Prayer and Will

Devotional Classics, Evelyn Underhill, Excerpts from The Essentials of Mysticism

"The determined fixing of our will upon God, and pressing toward him steadily and without deflection; this is the very center and the art of prayer. The most theological of thoughts soon becomes inadequate; the most spiritual of emotions is only a fairweather breeze. Let the ship take advantage of it by all means, but not rely on it. She must be prepared to beat windward if she would reach her goal." (p. 115)

Underhill has just explained that "the transition from inaction to action unfolds itself in a certain order. . . . First, we think, then we feel, then we will." (p.114) She does not denigrate thinking in prayer, she only says that "reason comes to the foot of the mountain; it is the industrious will urged by the passionate heart which climbs the slope." (ibid) Feeling is dynamic, unlike thought, and moves me to something, but it does fluctuate.

The action of the will, which Underhill describes as "intention," is what keeps prayer and other activities going in my life. My will can keep moving even when I am "mentally dull" or "emtionally flat." My will cannot continue with the complete absence of thought or feeling, but it can continue on even when no new thought or moving feeling exists.

The will seems to be a sort of spiritual inertia. It keeps me going along the lines of my thoughts and feelings. Intention reaches out into the future from a very definite past decision. Underhill identifies this inertia as the center and art of prayer. The picture of sailing is very compelling for me. Sometimes the winds are favorable, sometimes not, but intention sets the course.

I see my will at work in sinful ways. I can work "steadily and without deflection" toward things I want very much, even if my mind and feelings are fluctuating. The force of habit and intention will keep moving me forward off that cliff. In the same way prayer can continue to move forward under the force of habit and intention. Perhaps this is a way to describe unceasing prayer.

Such a decision is hard to come to. There seem to be so many good reasons not to pray - perhaps the foremost reason being a perceived lack of efficacy in prayer. It just doesn't seem to do a lot to pray. Such is the voice of having little faith. I can see my half-heartedness in prayer more easily through the model of inertia. If the "push" of thought and feeling is off-center or weak, then the resultant intention will not carry me far into prayer.

Lord, I marvel at how much your Spirit helps me in my inner life of thought and feeling so that my will, ever so weak) can be aligned with yours. I know you carry me more often that I can imagine. But I also know that you have commanded that my whole self be aligned with you in love. I cannot move this ship of devotion toward you without your winds and without your guidance. Without you I am dead in the water. But you have placed me at the helm. May I obey your directions prayer-ward. Thank you for never being far off. Amen.

Underhill says it well when she talks of dead times of prayer: "On such occasions it is notoriously useless to try to beat ourselves up to a froth: to make ourselves think more deeply or make ourselves care more intensely." Continuing on is the hardest work possible some days, but I need only wait and not divert my attention from God. In those moments I become most aware of the struggle of faith: Will I wait for him or not? Will I trust him or not? I find that the action of will often brings the thoughts and feelings around, pulling them out of their inactivity. Actually, when prayer is hard, it is usually not that my thoughts and feelings are dead; they are just occupied elsewhere and need to be called back. So my will is not only pushed by them, but pulls them where it has been pushed to.

Prayer and Holiness

Devotional Classics, Evelyn Underhill, Excerpts from The Essentials of Mysticism

"[Prayer] entails, then, a going up or out from our ordinary circle of earthly interests." (p.113)


A number of years ago I gave a a couple of sermons on Old Testament (OT) worship. It was hard to get a handle on that. I boiled it down to Sabbath and Sacrifice. Sacrifice in the OT seemed to me to have two purposes: to make the person "clean" and "holy." Cleanliness was being washed of sin and ceremonial uncleanliness. Holiness was being set apart from the mundane, everyday existence for a special relationship with God.

In this quote from Underhill, I was reminded of holiness. I thought of holiness as being the road to prayer, a way of describing the state of coming near to God. In the Temple, God's presence resided in the Holiest of Holies. A place set far beyond "ordinary" life and people. Access was extremely limited. So prayer was always at a distance in certain ways.

