Prayer and Petition

Devotional Classics, Martin Luther, Excerpts from Table Talk, etc.

"Prayer is made vigorous by petitioning; urgent by supplication; by thanksgiving, pleasing and acceptable." (p.133)

I do find it easy to muddy the waters of some things that have simple explanations. Ina n effort to go "deeper" I am sometimes merely confusing, even to myself. Prayer is a subject that easily goes awry in this way.

Prayer is asking. Luther has some straightforward advice about how to ask in a good way so my prayer will reach God and so God can reach me.

"Petition is stating what we have at heart." Luther says to bring life to prayer, my prayers must be specific and personal, addressing my real concerns and worries. I find a great help to petition is "talking normally" with God, avoiding ideas and hopes that are "too lofty" and sticking with present needs and desires. The normal talk seems to keep things real for me.

"In supplication we strengthen prayer and make it effective by a certain form of persuasion." To aid in supplication, I find two things helpful. One is a regular diet of Psalms to remind me of the many facets of God's kindness, love, mercy, and power. Another is actual positioning of my body. Kneeling, opening or closing eyes, or lifting my hands can greatly enhance this supplication that Luther speaks of.

I do not think that supplication makes God do anything as if words and motions were some sort of incantation. Rather I find that using all my mind and all my strength in loving God reflects the sort of faith I have in him as a personally interactive God, having conversations with me, rather than just receiving my requests like an order at a fast food restaurant. I try to give prayers as I think they are received by him, with thoughtfulness and passion, a divine urgency.

Finally, thanksgiving. When thanksgiving surrounds my prayer, I feel peace about what God is doing and will do about my prayer. For thanksgiving, I will often recall how God has been faithful to me, someone close to me, or even to someone in the Bible. His faithfulness in the past enables me to thank him in the present even when I do not yet have what I have asked for.

Thanksgiving makes all requests pleasing. A request from a grateful child contrasts from a spoiled child in its thanksgiving. When gratitude is missing, I find that a new request is made before the last provision has even been enjoyed. The eye is on getting more, rather than on enjoying what has been given. This has its mirror in my prayers as well. I try to stuff something else in my mouth while I'm still chewing on what God gave me before.

So thankfulness works best for me when I pause and think of how God is good. Reflection is good fuel for thanksgiving. Just a few moments of silence before I begin to ask for things can really frame my whole prayer into love and adoration instead or whining and complaining.

Lord, would that I were more simple in my heart before you. My thoughts get in the way sometimes. They are important, I know, but not as important as just coming to you when I need something, knowing that you are dying to help me in any way you can. Let my thoughts bring me closer to you, so a childlike heart will be natural for me. Amen.

Really just asking more would help me a lot. I think a lot, praise a lot, but forget to ask for much. To this Luther writes, "If you do not know or recognize your needs, you are in the worst possible place. The greatest trouble we can ever know is thinking that we have no trouble for we have become hardened and insensible to what is inside us." (p.134)

Prayer and the Hidden God

Devotional Classics, John Ballie, A Dairy of Private Prayer

"Almighty and eternal God,
You are hidden from my sight,
You are beyond the understanding of my mind:
Your thoughts are not as my thoughts:
Your ways are past finding out." (p.127)

The world around me makes God plain to see. His willingness to answer prayer encourages me. His instruction moves me to greater obedience and love. Who is more present than God?

And yet, he is hidden. I have heard a good deal these days about God's scarcity. For many people he seems to have disappeared, even in the moment of their greatest need. This wilderness may change my life profoundly, but often the wilderness comes not from God's making, but my own. I isolate myself from him.

Yet the One who is "hidden from my sight," as Baillie puts it, is not usually hidden due to some "dark night of the soul" nor even because of my own sins. God's secrecy comes from his greatness and my own limitation in understanding him. God "hides" behind the smallness of my mind, and more, the smallness of my heart.

The famous passage Isaiah 55:7 "For my ways are not your ways, and my thoughts are not your thoughts" is preceded by his unfathomable pity on me: "Let him call on the Lord and he will have mercy, and to our God, for he will freely pardon." The passage culminates in a glorious promise, "You will go out with joy and be led forth with peace. The mountains and the hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands."

So God sandwiches his thoughts between mercy and promise. In this way, my thoughts are a million miles away from his. I neither easily accept these thoughts and ways as ones that he could possibly have for me, nor do I imitate these sorts of thoughts often in my own life. Hidden in this passage is God's desire: that my thoughts would be his thoughts and my ways his ways.

I believe it was the Cloud of Unknowing that says that I cannot understand God with mind, nor will I ever, but I can understand God perfectly in my heart through love. I long to understand "what wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul!" Baillie continues this prayer in this way:

Yet You have breathed Your Spirit into my life:
Yet You have formed my mind to seek You:
Yet You have inclined my heart to love You:
Yet You have made me restless for the rest that is in You:
Yet You have planted within me a hunger and thirst that make me dissatisfied with all the joys of earth. (p.128)

I have many days when I wonder how God can put up with me. I can't even put up with myself. His pity and promise make my life something precious, worthy of the greatest speculation and wonder. God's hiding place may be for my growth or due to my hardness, but perhaps I am not looking high enough: "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." I look beneath him to ways and thoughts that do not befit One so loving and kind.

