Another Divine Encounter

You just never know where or when God will show up and use you for something good.

Tuesday my friend and mentor John Bradshaw and I were at Starbucks. As we talked “church stuff,” we sat at a corner table away from everyone so that we could have some privacy. Please understand, occasionally pastors need to vent, complain, cry, critique, and otherwise gripe to one another. This was one of those times. We kept our voices down and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible.

All through the conversation, however, I noticed a woman glancing our way. At first, I thought she was a CPC member whose face I didn’t recognize and name I couldn’t remember (I’m terrible at names!). But she never smiled or waved or acknowledged me when we would occasionally make eye contact. So, I decided she was either a complete stranger trying to listen in on a private conversation or she was a former CPC member who didn’t like me much. In either case, I really didn’t want to talk with her.

When John and I ended our conversation we bowed in prayer. It was one of those long prayers. . . in a restaurant. . . the kind other people notice. When we finally said “Amen,” raised our heads, and opened our eyes, that woman who had been watching us was standing at our table!

I don’t know how long she had been there. I don’t know what she heard in our prayer. But the evesdropper had now invaded our space!

As we looked up at her perplexed, she said, “I’m sorry, but as you two talked I couldn’t help but hear words like ‘church’ and ‘pastor’. I really feel awkward, and I debated the whole time you were talking about whether or not I should do this, but when I saw you two praying I decided I needed to come over. . . . Would you pray for me?”

She sat down and told us about her granddaughter who was born prematurely. This grandmother had just received a phone call saying the doctors were about to remove the respirator and they didn’t know if the infant would breath on her own or not.

John and I each prayed with her. We offered to visit the family, but she declined. . . . It was obvious she wanted prayer but she didn’t want anything else we had to offer (perhaps that’s just my cynical side coming out).

In the end, she left feeling better. A seed was planted. She wasn’t ready for “church” but she was ready to reach out to God. . . . and God was already reaching out to her.

Man! Stuff like that never gets old!

A New Friend

I have a new friend I’d like you to pray for. She is a mall rat.

She is 17 years old, has a lip ring, and is somewhat simple minded. She has a sweet, gentle spirit. She begs me for free smoothies everytime I see her. She has been in her 20-something sister’s care since her sister was old enough to leave foster care. They were placed in foster care after being abused by their real parents. Her mother once kicked her hard enough while wearing boots to break a bone in her back. She hangs out at the mall for hours at a time while she waits on her sister to get off work.

She has touched my heart.

Please pray that she’ll come to know Christ. Pray that God will open a door for me to share Jesus with her.

Also, let me know if you are aware of a place that might hire her for an entry level job. It needs to be a backroom type of job but I think she would be an honest, hard worker.

Latin Prayers

A few days ago I wrote about a wonderful worship experience I had last Sunday. It was simple and comforting, and I was blessed to be there.

This morning I had a different sort of worship experience; and I was blessed in an entirely different way. Variety is good.

The service opened with Latin Prayers; a call to worship spoken in Latin. I only understood a word or two but there was something majestic and reverent about the experience. I felt as though I was entering the presence of God. Perhaps the tongue of angels is Latin.

We sang traditional Christmas carols (in English), but we sang them as if they were anthems. There was power in the music. We didn’t sing them particularly well because they were difficult to sing. It was as if we had to stretch ourselves to reach the height to which these songs could take us. Again, I felt as if I was in the presence of heaven’s angels.

A “homily” followed. Not a “sermon”. . . and certainly not a “message”. . . it was definitely a “homily”. There was a formality about the reading of God’s Word. The speaker didn’t read a passage to illustrate his point. Instead, the passage was the point. The speaker’s words were mere illustrations of what the Bible had to say.  The speaker had an authority about him that didn’t come from a powerful personality. Instead, it came from the expectation that he was speaking on behalf of God. We were not co-learners or fellow explorers of the Bible with him. We were the students and he was the expert. He was sharing his wisdom with us. He didn’t do this in an arrogant way, but in a comforting manner that made us feel secure in where he was leading us.

The service concluded with a soaring benediction which we were told to “receive”.  Again, we were the students, the underlings, and the speaker was speaking on behalf of God as he bestowed on us the message from on high.

I left that worship experience feeling a little higher because I was a little lower. That service indirectly reminded me that I am the created and HE is the creator. I find myself feeling secure because I know He is God and I’m not.

Still Praying

Several weeks ago I heard Jim Cymbala talk about how when we pray things often get worse before they get better. He taught that we must continue to relentlesly pray. At the time I thought, “Nice lesson.” But I didn’t think much else about it. Boy am I glad I heard that lesson!

Lately I’ve been praying . . . I mean REALLY PRAYING. . . about a certain part of my life. I fought off doubts. I prayed more fervently when the odds seemed overwhelming. I claimed God’s promises to answer prayers of faith. I read biblical passages of victory when defeat seemed inevitable. And I was doing great. I was feeling confident in God. My faith was growing. But then the phone rang.

At 10:14 PM on Thursday night the phone rang. That began an avalanch of text messages and phone conversations that lasted for the next ninety minutes. When it was over, all I could do was cry. The very thing I had prayed fervently about was crumbling. I couldn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t see a way out. I still can’t.

But then something happened. In the midst of my raging at God for not answering my prayers the way I wanted them answered, I remembered Jim Cymbala’s lesson that sometimes, when we REALLY pray, things get worse before they get better.

I still don’t see the solution. Things are worse now than they were at 10:13 PM Thursday night.