I am to "put on the new self created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness." (Eph 4:22) Holiness becomes part of who I am. I become a Temple, the Holiest of Holies where the presence of God stays. This is God's intention in the new creation of his adopted children.

Practically speaking, I usually equate holiness with righteousness and purity, a lack of sinfulness. This is right and good. They certainly are related. They go together, but I do not see them as synonymous. I think holiness stands on top of cleanliness, but it seems possible to be clean but not holy. In the OT, you could be clean, but still not allowed to enter into the Holiest of Holies because you were not set apart for it. Only the high priest could enter once a year, I believe. And so, I may have a certain level of purity in my life and yet not be lifted out of my "ordinary circle of earthly interests" into prayer.

Perhaps I am messing with a theological term that I should leave alone. I merely had the thought that holiness might be more than an ethereal perfection imputed upon myself by virtue of my confession of Christ as my Savior and my God. That is not small thing. I believe it may be bigger than a single confession, however. Maybe in practice, holiness is more than justification and more than righteous living. Maybe holiness is the practice and habit of placing earthly things aside and placing my heart, mind, soul, and strength upon God above. To be holy is to live the presence of God!

It is dangerous to equate holiness with my personal experience of God's presence. Perhaps it is equally dangerous to equate holiness with God's action of justifying us apart from any personal experience. Is my justification merely in heaven? Is my holiness just a heavenly fact with no earthly consequences? Rather I think that when I was invited into the Holiest of Holies by the loving sacrifice of Jesus, my life with God was stored in heaven and the firstfruits of it can be dispensed on earth. The curtain in the temple was torn down and now I can go in with anyone else who will!

So this true holiness which is built on true righteousness may be the mountain in Hebrews 12:

You have not come to a mountain that can be touched and that is burning with fire; to darkness, gloom and storm;to a trumpet blast or to such a voice speaking words that those who heard it begged that no further word be spoken to them, because they could not bear what was commanded: “If even an animal touches the mountain, it must be stoned.” The sight was so terrifying that Moses said, “I am trembling with fear.”  But you have come to Mount Zion, to the heavenly Jerusalem, the city of the living God. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven. You have come to God, the judge of all men, to the spirits of righteous men made perfect, 24to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel. (vv. 18-24)

Lord, fear has been replaced by awe. Jesus sacrifice has covered me and opened the door to the kingdom. Where the OT prophets and priests only caught a glimpse, I can live daily. This is the wonder of your holiness. I can see it as the mountain where your kingdom resides. Yet I refuse to climb the mountain at times. Perhaps I am like the Israelites long ago who feared even your voice. Sometimes all I can see is "darkness, gloom, and storm." Let me fix my eyes on Jesus who will take me higher up and deeper in, "the Author and Perfecter of my faith." (Heb. 12:2) In his trail I will climb this mountain to you. May my eyes be on him alone as I watch this world fade away. Amen.

I feel that I have touched something profound here. I wish I could explain it better. More, I hope I can live it. May I do as Paul says: "Set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things." (Col. 3:1) This holiness requires that I learn to keep my eyes (as well as all my faculties) focused not on the everyday things, but on God, not as an escape, but so that what is everyday and mundane will be taken as "daily bread" from the Lord and not be the center of my existence.

Prayer and Rest

Devotional Classics, Evelyn Underhill, Excerpts from The Essentials of Mysticism

"Prayer will include many different kinds of spiritual work; and also - what is too often forgotten - the priceless gift of spiritual rest." (p.113)

Many of my lessons in spiritual rest are hard. I become worn out, burnt out and then I say and do things that I regret later. I delivered a sermon at church this last Sunday that I wasn't particularly proud of. I think I got the facts straight, but my spirit was wrong. I was restless and I felt like it showed in my message.

But even more disturbing is the Sunday night/Monday backlash from exerting so hard without adequate rest. My emotional state was dismal, my thoughts distracted, and temptations seemed nearer and more appealing. Fortunately God helped me to see this before I strayed too far.

