trials, temptations, pleasure and pain

I’ve been feeding on James chapter 1 the past several days. It’s a challenging passage for folks who find themselves in the midst of hardship. James draws a distinction between “testing,” which comes from God, develops perseverance and maturity, and leads to life, and “temptation,” which comes from our own evil desires, gives birth to sin, and leads to death. One way to summarize the difference between the two would be: testing is God’s gracious nudge toward life by way of refining pain, while temptation is my sinful nature dragging me toward death by way of twisted pleasures.

It’s clear that this passage doesn’t teach that pain is good and pleasure is bad. James invites believers into joy, which is the most profound expression of pleasure. He reminds us that all good and perfect gifts come from our heavenly Father. However, it seems that James is concerned with the possibility that his brothers and sisters in Christ are missing out on the enjoyment of God’s good gifts. That may be because they are unable to recognize the gift when it comes their way.

Unfortunately, I think that I often pray for and expect God to provide the kinds of gifts that will tempt me to delight in something other than Him: material comforts, financial security, uncomplicated relationships, physical health. I may be surprised and disappointed when He doesn’t supply in one of these arenas, particularly when I have prayed a lot about it. Sometimes, instead of receiving comfort and relief from the Lord, I find myself inexplicably in the midst of trial.

It is at moments like these that James suggests I remember the generosity of God; and in particular, the generous way in which He gives me wisdom when I ask for it. How do I consider it joy when I face trials of many kinds? I go to my Father and ask Him to show me what He’s up to. “What are you doing in my life through this, Lord?” This is a prayer that the Lord delights to answer. He loves to give me light in the midst of the storm; not necessarily removing the pain, but rather supplying the kind of discernment that helps me to see His gracious hand at work.

So, God’s wisdom teaches me to see His goodness in the midst of my grief. I think that one of the most effective witnesses to the transforming power of the gospel is that of the person who, walking in the grace that only God supplies, manifests the joy of the Lord as he suffers.

I try to avoid criticism in this blog, unless it relates to my own prideful self. But, I can’t help but mention before closing that the teaching of James seems to fly in the face of the “prosperity gospel.” I invite you to view a brief clip of John Piper’s comments on this topic by clicking on the link below.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=ukcV-xtU3hc

an apparent contradiction

“Mission . . . must take the form of servanthood. Only in this way can it escape the charge of arrogance.” (G. Thompson Brown)

I have been struggling with what seems to be a significant contradiction in my life pursuits. On the one hand, I have given significant time and energy to learning about how to nurture humility and starve pride in my life. However, I am presently employed as a missionary. The idea behind my vocation is that I have a message that others need to hear in order to be saved. They are missing some vital information that I have; and I need to tell them about it. And here lies the conflict: the very nature of my profession would seem to foster an attitude of superiority rather than lowliness.

There are plenty of statistics to show that missionaries tend to be “fix-it” people with varying degrees of what might be considered a “savior” complex. Sometimes I wonder if the Lord didn’t design foreign missions primarily to get people like me so far out of their comfort zone that they can’t help but be convinced of how tiny, insignificant, and powerless they really are to do anything that really matters for the kingdom of God. Through the centuries, the mission field has served as a reliable reducer of over-sized egos.

In the past several weeks, I’ve had some first-hand experience with the damage that can be caused by an attitude of superiority, even when the person with the superiority problem is entirely unaware of it. The first time someone here told me that they felt judged by me, it took me entirely off guard. I didn’t think I was judging anyone. On the contrary, I thought that I had been pretty humble and lowly in my interactions with folks since my arrival. The fact is that it’s hard to be proud when your 5-year old neighbor communicates far better in the local language than you do. But somehow, with my limited abilities in french, I had found a way to communicate an attitude of superiority. My pride found a way to poke through the dry ground of this new living environment in no time fast.

Moments like this can leave me feeling hopeless, wondering what the heck I’m doing here. Who do I think I am coming to another country to try and convince people that they need to be saved through faith in Christ? At times it can feel like nothing more than a personal ego trip gone terribly wrong.

But then, I come across a quote like the one at the top of this entry: “mission must take the form of servanthood. Only in this way can it escape the charge of arrogance.” Something in this quote points me back to Jesus again. He had servanthood written all over everything he did. I think of his words, “The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Something in these words gives me hope that I might find a way of living this life without the apparent contradiction. Perhaps “humility” and “missionary” are not mutually exclusive states of being.

I can’t pretend to have arrived at a place of rest with this concept yet. I find myself struggling almost daily with various forms of internal conflict and discomfort with this path that I am walking. But the fact that Jesus came this way before me gives me courage. The fact that countless thousands have walked this road, have wrestled with their own uncertainties, have faced off against their own pride and subtle issues with superiority, have come to find great joy and even freedom in this often unrewarding labor inspires me to keep walking another day.