But I’m still praying.

Oh, You’re Just Praying, Part 2

Yesterday’s post ended a bit strongly when I wrote:

Maybe one of the reasons we feel so week, vulnerable, and helpless is because our prayers have become pathetic little whimpers whispered quickly so we can get on with what really interests us.

After thinking about it, I stand by what I wrote.

Churches are busy with many good activities such as deep Bible studies, delicious potlucks, life-changing support groups, and more. We study and meet together to build better marriages, be better parents, improve our finances (for the sake of the kingdom, mind you), improve our self-esteem (so we see ourselves as God sees us), we study how to pray, we talk about how we should serve others, we support one another as we break free from addictions, and we discuss ways to share our faith.

Without doubt, such activities are “good”. They have their place and they are needed.

But I can’t help notice that we Christians don’t have any more success with our marriages than non-believers. Our debt loads are still overwhelming. We sure have our share of emotional problems; and we’re just as addicted to drugs, food, and illicit sex as our neighbors.

If anything, these things have gotten worse over the years.

In his book, “Fresh Wind, Fresh Fire,” Jim Cymbala raises similar concerns. He says the church has slowly shifted from being a “house of prayer” to a house of discussion among ourselves (my words, not his). We have more classes, more programs, more seminars, more videos, more retreats, more study, more discussion. . . and less prayer.

What if we took the time we spend talking to one another about stronger marriages, less debt, better mental health, greater evangelism, etc. and devote it to talking to God about these things?

Great question.

Oh, You’re Just Praying, Part 1

“You’ve got it easy this week. No class to teach. . . just praying.”

“Oh, you’re just praying Wednesday night aren’t you?”

I heard those comments–and others very similar–from people since Sunday, when I announced we’d have a church-wide prayer meeting this Wednesday night. I understand what they’re saying. They’re saying that I’m not reading, and researching, and preparing a lesson for my group. They’re saying that it’s going to be an easy night. We’re not doing anything other than just praying.

Just praying. JUST PRAYING! Are those people CRAZY??!!!

Don’t people know that praying is NOTHING LESS THAN CALLING ON THE CREATOR OF THE UNIVERSE to do our bidding?! Don’t people understand that it’s a dangerous thing to approach a king?! Don’t people know that the world can be changed when people “just pray”?!

How dare we take such a task lightly!

I believe it was Eugene Peterson, in his book “Working the Angles”, who talked about once being asked at a church potluck, “Pastor, could you get us started with a little prayer?”

If I remember correctly, Peterson goes on to write how amazing such a request is. There is no such thing as a “little prayer”. And nothing at church should “get started” with prayer–as if once we get the prayer out of the way we can get down to the real reason we came.

Don’t people know that the highest, grandest, and most worshipful thing we can do is pray?

Maybe one of the reasons we feel so week, vulnerable, and helpless is because our prayers have become pathetic little whimpers whispered quickly so we can get on with what really interests us.

The Spirit of Jonathan

I’m teaching a Wednesday night class on prayer. I love teaching and preaching on prayer . . . not because I’m a great prayer warrior, but because I’m not.

I want to be; but honestly, I feel my prayers are weak. It’s not that my faith is necessarily weak, but that my prayers are weak. I pray for small things. Easy things.

I need to pray for BiG things. God-sized things.

I love this post from Mark Batterson’s blog. It reminds me to pray big prayers:

Here’s one of my favorite phrases in Scripture. [In] I Samuel 14:6 [Jonathan] says, “Perhaps the Lord will act in our behalf.” I love that modus operandi. But I honestly think many if not most Christians take the opposite approach. Perhaps the Lord WON’T act in our behalf. We let fear dictate our decisions. We have a better-safe-than-sorry mentality. We live as if the purpose of life is to arrive safely at death.

Maybe it’s time for a paradigm shift. When did we start believing that God wants to take us to safe places to do easy things? Here’s a thought: the will of God is not an insurance plan. It’s a daring plan.

I think we’ve made a false assumption that the will of God gets easier as we grow spiritually. Some dimensions do get easier with the consistent practice of spiritual disciplines. But I also think God will give us more difficult, dangerous, and daring things to do!

I love this phrase. It’s so hopeful. It’s so optimistic. And it’s the key to living with holy anticipation. Perhaps the Lord will act in our behalf. May God give us the spirit of Jonathan!

Praying for Others

One of the greatest privileges — and heaviest responsibilities — we can have is to pray for someone in the midst of crisis.

The phone rings. You answer. The voice on the other end is tense, the emotion strong, the fear real. “Will you pray?” they ask.

“Of course,” you say. And you utter a few words to heaven.

You utter a few words to heaven? . . . WOW!

You just entered the Holy of Holies. You barge into the King’s chamber, push your way past the angels, and just when the seraphim charged with guarding the throne block your path you announce that you’re here in the name of Jesus. Instantly, they part to let you through. As you enter, the King himself rises from his throne, throws open his arms, and says, “Come in, my child.” Before you can utter a word of desperate plea he says, “I know. I know about the whole thing. I’m glad you came to me. Tell me more.”

Perhaps, in his divine soverignty, the Father will grant your request. Perhaps he will decline your request. In any event, he understands. . . he hurts. . . he wants to cradle you in his arms and take away the pain but sometimes his divine understanding is beyond ours so we trust that his will is best.

To my friend who called a few moments ago, I’ve entered the throne room for you. God knows. He’s at work. Trust him no matter what happens next.