Prayer and Entering the Kingdom

Devotional Classics, John Ballie, A Diary of Private Prayer

"I give You thanks for this Your greatest gift.

For my Lord's days upon the earth:

For the record of His deeds of love:

For the words he spoke for my guidance and help:

For His obedience unto death:

For His triumph over death:

For the presence of His Spirit within me now:

I thank You, O God." (p.128)

Today, for these words I am grateful, Father. "I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again." (John 3:3) May the truth of these words be a light in my darkness, a compass on my sea, a kind word in a crowd of criticism. Amen.

Gently, gently. I want to hold the Lord's words gently. They are not fragile, but they are of such power that to mishandle them can only result in great catastrophe, while to hold them aright will result in great salvation. I long to hold His words as a precious treasure to my heart.

His reply in this passage to Nicodemus is his reply to me. I come thinking that I have him figured out. "We know you are. . . ." The words come so easily. I see Jesus. I read about His life and His deeds. But You say, "No one can see. . ." We are blind. Completely ignorant. I may think I am a great teacher in some area, but here I am a novice, forever a beginner.

Jesus is the door, the way to the Kingdom, the reality of God. I see in Him and through Him the glory and grace of God spilling out onto the earth, onto the lives of those around me, onto myself. This is my only door up and out. He is the only door. There is no other way to view the kingdom. There is no way to peek over the walls or through the cracks. The gate of Jesus is the only way to see the glory of this Kingdom.

The gate is open! Just as Jesus arms are open to all who would come to Him. Only through Him can my spirit be made alive. Until then, I walk in the shadow lands. The kingdom remains a far-off glow without new eyes, new ears, and a new heart. The earth is a cold and unforgiving place without my spirit reborn.

"Unless he is born again." This is His word. This is His promise. That is why He had to send His Spirit. He had to have me and everyone else with Him. He knew I could not enter or even see His abiding place without a new life in me. This is His promise; I will send Him to you, your guide, your comforter, your reminder.

"Unless he is born again." This is His word. This is His warning. I cannot bypass Him. I cannot find another way without Him. I will not even see the Kingdom without His eyes and His life being birthed in me. I may try many other means, but in the end I will be left in the cold with my idols.

This is where prayer takes me: to see the Kingdom, to enter the Kingdom. Hearing the Spirit, though I do not know where He is coming from or where He is going. Prayer is marveling at what God has done and what He is doing now. It is putting my hand to the plow in the field He has given me in this Kingdom and not looking back. It is being homeless in this world, even friendless, but laying my head down next to His. Prayer is the song of pilgrims on the way to their journey's end.

Prayer is response to the wind that blows from God. The Spirit who brings us into the Kingdom of God by igniting each moment with God's presence, God's will, and God's intentions. It always catches me by surprise; I don't know where it comes from or where it is going. But I learn to hear. My ears are reborn too.

Lord, may my prayers be laid at Your feet as tears, as kisses, as fragrant perfume. I am in awe of Your words to me. They come in unexpected ways, teaching me to listen closely instead of trying to figure them all out. Let them be an invitation to Your feast more than a puzzle I try to solve. You meant them in love. Amen.

I see prayer as the dialect of this new Realm. It is the only one that can be spoken or understood. I come as a foreigner. My words are halting. My vocabulary small. The Spirit helps to interpret what I mean and tell me what I hear. The King's Son is my guide and friend. It is a pleasant place and I am only in the doorway. I long to see more of this land as the Spirit opens my eyes.

Prayer and Unlearning

Devotional Classics, Frank Laubach, Excerpts from Letters by a Modern Day Mystic

"I have done nothing but open windows - God has done the rest." (p.119)

I read a book a while ago by a pianist named Chang. The whole book was on how to practice the piano. I confess I did not read all of it, but much of it. It opened my eyes to many things in my spiritual life.

I remember from that book that the thing that takes the most time in practicing piano is the unlearning of what was learned incorrectly. He said that just a little time of playing correctly is worth lots of time time playing incorrectly because, of course, incorrect playing will just have to be unlearned.

So Laubach points out that a life of intimate prayer with God is, in a way, easy. God is near. God is willing. I need only reach out to take his hand. Open the window and God will come rushing in.