I find that the most important part of my spiritual walk is being ready, being prepared. Without rest I cannot be prepared. I hurry. I get frantic. The less I rest in the Lord, the more I worry about my sermon, the more I obsess over what people think of me, the more all my work seemed to be a burden. Of course, there is a movement in prayer "as in the natural order [in which] the living creature must feed and grow, must suffer and enjoy, must get energy from the world and give it back again if it is to live a whole and healthy life." (p.113)

The movement is tricky for me. I find it easy to work when I should rest and rest when I should work. Usually I need to place rest first because it is, in its very nature, faith. I need to wait and trust before I go to work or my work becomes hurried, then frantic, then pointless.

So what does it mean to me to rest in prayer? I meditate long (and longingly) on the Bible and let it draw my thoughts and feelings to God. I then find my spirit quickened in love and adoration of God. Often the seeds of my work lie in the time of rest I have had with God earlier on. When I am restless, unable to rest in God, I usually find a sin lurking around, keeping me from loving God.

Sometimes I rest by walking in the woods. Sometimes by worshiping with my guitar. Sometimes by just being quiet on my knees for a short while. When I am restless, sometimes I just need to stop and breathe to get my bearings. God is faithful and near and when I call out to him, he draws me close. That's just the way he is.

Lord, what a joy it is to know that you want me to rest in you. I am so glad in that rest I can find encouragement and strength and direction. I am reminded by your word, "in repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength." (Is. 30:15) May my rest be deep so my work may be fruitful. Amen.

It's so easy to let this slide. I believe this spiritual rest is the heart of the Jewish Sabbath as well as the heart of faith. "Let us, therefore, make every effort to enter that rest, so that no one will fall. . . ." (Heb.4:11)

Prayer and Love Again

Devotional Classics, Soren Kierkegaard, Excerpts from Prayers of Kierkegaard

"Even that which we human beings call an insignificant trifle, and pass unmoved, the need of a sparrow, even this moves You; and what we often scarcely notice, a human sigh, this moves You, You who are unchangeable!"

This picture of the unchanging God usually makes me think of harsh decisions and reasons to fear Him. Certainly fear is part of my love, my adoration of the Living God. I do not love him merely as a friend or even merely as a father; I need to love him as my God. This calls for fear.

However, this unchanging God I serve and love is unchanging first and foremost in his love. So great is this unchangeableness that Kierkegaard writes about, the Apostle John even equates God with this love. "God is love." He is unbending in his continual compassion and depth of feeling for all that he has created.

Nichole Nordeman touches on this in her song, Small Enough:

Oh, Great God, be small enough to hear me now.

There were times when I was crying
from the dark of Daniel's den,
and I have asked you once or twice
if you would part the sea again,
but tonight I do not need a fiery pillar in the sky.
Just wanna know you're gonna hold me if I start to cry.
Oh, Great God, be small enough to hear me now.

What hurts me hurts God infinitely more. What grieves me saddens him with an intensity I cannot imagine. What brings me joy shakes the gates of heaven with his laughter. As C.S. Lewis writes, "We are half-hearted creatures. . . . We are far too easily pleased." My feelings are a faint reflection of his. Therefore, He is more intimate than I can imagine.

So I seek to be moved more. I think indifference may be more terrible than hatred. I believe that this love is all that counts in the end. I believe that it is thought and feeling, action and being. Only in love can I be truly kind and just. That is how God is.

Lots of things float around calling themselves love nowadays. This unchangeable compassion of God's has to be the true measure. The fruit of the Holy Spirit in my life is love, love that is joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle, and self-controlled. It's not a love I can say I give much, but it is one that I experience everyday, if I dare. It is being poured over all creation at all times and keeps it going. I need only open my mouth and it will be filled.

I use one of Kierkegaard's prayers today:

"Father in Heaven! You have loved us first, help us never to forget that You are love so that this sure conviction might triumph in our hearts over the seduction of the world, over the inquietude of the soul, over the anxiety for the future, over the fright of the past, over the distress of the moment. Amen."

