Tag Archives: prayer

Looking for Jesus

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“How can I pray for you?” I asked that question of three different young women on the same evening. To my surprise, they all gave basically the same answer.

“That my eyes would be opened.”
“That my vision of Christ would be clearer.”
“That I would see Jesus.”

They were groaning with the darkness of the soul, the waywardness of the heart, the distractedness of the eyes.

So.

Should I tell them, “But God said no one would ever see Him in this life, so don’t hope for that.” Be content at your low level of Christian experience. Settle for a life that’s shrouded in the mist of confusion and uncertainty. It may not be great, but it’s normal. Hoping for more, well, that’s just pie-in-the-sky Christianity. And you don’t want to be so heavenly minded that you’re no earthly good. Heavens no.

And yet.

The language of light and sight fills the New Testament. “The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light!” Matthew proclaimed about his countrymen. Jesus healed a blind man and then said that those who rejected Him were the ones who truly could not see. Paul told us that God, who commanded light to shine out of darkness, has shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

I could go on and on.

So what can we do, those of us who are longing, aching to see Him more clearly? Longing for our spiritual vision to be, if it could be possible, even more clear than our physical vision? Because truly, in the deepest heart, we know that He is more lovely, glorious, desirable, fulfilling, worthy of praise than all the hundred distractions that are calling for our time and energy and attention.

We seek Him through His written Word, the great Magnifying Glass of God. We beg Him to turn on the light in our souls. We cry out to Him to open the eyes of our understanding. We band together in desperately dependent prayer. There is a world of darkness, and the light of God is as narrow as a laser beam.

Maybe you see the light . . . a little. But your vision is blurry. “I see men like trees walking.” He is your only Hope. Believe that. Seize the hem of His robe and don’t let go. Cry out to Him for vision correction, read His Word, and believe what you read.

But you have to look in the right direction. There is one narrow laser beam of light. Turn toward that, with your new eyes. Don’t keep avoiding Him, claiming you can’t see Him. He has told you how to seek Him. Turn toward Him and seek Him alone, with your hungry heart.

But get obstructions out of the way. Forcefully turn from the things that would pull you away, and run, run after Him, with all the energy He gives you. Then trust Him for more, to keep running.

O man of God, Paul wrote to Timothy, as fast as you can, run from those things that would pull your eyes away—that seeking after riches that has led so many astray. Instead, chase after the one true thing so valuable, so precious, so beautiful, that He will take your breath away when you catch sight of Him. With all your energy press forward toward the righteousness, godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, gentleness that is found in Jesus Christ. Don’t give up. Keep pursuing. Pursue through desperate dependence. Believe with confident assurance that as you pursue, you will see. This is active faith.

Keep seeking. Keep longing. Keep trusting. Keep asking. Keep chasing. And know that your efforts are not in vain. As your gaze becomes more direct, as your vision becomes more clear, as the distractions fade away, the sight of Jesus Christ will take your breath away.

Facing anxiety attacks

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What do you do when your daughter who’s getting married in a week is sick with mononucleosis?

Well . . . for me . . . default reaction.

Worry.

Yes, okay, I’m subject to anxiety attacks. Probably not the clinically diagnosable kind: I don’t think I would ever be hospitalized for mine. But they’ve been able to keep me awake at night. Even when times are relatively peaceful, but especially when things are rocky. After all, you’ve got to do something, and worry is at least something.

But in the past few years I’ve been growing in my understanding about who Jesus is to me. That He is everything. My all in all. Words that I used to say, and really believed, but have been learning more to understand.

I think that the first time I tackled an anxiety attack through Jesus Christ was only as recently as the summer of 2008. Instead of my usual method of trying to reason with myself to say, “Look here, you, we’ll list all the things you’re worried about and go through them one by one and see why it is that you really don’t need to worry about them.” Which in the past had given me a modicum of success, so that I could at least function in society.

Instead of that, I saw it as a spiritual battle. And I fought it on a spiritual level. “Lord Jesus, You are my rest and peace. You are my hope and joy. All my anxieties, all my worries, I can thrust on You, because You are the Great Deliverer.” And instead of trying to reason myself through my anxieties, I turned my thoughts to Jesus. Since I had been learning to know and love Him more, I had plenty to think about. He is an ocean of love, beauty, peace, joy, power.

So, as should have always been as obvious as breathing, my Deliverer, who has already come victorious through the worst of temptations, was strong enough to tackle this battle all by Himself. I slept well.

Anyway, it happens every once in a while, and it’s been happening the last few days. So I have the privilege of reminding myself again why I can “count it all joy” when I’m attacked by temptations (James 1). It’s because the attack reminds me to turn all my heart, all my racing thoughts, to the Mighty One, who delights to deliver me. Now I can say, “Look here, you, are you going to worry, or are you going to trust your Savior?”