Perhaps the reason it is not that easy is that I have to spend so much time unlearning things. I have to unlearn my distrust of God. I have to unlearn my worry and anxiety about life. I have to unlearn my desire to have my own way no matter what. The list goes on.

Unfortunately, the process of unlearning doesn't seem to have any short cuts. There is this one encouragement, however. Even a little practice in the right way goes a long way. Sometimes my mood and thoughts provide a favorable wind that make such reliance on God easier. That's good. But when the winds aren't favorable, the effort to sail into his presence takes longer, but teaches me more about God and myself.

I need not wait until I have unlearned all my bad habits before I "play." God is merciful. He meets me in surprising ways even when my prayers are mostly whining and complaining. But such prayers are often more one-sided conversations; I really don't want to hear from God, I just want to get out of trouble or gripe aloud. Sometimes, when I catch myself doing this, I merely call out "Help!" and God comes quickly.

The real power of Laubach's phrase for me is that I need only remain with God, listen to him, walk with him, and he takes me with him. No moment need be a "waste." The window can always be opened and God can always be with me and allow me to work with him. Household chores can be times when God shows me great things, and he often does it through the activity itself. Work can be a time of pruning off dead branches of worry, anger, or anxiety. God is faithfully working around me as well as in me.

The open window for me feels a certain way. It is often the sense of comfort. Sometimes it is expectant anticipation. Sometimes it is amazement. It precipitates from thoughts I have of God, usually from the Bible, or from conversation with other believers or from a song. I hold onto the feeling associated with the thoughts. From that feeling of God's nearness, I am able to concentrate on him and perform many of my regular duties. I have not come far, but the experiences have been exciting and God-filled.

Lord, writing is good. I am glad you have directed me this way. Let my writing open the window to your ever-abiding presence. Only in this friendship with you do I have any hope. Many other things occupy my mind and threaten to get in the way of this open conversation. Help me unlearn them. Amen.

Even now I sense concern for what comes next, that is, worry, trying to take my attention away from the open window and the wind that blows through it. Each moment is precious in God's hands. Let tomorrow take care of itself. The unlearning will be hard, but the reward is great.

Prayer and Dissatisfaction

Devotional Classics, Frank Laubach, Excerpts from Letters by a Modern Mystic

"Two years ago a profound dissatisfaction led me to begin trying to line up my actions with the will of God about every fifteen minutes or every half hour. . . . This year I have started out trying to live live all my waking moments in conscious listening to the inner voice, asking without ceasing, 'What, Father, do you desire said? What, Father, do you desire done this minute?'" (p.120)

This week I had a friend help me see a dissatisfaction in my life. Just for that word this quote stood out to me. But also, I have had a longing for several months to begin this journey toward unceasing prayer.

Dissatisfaction can come from many places, but it's home is in my own heart. I guess I see here that it is a call to be near God, a sense of emptiness in something that I am a part of. At work, I have found my dissatisfaction lessen when I see and understand that I am working for God. When I submit to others for his sake, even jobs or activities I've seen as "stupid" can bring meaning and challenge.

I can see how dissatisfaction brought Laubach to a place where he wanted to submit to God in each moment. The wandering eyes of dissatisfaction keep me from attending to what has been given me to do. I need to ask God frequently what he wants, not because he wants to constantly tell me what to do, but because I am so faithless and childish, not doing what I know I should. My mind wanders and so does my heart.

Dissatisfaction can be an indicator that I have wandered away from the task(s) that the Lord has for me to do. At some point, my pride, lust, or anger took control of the wheel and steered me away from the work God has. The only solution really is to get back to what He has set before me.

What have I wandered from? Submission seems to be Laubach's answer. Not a simpering, whining "devotion" that comes from fear or self-degradation, but a full-bodied devotion that says, "I'll do whatever it takes." Such submission is not a resignation of the will, but a full workout. When I serve ungrateful or indifferent people for the Lord's sake, then even the most trivial task can become the most glorious.