I am remarkably changeable in my love and remarkably rigid in other areas of my life. Where love interferes with my desire for pleasure, power, or favor, I can change in a heartbeat. My own money concerns can easily make me cold and callous toward those in need. I am rather limp at times when it comes to loving. Have mercy on me, Lord! Let my attentiveness to your love reveal my hard-heartedness and make my love more unbending.

Prayer and Interruption

Devotional Classics, Soren Keirkegaard, excerpts from The Prayers of Kierkegaard

"It is an interruption to our ordinary tasks; we do lay down our work as though it were a day of rest when the penitent is alone before You in self-accusation. This is indeed an interruption. But it is an interruption that searches back into its very beginnings that it might bind up anew that which sin has separated, that in its grief it might atone for lost time, that in its anxiety it might bring to completion that which lies before it." (p. 109)

Usually I try to pray in times and places where I can avoid interruption. Well and good. I don't often see prayer as an interruption.

Here Kierkegaard writes about confession and sorrow. He speaks of a "day of rest" that "searches back" in order that it might "bind up anew" our relationship with God. Conviction from the Spirit is one of the most obvious forms of interruption in my prayers. It can even come unwelcomed, painfully reminding me of things I have overlooked, left undone, or willfully committed. This is one example of prayer as an interruption.

I admire Brother Lawrence in his practice of the presence of God. I have envisioned this practice to be one of a steady flow of conversation between God and myself and others that helps me glide through life. I long for peace and success. Yet, not even Jesus had a completely serene existence. Even his prayer came as an interruption and struggle at least on one occasion: Gethsemane.

Rather than dancing through life with the greatest of ease, I feel I may have more of the look of a drunken sailor. Instead of moving resolutely toward God's will and purpose for my life, I feel I have to do a lot of wandering, backtracking, and trying to find where I put something down. Much of the fault is my own: my own resistance, my own rebelliousness, my own plans, etc. There may be something else, though.

Another factor comes in. This Gethsemane thing. This thing that "threw" Jesus into the wilderness to be tempted by Satan (Mark's word, not mine). This interruption (to put it lightly in some cases). Prayer then becomes the open line to God where he can call us at any moment and change our plans. And some of those calls come at 3 am.

For me, this is decidedly not peaceful. My resistance (ignorance?) can make me do funny things, like start and quit seminary three or four times. Like get cold feet before my wedding. Like move from church to church. Such wandering has always been embarrassing to me. I've often wondered, "Do I really want to serve God? Am I fully surrendered? Maybe I'm just selfish."

There is some relief in this picture of prayer as an interruption. I feel that this picture of a seamless existence of moving from one meaningful moment to the next in perfect communion with God may not be possible or even desirable. There seems to be some room for wilderness wandering. Somehow such wandering does something that my picture of perfect communion can't. It can deepen my confidence in the Lord. It can prepare me to hear God when I couldn't hear him before. It can put to death my resistance and rebelliousness and make me trust him day by day. Sometimes I a gentle colt. More often I'm a stubborn ass.

I may be even so bold as to say communion with God that has no real interruption is not communion with God at all. I find I have been only talking with myself after all. The interruptions are what help me see that thoughts and feeling I encounter have not only been my own. Kierkegaard writes that I need to heed such interruptions and allow them to do their work - like renewing, atoning, and completing - rather than rush away into a false sense of peace.

Lord, whether I find grief and anxiety in this interrupting prayer or joy and ecstasy, let me stay with you. Let me not fall into an uneasy sleep when you are interrupting my life with the command to watch and pray. Such sleep may seem peaceful, but it is really a slow death. No, Lord, I long to keep the line open between us, so that any moment may be transformed and every moment may be eager expectation. You are real! You are here! Let your interruptions come! Amen.

Sometimes I pray and wonder if I should have actually spoken (or written) the words I did. But truly I am eager to let God upset my life. He is gentle and humble in heart and knows that I am dust. I trust his hands. I think to keep the "lines open," I will need to be watchful and not hurried and as always, thoroughly trusting in his abiding love for me and others.

