glory, surrounded by angels, to walk in pomp and dignity through the world he created. He could have swept the entire Roman Empire off the face of the planet, healed every disease with a whisper, and lived in the Temple in Jerusalem as the Ruler he is. Instead, he came as a helpless child, born to a teenage mom and her fiance during a grueling tax season. He grew up in relative obscurity, never attended college, and is lost to history until he begins his second career as an itinerant rabbi at age 30. He never held political office, never owned a home of his own, never wrote a book, or produced a piece of art work, never led an army into battle, never married or had children, never became wealthy, never did anything to make himself famous by worldly standards. He was not crucified because he posed an actual threat to the Roman occupation of Jerusalem, but because he was accused of blasphemy by not denying claims that he was the promised Messiah of Israel. His only “claim to fame” was that he was a dynamic teacher and had performed miraculous healings. By almost every worldly standard, his life was a failure and a lesson in wasted potential.
His death is in keeping with his humble life. It strikes us as a failure– humiliating, unjust, anti-climactic. A life of servitude, poverty, being misunderstood, and making all the “wrong” friends and enemies. Why would God live such a ridiculous and unfulfilling life? Except he didn’t– it wasn’t a failure; his life and death stand as examples of how to live at peace, and how to change the world! Hundreds of people flocked to hear him teach; hundreds more to see him heal the sick and raise the dead. But he never charged a single coin, never demanded accolades or even thanks.
This is the paradox of the Gospels. God’s ways are not our ways. His humiliating death on the cross was necessary for the ultimate triumph of the resurrection, but it was more than that– it was a vindication of justice over injustice and service over selfishness. Good doesn’t always triumph over evil in a power play. God has the power to obliterate every one of his enemies, but more often than not, he causes them to fall by their own arrogance and blind ambition. The Chief Priests, the Roman Soldiers, the agony and torture of death– they were no match for God’s love.
Good Friday showed us that God can ALWAYS make even our most difficult circumstances, even the worst situations, into something VICTORIOUS. Jesus still had to suffer and die, because we will still have to face betrayal, hatred, injustice, unanswered questions, and even taste death. An Easter without Good Friday is a happy ending without the story. Only an omnipotent God could have given us the triumph; only a loving God would have walked the Via Dolorosa to fight in the trenches with us.
I’m late in posting an entry today– it’s been a day of swinging in the pendulum. Not in a personal sense, but in praying for friends and family.
We all have “pendulum” days (or weeks, or even hours)– times where we are carried, pushed, swung, or banged about by life’s circumstances. Moments where time stands still– sometimes in astonishing joy, and sometimes in soul–stomping grief. Then comes the rush of being pulled by forces beyond our control– up, and down, across, and through the arc. I’ve been hearing from friends all day, sharing those moments, and asking for prayer. In the space of an hour, I’ve prayed for those who have just lost loved ones– a mother, a sister, a son– and those who are celebrating– an engagement, a birthday, a new home. I’ve prayed for those whose lives are in the balance– in ICUs and in the womb. Cancer, anniversaries, new puppies, pneumonia, a new job, a vacation, a car accident…
When we pray for others, we share those joys and heartaches– together, we swing through the arc of tragedy and triumph, even if we don’t all feel the full impact. We become like the balls on the pendulum swing; absorbing and sharing laughter and tears not fully our own. But by doing so, we provide both energy and equilibrium. Shared joys are multiplied; shared pain becomes bearable. Prayer breaks through the isolation or the intensity of the moment, and keeps us grounded, or keeps us from shattering. It reminds us that even in these defining and refining moments, life is not static. And the momentum pulses through us in our connectedness.
Yet prayer goes one step further– it brings triumph and tragedy to the God who is above, beyond, around, and amidst the circumstances, the chaos, and the emotional highs and lows. Our voices, raised together in laughter or grief, exasperation or anticipation, ascend to the one who came and lived and laughed and cried among us– to Jesus, whose arms are fully extended to embrace us wherever we are on the pendulum.
A couple of days ago, I wrote about “Little Prayers.” I believe God hears our prayers about the so-called “little things.” But I think there is a type of prayer that is not “little”, but “paltry.” What’s the difference? “Paltry” doesn’t just imply little or trivial, it connotes something meager and petty. And I think we waste a lot of time on it.
Paltry prayer is generic and insubstantial. It’s like the horrible small talk at a social event one doesn’t want to attend, but feels obligated to show up at, because it’s expected. When we throw up a prayer, but we really don’t want to get “real” before God, we’re offering crumbs instead of a sacrifice; face-time, instead of intimate conversation.
There are times when we cry out in desperation; we have no words or fleshed-out thoughts, only groans. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the times when we want to reassure ourselves that we’re one of the good guys– that our plans and wishes have God’s stamp of approval–without actually risking God’s authoritative answer. “God, help me to do your will today,” sounds like a great prayer, but do we really mean what we’re saying? Or are we really asking God to approve of our own will and plans as we go through the day?