Why? Perhaps the greatest enemy to God in this world is the rebellious human will. The greatest asset to God is the fully submissive human will. When I rebel against God, I rebel against everyone, really. When I serve God, I serve everyone, really. Since I've begun working for the Lord, my bosses are often happier with my work..

Lord, I see dissatisfaction can be an indicator that I am leaving the work you given me undone. Help me to be faithful in the little things so that you can work greater things in me and in those around me. Amen.

I need to be faithful in what has given me to do. When I feel overwhelmed, I believe I have added to what the Lord has asked from me. Living to do "great things" has blinded me to doing things with great love. In this case, the smaller the activity, the better for creating that attitude of submission before God.

Prayer and Christ-likeness

Devotional Classics, Frank Laubach, Excerpts from Letters by a Modern Mystic

"'Moment by moment, I'm kept in his love;
Moment by moment I've life from above;
Looking to Jesus till glory doth shine;
Moment by moment, O Lord, I am Thine.'

It means two burning passions: First, to be like Jesus. Second, to respond to God as a violin responds the the bow of the master. Open your soul and entertain the glory of God and after a while that glory will be reflected in the world about you and in the very clouds above your head." (p. 120)

Sometimes I spend a lot of time rambling. I guess it is comforting in a way. I find great thoughts and try to grab hold of them and put them on paper. Nothing wrong in that.

But sometimes I grow weary of words, especially my own. I long to boil it all down to simple ideas that I can hold onto when my words grow thin. I love this thought: "Be like Jesus." Really there is nothing else to being a Christian at all. Just be like Jesus.

I am a child. I dress up my words. I dress up my actions (a little). I dress up my face with the proper expressions. I try to look like Jesus. Like a child with a favorite baseball player, I get the same hat, the same shoes, the same bat, but for some reason I don't ever hit like him or catch like him or pitch like him. I'm just dressed up.

"Well, of course," people say, "he's GOD. How can you expect to be like him?" Granted. However, the Lord Jesus commanded us to be like him. "My command is this: love each other as I have loved you." (Jn.15:12) Nothing fancy, just impossible.

Yet, how good a teacher would Jesus be if all he did was spout impossibilities? How helpful would it be if you asked someone "What should I do if I fall down and break my leg?" and they answered "Just get up and start walking again?" Some see much of his teaching as only for another age or time or mode of existence. Well, then the answer to the above question would be "You'll die and then your leg will be better." Not much help.

I am talking about something more that Christian perfection. It's not just a matter of never doing anything wrong. I've already messed that up entirely. It's a matter of passion. If I throw Christ-likeness into the realm of the impossible, will it not also be in the realm of the undesirable or at least the unattainable? Really, putting off Christ-likeness is a serious misunderstanding of eternal life. If I cannot being to be like Christ now then why would I want to later unless I am not myself at all, but rather another being that desires to be perfect like Jesus?

Such growth in Christ can only come "moment by moment" as the old hymn says above. I do not experience life any other way. Being like Jesus cannot be merely wishful thinking like wanting to win the lottery or wishing I was a master on the piano. Wishing must move to real plans, real passion, and real intention to become real at all. Otherwise, it is a fantasy.

Prayer is the birthplace of these plans, passions, and intentions. We ask (beg) and long for it before it starts to become real in our lives. Laubach says, "Open your soul and entertain the glory of God and after a while. . . ." Prayer is at its best an open soul. I must remain open to catch God's glory. Although he will take every opportunity to fill me and change me, it will take time, not because of God's unwillingness, but because of my resistance and dullness.

Lord, let me open my soul to you. Let me open my life to you. I don't want to live a mere fantasy. I want to be like Jesus. I lay my life at your disposal. I know that what Jesus taught is true and is possible. I can be like him. I want to spend the rest of my life in eternity doing just that. Amen.

This is the heart of being a Christian (meaning "little Christ" or maybe Christ, Jr.). What else is there? It is not a merely theological statement, or a moral statement, or a political statement, or a social statement. It is a statement about the life he has promised us: a life like Jesus'. It is the heart that is missing in so much of my Christian experience. I am encouraged to try to be like Jesus outwardly without trying to be like Jesus inwardly. To this Jesus says, "First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside will also be clean." (Mt.23:26)

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)