Lord, let me say, "I lift my eyes up to the mountains" (Ps. 121) because I seek thoughts and ways that are higher and better than my own. I do not think much of myself. I am not worth much in myself, ruined and wayward. The high price paid for me determines my worth. Today, let me lift my eyes up to that mountain, Golgotha, where my help comes from and where your thoughts and ways were revealed. Let me hear you say: "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what I have prepared for you" (1 Cor.2:9) as I cling to that cross. Amen.

On days like today, I need to find a way to have the Lord's thoughts before me. Pondering is good. Prayer is better. But often the words cannot find their way into my heart. They stay before me, but out of reach. I feel lonely. Perhaps a trip to the cross is what I need; the image may help the idea to sink in deeper.

Prayer and Peace and Thankfulness

Devotional Classics, John Baillie, A Diary of Private Prayer

"O God my Creator and Redeemer, I may not go forth today except You accompany me with Your blessing. Let not the vigor and freshness of the morning, or the glow of good health, or the present prosperity of my undertakings, deceive me into a false reliance upon my own strength. . . . Only in continued dependence on You, the Giver, can they be worthily enjoyed." (p.127)

"No king is saved by the size of his army;

no warrior escapes by his great strength.

A horse is a vain hope for deliverance;

despite all its great strength it cannot save.

But the eyes of Lord are on those who fear him,

on those whose hope is in his unfailing love." (Ps. 33:16-18)

Well-being is in the greeting of Paul's letters and also in the Jewish greeting of Shalom. It is the heart of peace. It is at the heart of what Julian of Norwich's words, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." This well-being is located in the "peace that passes understanding" (Php. 4).

My well-being, my peace is often located within pleasant turns of events. Narrow escapes and triumphant victories can heighten my sense of well-being into a sense of exultation, joy, and power. I suppose this is why various forms of amusement can help calm me. Even in the midst of a mundane life full of disappointments, we can have a feeling of triumph from a movie, or a sport (not so much my thing), or a video game (much more my thing). Somehow this leaves a shadow of well-being in my life.

This peace is part of the blessing that only God can give. I can pretend to have peace and approximate its presence through various means of food, entertainment, etc. But it is a shallow peace quickly dispelled when real trouble comes. Perhaps this is one of the best indicators of "depth" in my spiritual life: the thin ribbon of entertainment and escape is quickly cut in difficulty, while the cords of real peace are stretched, but not broken.

I am glad that God gives so much more good than bad in life. The proof of it is in the gospel. No evil can swallow up that goodness. It makes all other gifts worthy of enjoyment instead of dependence. They become evidences of God's love and grace, but not sources of his grace. I guess that is why I am not to depend too much on "earthly things," because of my propensity to depend on them.

So thankfulness in prayer is important. Thankfulness for all the wonderful things that I enjoy and take for granted. Thankfulness for things that are pleasant surprises. It can help keep my eyes on the Giver more than the gifts. It can keep my hope on the Unfailing Lover and Sustainer rather than on the means used to save me. It helps, but often the thanks stops short of true dependence and true hope in the Lord.

I find my peace is tested and proved not by how much I give thanks for the good things, but how much I give thanks in all things. I don't think I need to be thankful for pain and suffering exactly, but thankful that such things can lead me to deeper peace and joy if I walk through them with God. James says that we can consider them "pure joy" because of what they yield - perseverance and maturity.

It seems that thankfulness that yields deep peace is accompanied by worship, prayer, generosity, etc. There is no such thing as a truly thankful miser or thief. Consequently, there is no such thing as a peaceful miser or thief either. So my thankfulness is often fairly shallow, and therefore, so is my peace and well-being.

I do not long for a stoic life where I am unaffected by either good or bad and try to achieve some sense of "peace" by saying nothing really matters. Instead, I want my prayers to be full of life and passion, whether happiness or sadness, so that I can have true peace, knowing, seeing, and experiencing God's unfailing love in all things.

Indifference is profound unthankfulness in the face of the wonders and challenges of this life. I can't think of a parent who would enjoy a child who did not care whether they were given a hug or a slap. We would think something was wrong with them. Why else would Jesus give us this example of prayer: "Lead us not into trials, but deliver us from evil." I long for what is good and that is right. The only truly good is God himself.

Lord, let my prayers be filled with a thankfulness that sees gifts as doorways to praise and trials as doorways to a deeper love for you. Let me not neglect the moments that come - good or bad - and forget to enter into your unfailing love. Let my peace be deep as my thankfulness. Let my prayers be offered from my very bowels and not just from my lips because of this sense of thankfulness and well-being. Help me to grow up, Lord. Amen.

I sure have a long way to go in this. I'm afraid that I often act quite spoiled, forgetting much of God's goodness in the face of relatively small difficulties. I've been given much; I shudder to think what might be expected of me. In practice, I want to learn how to bring praise, prayer, celebration, and offerings whenever I am especially thankful or especially hurting. I believe this concrete action may help deepen my thankfulness and help me to enter more easily into that "peace that passes understanding."