I’m especially concerned that we are offering paltry prayers in regards to evangelism and revival. We want it to come– we want God to send a fresh wave of revival to our communities, our country, and our world– but let it begin and end without making us too uncomfortable, too aware of our own need for confession, forgiveness, or change. We want our neighbor to be saved– without the pain of witnessing and being laughed at or ostracized. We want to be emboldened to witness, but we don’t want to be humbled into listening. We want to be blessed; we don’t want to be tested.
I get very discouraged sometimes, when I realize that my own prayers have been paltry. But there is good news– the same loving Father that wants deeper conversation with me is endlessly forgiving, encouraging, and loving. And I am not alone in offering meager conversation or selfish complaints before His throne.
Jonah (yes the “Big Fish” guy of the Bible) was a prophet– a very successful one, except for the episode with Nineveh. Not only did Jonah run as far from Nineveh as a ship could take him; he basically committed suicide to avoid doing God’s bidding. When his shipmates are in a panic, Jonah demands that they throw him in the sea. This is not as a result of consulting with God, nor does the Bible suggest that it is at God’s command. The sailors continue to panic at the thought of throwing Jonah overboard, and are astonished when the storm stops as Jonah sinks toward the ocean floor. If not for the fish, Jonah would have drowned. God sent the fish to save Jonah, but there is nothing to suggest that Jonah had any idea of being rescued. However, from the belly of the fish, Jonah lifts up a poetic prayer, in which he sings the praises of the God who spared his life. He marvels at his rescue and restoration, and vows to go back to Nineveh and fulfill his destiny. His prayer strikes all the “holy” notes one would wish to see, but I would contend that this is, at its heart, a paltry prayer– sincere in the moment, but not the prayer of a man fully transformed by his near-death experience.
Fast forward to the fourth chapter of the book of Jonah. Nineveh has heard Jonah’s message about God’s wrath and impending judgment; the people have had a miraculous change of heart, and God has agreed to spare them from destruction (for a time– the Ninevites went back to their old habits and were eventually destroyed). Imagine if the late Billy Graham had held a rally in Moscow or Tehran or Los Angeles and the ENTIRE CITY had repented?! This is success beyond imagination. But we don’t find Jonah grateful and poetic as he was at the end of chapter two– instead, he is hateful and bitter, and praying for death! God causes a small vine to grow and provide some shade for Jonah as he sits and sulks, but then he sends a worm to chew up the vine so it withers. Jonah is more heartbroken at the loss of the vine then he was over the possibility of the destruction of an entire city. Jonah’s story doesn’t end in triumph, but in triviality.
Prayer is a great opportunity to pour out our hearts before God– but it also reveals the content and character of our hearts. If our prayers are paltry and our hearts shallow, God will often humble us. But he will also rescue us from our own sinfulness and sulking, and give us all that we need to finish victoriously. The book of Jonah is a great cautionary tale– let’s learn from it, today.
What can we do to make our prayers less “paltry” and more proactive? Check out the suggestions on the attached pages of this blog, or look online for prayer groups and prayer sites that offer constructive ideas.
Yesterday, students across the nation walked out of class to protest the school shooting that took place a month ago in Florida. Many have hailed this as the beginning of a new movement; others have decried it as a stunt. I’m not here to debate the merits of this particular action or even what it may or may not represent. What I do want to look at is how and why groups are using various methods to “make waves” in our world.
What does it mean to “make waves?” According to the online urbandictionary.com, it means: to cause a disturbance, or to create a situation where chaos or controversy will surface
The underlying assumption is that there is a deceptively calm surface that requires a disturbance– that chaos or controversy are already present, and bringing them to the surface is necessary to prevent more tragic results.
If you live near a large lake or the ocean, you may have watched waves in action. Waves can be powerful, and even tragic, in their own right. Storm surge waves and tidal waves have been known to decimate coastal areas; even normal wave action can erode shorelines and pull unwary swimmers under the surface. But waves also serve good purposes– they polish the stones and wash up treasures onto the beaches. They prevent stagnation. They help move small creatures that dwell in the sand and shallow waters.
One thing about waves that sometimes passes unnoticed– waves may change in size or power, but they are constant– rolling in and out unvaried in their rhythm from day to day and year to year. In this sense, no one “makes” waves, except the creator, who started that rhythm and set the boundaries for the lakes and seas. Instead, we attempt to create bigger, more powerful waves, or make waves where none were before– puddles, or swimming pools, perhaps. At some point in our lives, we WILL make waves– but what kind, and to what purpose?
My point is not that we shouldn’t try to be agents of needed change in our world– but we should examine the positive and negative consequences of our wave-making. Are we pushing something to the surface that needs to be seen or discovered? Are we pulling something under the surface to drown it out? Are we eroding a foundation, or carving out a new coastline? Also, are we being consistent in our wave-making? Are we hoping for a single tidal wave of chaos, or a constant churning action that brings lasting change.