Once again I turn my thoughts to Christ. Once again, because He has all our circumstances completely under His control, and He is completely trustworthy, I can focus on Him.

And because of who He is, and because of the work He has accomplished, and because of the work He is doing now and will continue to do, I can rejoice, and I can rest.

So what’s the point of prayer?

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You probably know people who have said, essentially, “I know I ought to pray, because the Bible says I should, but if God is going to do His will anyway, why is it important?”

Yes, prayer is about seeing God’s will done. But really, it’s about so much more.

Adoration. The secret connection of the soul that constantly acknowledges the great gifts of God, flowing down constantly to me . . . and not only acknowledges them but leaps in thanksgiving at the joyful remembrance of them, expressing love for the Giver of the gifts.

And a longing to see Him glorified, as the only one worthy of all glory.

Communion. The secret connection that knows that God knows. He knows all the secret thoughts of my heart. So that I can continually whisper, “I’m sorry, Lord, but once again I claim Your power against that temptation.”

And a confidence that He is the only one that can forgive, and that His forgiveness is swift and sure.

Longing. The secret connection that, when a need is brought to mind–and aren’t the needs around us mammoth and seemingly overwhelming?–I can immediately run to Him with the need.

And an assurance that He is the true Righteous Judge, and delights to show Himself strong on behalf of those whose hearts are wholly turned to Him.

Dependence. Frail and needy, together we stand in the blood-pool of the cross.

Empowerment. Rejoicing, with hands upstretched, together we stand in the aurora of the empty tomb.

And together we cry, “I love you, Beautiful Savior. Do a mighty work among your people. Be glorified!”

Maturity: praying in faith or in fear?

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I was doing a Biblical word study, because I wanted to understand the concept of perfection, often translated “maturity.” After all, with two children young adults, it seemed about time.

Mature, perfect, complete, sanctified, holy, whole-hearted. The study got bigger and bigger, but I kept doggedly moving through it. Learning a lot. Being deepened and blessed. Convicted again and again.

Then I came to I Thessalonians 3:9-10. How can we properly give thanks to God for all the joy that you give us in Him? Night and day we keep praying earnestly for you, longing to see your face and complete that which is lacking in your faith.

Maybe at first glance it doesn’t look like anything outstanding. But in reading the earlier part of the chapter I saw that Paul had been experiencing some discouragement in his persecution, and he had wanted to hear how the Thessalonians were doing in hope of being encouraged. Timothy had brought back such an outstanding report of how these believers were growing in faith and love that Paul was filled with joy and hope.

So then, he said that this joy motivated him to pray for them even more.

Paul didn’t say, “What a relief that they’re doing well. I can forget about them for a while. I’ll focus my prayer attention on those people over there who aren’t doing well.” No, actually it was just the opposite. In fact, his continued prayer for them was a way of showing his thankfulness to God for what He had already done in their lives.

“Augh!” I thought. “I don’t pray like that!” When I hear that people are doing well spiritually, I tend to think, “Oh, wonderful. Thank you, Lord. Now I’ll pray for these other people who aren’t doing so well.”

And I realized that sometimes my prayers are motivated more by fear than by faith. I grew up hearing and giving prayer requests for people in trouble. Health trouble, financial trouble, spiritual trouble. I don’t mean to say that these requests are wrong. But I don’t remember hearing or saying, “Pray for so and so, because he’s really growing strong in the Lord.”

The mindset Paul shows here, and as well in Colossians 1:3-4 (“We give thanks to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, praying always for you ever since we heard of your faith in Christ Jesus and the love which you have for all the saints”), is one of the confidence of victory, rather than the fear of defeat. It’s centered around the assurance that God is doing a great work. “You have made great progress! Praise God! Now I am eagerly longing to personally see that you make even greater progress!”

One thing I have learned about maturity is that the maturity that can “complete” (perfect, bring to maturity) the faith of another is the same maturity that rejoices in, revels in, the beautiful growth that is already evident, the faith and love already blossoming. This kind of maturity will focus less on what I think God still needs to do and more on what God is already doing. In great joy I will be motivated by it to pray even more.

The Bible isn’t my daily manna

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I heard it many times growing up. “Your daily Bible reading is your daily manna. Yesterday’s reading won’t suffice for today. Read the Bible every day to receive fresh bread of life.” I never questioned it.

Until recent years. Several things brought me to the point of questioning this oft-repeated maxim.

For one thing, during some significant trials, the rich food that I gained from one day’s Bible reading sustained me for many days when I was unable to read the Bible.