Prayer and Love

Devotional Classics, Soren Kierkegaard, Excerpts from The Prayers of Keirkegaard

"When we wake up in the morning and turn our soul toward You - You are the first - You have loved us first; if I rise at dawn and at the same second turn my soul toward You in prayer, You are there ahead of me, You have loved me first. . . . And yet we always speak ungratefully as if You have loved us first only once." (p.107)

So true. When the scripture comes to mind, "We loved him because he first loved us," it is habitual to think of Christ's sacrifice on the cross only. I see that here Keirkegaard points to something far more expansive. "God is love" and so where he is love is. When he precedes me into all the situations of my life, he loves me first.

Practicing the presence of God becomes so much more than acknowledging God's existence or being aware he's watching me. I joke with my son, Nathan, using a quote from Monsters, Inc. where Roz, the scary admin, says to Mike Wazowski, the one-eyed sidekick, "I'm watching you, Wazowski; always watching." Fortunately, this is not how God makes himself present to me. He watches over me. (Ps.121)

Yet, I live in hiding at times. I forget that God comes to me loving me. I do not have to earn it or prove myself for it. I need only learn how to receive it. His love is comforting. His love is also painful. It hurts deeply to know I have spurned one who loves me so completely.

I suppose this is why I am tempted to complain about God at times. I want to paint him badly so that my disappointing him will not hurt so much. Usually a period of complaint and anger precedes my sins; a time where I justify my evil desires by saying that God orother people "deserve" my unfaithfulness or abuse.

When Christian was in the Valley of the Shadow of Death in The Pilgrim's Progress, he heard a voice that almost made him give up and turn back. The voice echoed in the walls of that pit, "God has abandoned you!" So often I find this very voice nearby when things are difficult. I find myself believing it sometimes - as evidenced by my actions of betrayal or abandonment.

God's love is first, however. I need only wait for the cloud to pass and the sun comes out clearly. Time and again I see his love come through, whether I wait for it or not. He is with me. And more. He loves me deeply.

My loving Lord, I add to the knowledge that you are always with me the knowledge that you have loved me first. It reminds me of a father who shamelessly ran to meet his mud-covered son who still smelled of the swine he had been with. Only because you love me first do I know I can come to you with everything I have. There is no proving myself, no pretending to be someone you might like, no denying that I do smell of sin. There is only your embrace and your joyful welcome, "My son has returned! My son has returned!" I am safe with you, Father, as with no other. I am amazed. Amen.

These days God's love has come upon me through confession. Kierkegaard reminds me that when I think of Him, it "should not remind us of what we have committed but of what You did forgive, not how we went astray but of how You did save us!" I have remained away from God in shame and not let him embrace and clean me on a number of occasions. But the pain of repentance is dwarfed by the pain of separation. How is it we can forget the goodness and love of God so easily when love is his first word to us at all times?

Prayer and Hurry

Devotional Classics, George Buttrick, Excerpts from Prayer

"We should not rush into the Presence; the church of private devotion should be entered through the vestibule in an orderly quietness. This comes best as a by-product of a mind focused on God." (p. 100)

Last Thursday the Lord impressed on me the verses "He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters." (Ps. 23:2) He reminded me that he is never in a hurry. Although he communicates urgency, that is not the same as hurry.

I hurry when I am unprepared. I realize that I have to "catch up" quickly and I run to get there. God is never unprepared. I don't think he wants us to hurry much either.

I hurry when I want something badly and am not willing to wait. God is patient. I want to be as well.

I hurry when I am angry and I want to get something over with. God is long-suffering. Much of the Christian walk needs perseverance.

I hurry when I forget God and his goodness and provision. God is good and blesses us richly. I need constant reminders.

God indeed must "make me lie down in green pastures" at times. Sometimes it is sickness. Sometimes it is someone driving slowly on a road. Sometimes it is my child not understanding what I am saying as I rush around. Neither can prayer be rushed.