Of course, since this blog is about prayer, I would suggest that prayers are also like waves– each one breaking in its turn, but constantly rolling, churning, and moving forward, bringing things, both large and small, to the shore. Prayers have a constant rhythm and a subtle roar that masks their full impact. Prayers, like rolling waters, intermingle, push each other forward, dance, and rise, and fall with the winds and storms of life, and roll back to rise up again.
Not all prayers are like waves– not all waves are like prayer. but shouldn’t we want to make waves in tune with God’s purposes? Waves answer to God– he can both calm them, and stir them into wild fury; walk on them, or hold them back.
I pray that our prayers and our actions would be consistent with God’s rhythm; that we would embrace changes and actions that bring him honor.
A few years ago, I was introduced to a man from South Sudan, who had come to the U.S. for a missions conference. Earlier in the evening, he had shared a report on conditions in his region– all the horrible details you dread hearing–displaced families, homeless refugees, orphaned children, shortages of food, clothing, shelter, blankets, and medicine, constant fear of being attacked by one side or another in the ongoing conflict. Throughout his report, he emphasized the sovereignty of God, and his hope that he and his team could continue to help those most in need. As I got a chance to speak directly to “Robert” *, I told him that I would pray for peace to come to his region. I was shocked when he stopped me. “Please don’t pray for peace,” he told me. “Pray instead that God would give us the resources and the strength to be faithful and to keep helping.”
Then he explained. It wasn’t that he didn’t want peace to come, but he wanted me to pray for whatever God willed for his region. The Kingdom of God, not earthly peace, was his highest priority and his greatest urgency. Because of the circumstances of war, people were desperate. Their world had been turned upside-down, and they were in great need. But war had also opened up opportunities– not only opportunities to help those in need, but opportunities to show the Love of Christ as it had never been known to the people there. The people who were coming to refugee camps were meeting, sometimes for the very first time, people from other villages, other cultures, and other faiths– people they had considered enemies. Suddenly, they were seeing these enemies as fellow sufferers, fellow human beings with the same injuries and losses, needs and longings as themselves. They were also “seeing through” some of the lies they had believed about “the others” in their midst. Their circumstances were desperate, but their biggest need was for hope and help. Help was coming from around the world– United Nations’ agencies, The Red Cross, Doctors Without Borders, and several Christian relief and medical organizations. These groups had been kept out during peacetime and even in the early stages of fighting. Not only were they able to help with immediate relief; they were able to provide medical care for victims of AIDS, and childhood diseases, care that had long been denied. Along with practical help, though, these groups were providing hope– hope to rebuild, hope in the midst of despair and chaos, hope of eternal life and a relationship with God.
“Robert” was not saying that he didn’t long for peace, or that peace would be a bad thing for the people of South Sudan. Of course not. But the greatest need was not for an immediate end to fighting– it was for the kind of peace that only God can bring. As far as I know “Robert” is still working with refugees and displaced families in South Sudan. The work is difficult and often heartbreaking. Resources are stretched, and chaos still haunts the land. But progress is coming– slowly, but surely. Lives are being changed, reclaimed, and renewed. And I pray that he and his team are being strengthened and encouraged even as their circumstances continue to be desperate.
I share this story because I am still learning that Prayer isn’t about what I want or think is best; it isn’t about getting my way, or asking for the easy “fix” or the happy ending. It’s about seeking God’s will, His way, His answer, His timing, and His grace. Suffering, whether we are experiencing it or hearing about it, reminds us that we live in a fallen and dying world. We long for peace. We long for healing. We long for rest and comfort and happiness. But in this world, there will be trouble and injustice, death and disease, pain, suffering, betrayal, and unanswered questions. We don’t understand God’s timing, his plan in allowing innocent people to suffer the cruelties of war or poverty. And if we are living in peace and comfort, it makes us feel guilty and even fearful– why them and not us? When might we face unexpected hardship? So we ask God to remove all the discomforts, the struggles, the pain. It is not wrong to want healing and peace and all the other good things– we should seek justice and mercy and peace and joy. But we also need to recognize that God may choose to bless us in unexpected ways through our hardships and agonies. And he may be calling some of us to take action– to be His hands and feet– to reach out with the resources he has given us to help others. He doesn’t love those others less; he doesn’t love us more– he loves to see us love each other in His name!
God’s ways are not my ways; his timing isn’t the same as mine– it is better. It is perfect. In the end, there will be peace in South Sudan. There will be Peace on Earth. There will be healing and justice, and peace and joy. There will be answers for all the questions, and happy endings. But in the meantime, may God give all of us the strength and resources to help those in need, the faith and discipline to keep going in the midst of chaos, and the wisdom to make peace and spread love wherever and whenever we can.
*Because “Robert” is a Christian worker in an area of intense persecution, his true identity is being protected. Please pray for all those who are risking their lives and livelihoods to live, work, and worship as Christians throughout the world. And be thankful if you live in an area where you risk little or nothing to proclaim the name of Jesus Christ.
Pursuing Prayer 