For another thing, I began to see that in the “Steps to Knowing the Word of God”—that is, hear, read, study, memorize, meditate, and apply—some crucial concepts were missing. Drastic, gaping holes.

But most importantly, I read John 6. I really read John 6. And there, in a passage that I’d probably read hundreds of times, I finally realized that my daily manna is not the Bible.

It’s Jesus.

He says it clearly, plainly, over and over. “I am the Bread of Life. I am the Bread from Heaven. I am the Living Bread. I am the True Bread.”

I cried out to God, “Lord, what in the world does this mean? How am I supposed to receive the manna of Jesus? How can I eat His flesh and drink His blood?” For days I read and prayed and read and prayed, crying out to God.

I knew my Bible reading had something to do with it. It had to. After all, I can’t even know who the Living Word is outside of the vision of Him I see through His written Word.

As I read and prayed, I remembered the indictment in Hebrews 4 against the Israelites in the wilderness: “the word preached did not profit them, not being mixed with faith in them that heard it.” I knew that the word “mixed” there was the same word used for the process of digestion that breaks down food so that it can be sent as nourishment to all parts of the body.

And then I saw. As the written Word is ingested, the Living Word can be digested. But only with the digestive juices of faith. I must read with a heart actively believing, seizing on truth. This is what transforms the written Word in my head to the Living Word pulsating in my very life.

The Bible reading that sustained me for days afterwards? Through Colossians I had received a clearer vision of Jesus, and in the darkness and difficulty of the following days I was able to close my eyes and focus my heart once again on Him.

The drastic gaping holes? Crying out to God for understanding, rather than simply relying on my own intellect and assuming God would help me. Believing what I read, with passion rather than passivity. Do you say these go without saying? I think not. How can absolute imperatives go without saying?

For years I followed the hear-read-study-memorize-meditate rule without crying out for understanding, for a gripping of my heart. For the most part I believed, and God did certainly work in my heart through His written Word, but the faith was more passive than active. When I began to approach the Word with an active, desperate faith, I began to see Him work in my life in new ways.

And now, when I come to the Word of God, instead of my old intellectual “This-is-God’s-message-to-me-and-by-jiminy-I’m-gonna-learn-it” approach, I come to it with longing to see the beauty of Jesus Christ, to be filled with the love and power and joy of Jesus Christ, to experience a life of bringing glory to God through Jesus Christ.

He is our True, Living Bread from Heaven.

There’s no power in prayer

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I just googled “power in prayer” and got about forty thousand responses. I’m guessing I might be in the minority here.

But I think if you consider it, you’ll agree that there’s no more power in prayer than there is in a cry for help. Let’s say you’re drowning in the middle of the ocean. You can cry out for rescue at the top of your lungs. But neither your crying nor your flailing will accomplish anything. All the actual power comes from the one who swoops down to save you.

Let’s say you’re making a request before the King of the Universe. You enter His throne room with the utmost respect (without fear, though, because you’re a member of his family). You make your request, perhaps with tears. But the tears notwithstanding, how much power is there in those words to accomplish the thing you’re asking for? Basically none. All the power lies in the hands of the One who can do or deny what you ask.

Let’s say you’re engaged in major warfare. You feel that you’re being overwhelmed by enemy forces. You cry out for reinforcements, or maybe to be airlifted out of the area. How much power is there in that cry for deliverance, that searching of the skies? None. All the power, all the power lies with the Rescuer, the Deliverer, the Accomplisher.

If there is no power in prayer, why do people want to think that there is? Every Christian I’ve met, without exception, will acknowledge that prayer is important. In spite of this, though, many Christians don’t take prayer as seriously as they might, perhaps seeing God as more their teammate than their Only Hope.

The concept of “power in prayer” seems to be meant to be an impetus. After all, if you’re going to move the Hand that moves the world, that’s pretty powerful stuff. So let’s get praying. And then when God does something, we can say to each other, “I felt your prayers.” Pat your back. Praise you.

But the fact is that outside the power of Jesus Christ, I’m really utterly helpless. My arms are far too weak even to budge the Hand that moves the world.

So does this inability deter me from prayer? Far from it! It actually has become perhaps my greatest motivation for prayer. Since understanding the truth of my desperate dependence, I run to my Savior far more often, with far greater fervency, even asking far bigger things than before. Because all the power is in Him—none in me or in anything I do, even praying.

This is a great comfort, a great joy. Because the Rescuer, the Accomplisher, the Deliverer—the One I call out to many times a day—is unutterably Good, delighting to do mighty works for His glory. Our constant dependence on Him, in the power of His Holy Spirit, to deliver us moment by moment, and to accomplish great things—even through us!—serves as our constant reminder that to Him be all the glory and praise both now and forever. Amen.