I'll never forget a man sitting near me in church I went to with a friend in high school who would recite the liturgy of the church twice as fast as the priest and congregation of the church. It was amusing at first, but then disheartening. "What's the hurry?" I thought. Prayer is not a pill; it is a long cool drink.

But this lack of hurry, this quietness of the soul is not an end in itself. Why does God not hurry? Why would he have us live our lives in "holy leisure?" Psalm 23 :3 says "He restores my soul." Hurry empties me quickly and does not re-store my dwindling resources. Why? Because hurry cannot obtain what is truly fulfilling.

I cannot hurry love between people; why should I expect I could hurry love between myself and my Creator? Finishing well is often so much more important than finishing first. However, such assurance can only come through trusting God.

If God is not with us and providing for us, then we have every reason to hurry. Life is short; fill it up! If you don't do it, no one else will! Or as Paul says, "If the dead are not raised, 'Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die.'" (1 Cor. 15:32)

Perhaps hurry is a primary indicator of a slipping faith. I hurry because I do not trust or believe. "The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace." (Rm. 8:6) I love the coupling of life and peace together. I don't think it's accidental.

Lord, show me how to remain with you through unhurried silence. Teach me how to wait patiently for you and your word. Let my mind be on you and hurry far away. I know that peace is not peace without you in the midst of it. Lead me to the still waters of your presence. Amen.

Lately, as a practice for not hurrying I have been deliberately driving the speed limit or slightly under. What a lesson in patience! It is so instructive to watch everyone rush around me, like the man who was "praying" at break-neck speed in that church long ago. Where are we all running to? What is the hurry?

Prayer and Formality

Devotional Classics, George Buttrick, Excerpts from Prayer

"Prayer is friendship with God. Friendship is not formal, but it is not formless: it has its cultivation, its behavior, its obligations, even its disciplines; and the casual mind kills it." (p.100)

What a peace of mind this gives me! I have struggled with my desire for form in my friendship with God. I do not consider myself to be formal in my approach usually. I have trouble coming to God with lists, reading the Bible on a schedule, journaling everyday, etc. And yet, I find if I let this informality run wild, my time with God slips away from me.

So I have adopted some forms of devotion. Some of them are created by others for use in a group, but I find them helpful on an individual basis. Most of the forms I have are home-made, pieces from here and there that are useful. The forms are helpful to a point. When does form interfere?

What happens to me is that I get excited about a particular form and practice it incessantly for a while, even to the exclusion of other things that have long upheld my friendship with God. Sometimes it's conscious. I think, "I've found it! The one thing that will keep me close to God! I don't need anything else." More often my fascination with a particular practice elbows the others out of the way for a while. Novelty has its own draw. Form seems to interfere when I become more focused on the form than the relationship.

That being said, I do not find it is altogether detrimental to change pace, drop some things for a bit, or try something new. However, when I think of it in terms of friendship, I realize that my fascination with novelty or change often has more to do with my own desires than the good of my friendship. Rather than develop my friendship with God, I easily wander off to side-attractions in the circus of life.

The "casual mind," as Buttrick calls it, is the tendency to wander away from the hard work of friendship into whatever I want to do at the moment. It is not openness or freedom, but neglect. For instance, I struggle with wandering into various modes of Bible study and neglect my regular prayer. Here I need discipline; I need to keep prayer at the top of my priorities in relating with God.

Lord, you know that I take you for granted often. I get engrossed in some new method of study or even a method of prayer and I forget how to just stay at your side in ways we've discovered together. Save me from being too rigid! But more so, Lord, save me from being too casual with our friendship. Amen.

At my job, I will get a project that I really like and then neglect all my other work to focus on that project. My work goes much better if I place things in the order of importance rather than in the order of what I feel like at the moment. This seems to apply to my spiritual life as well. There are things that are important that are not always desirable at first. Also, rather than neglect what I need - like prayer - I can neglect other things that are not as necessary. A very casual friendship is usually a self-centered one.