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)