Lord, teach me what it means that mission is servanthood. Show me how to walk the lowly way of the kingdom in a world where faith is increasingly an object of scorn. Help me to fix my eyes upon the One who, for the joy set before him, endured the cross, scorning its shame. Give me strength today to take up my cross and follow. Amen.

a wideness in his mercy

From time to time a song will take my mind hostage for a few days. I'll find myself humming the tune when I wake up in the morning, thinking about the lyrics at various moments throughout the day, and often singing it to my kids as I put them to bed at night. Sometimes I find that it is the Lord who put the song there, and that it may even be his voice singing to me in my head, comforting me and caring for me by means of the music. I wanted to pass on the lyrics to a song that the Lord has been using in this way over the past week. It is the handiwork of Rich Mullens, a singer-songwriter whose music has often taken (or been used to take) my mind hostage, particularly when I have been in need of healing:

There's a wideness in God's mercy
I cannot find in my own
And He keeps His fire burning
To melt this heart of stone
Keeps me aching with a yearning
Keeps me glad to have been caught
In the reckless raging fury
That they call the love of God

Now I've seen no band of angels
But I've heard the soldiers' songs
Love hangs over them like a banner
Love within them leads them on
To the battle on the journey
And it's never gonna stop
Ever widening their mercies
And the fury of His love

Oh the love of God
And oh, the love of God
The love of God

Joy and sorrow are this ocean
And in their every ebb and flow
Now the Lord a door has opened
That all Hell could never close
Here I'm tested and made worthy
Tossed about but lifted up
In the reckless raging fury
That they call the love of God

grace and lies

A character from Albert Camus’ novel, The Stranger, recently called my attention to a significant problem in my life: dishonesty. I had to read the book for one of my French courses here, and as we discussed the main character, Meursault (pronounced Mer-sew, not Mer-salt), I was struck with the realization that I am not a very truthful person.

In the novel, it is Meursault’s inability to tell a lie that sets him apart from everyone else, and eventually leads to his death. Meursault feels no need to color the truth to his own advantage, nor to tell people what they want to hear. He says exactly what he thinks, and tries as best as he can to portray things as they really are. One side effect of this commitment to truthfulness is that he doesn’t talk very much.

As I followed this character through the storyline of the novel, I came to the realization that I am not at all like Meursault. I do have a tendency to color the truth to my own advantage, and my interactions with others are often influenced by what I think they may be expecting of me. I also tend to talk way too much. I have started to pay more attention to my words, and have been surprised at the number of times that I have said things that didn’t really reflect what I genuinely thought or felt.

Interestingly, one reason why Meursault is so free to speak the truth is because he is entirely indifferent to the opinions and feelings of others. He is a very isolated person who has no real concern for his fellow man beyond what they might contribute to his own temporal happiness.

In comparison, I tend to be very concerned about the opinions and feelings of others, which is one reason why I am often tempted to slant the truth. I can excuse myself for this slanting by thinking that what I am really doing is giving grace. In other words, I am usually quite anxious to encourage and build others up (my real motives for this will probably be the subject of another entry). I often look to construct relationships and establish stronger connections with those who cross my path regularly (again there are motive issues here, but I'll explore those at another time). I may consciously or subconsciously console myself with the thought that my intentions are genuine, even if the means may be a bit shady. After all, what is wrong with wanting to make people feel better or wanting to open relational doors wider?

A couple of weeks ago I found myself in the midst of a relational conflict with a husband and wife from our church here in France. They are a couple that Annie and I have spent a significant amount of time with, even though they are very different from ourselves, and even though the relationship is sometimes uncomfortable. One afternoon, I was on the phone with the husband and the conversation was not going well. At one point, I heard myself expressing the desire for authentic friendship with him and his wife. The moment the words came out of my mouth, I knew that they were not true. My wife, Annie, heard the statement that I made, and she knew that the words were not true. I imagine that the man to whom I spoke the words knew that they were not true. So, why did I make that statement?

Twisted though it may seem, in my desire to “give grace” to this person, to mend the relationship, to keep him from sliding further away from the Lord than he already has, I made a statement that was intended to encourage and perhaps supply a way forward. The problem was that the statement was simply not rooted in truth. Though I do want to see this person grow in the Lord, and though I am willing to partner with him in various ways toward that end, I honestly do not find any evidence of a genuine desire for friendship with this person in my heart. What is really warped is the idea that I could possibly contribute to someone’s spiritual growth by lying to them. And yet, if I took some time to reflect on it, I imagine I could come up with a sizeable list of encounters in which I attempted to do just that: to give someone grace by lying to them.

As I reread the line that I just wrote, the thought strikes me as simply absurd. And yet, I know that I have done this numerous times in the past.

In the novel that I mentioned above, Meursault was described as someone who understood the value of words. He chose his words carefully, and this was disconcerting for many around him who were accustomed to careless and even untruthful speech. Though I don’t want to be indifferent like Meursault, I do want to be someone who understands the value, I might even say the power of words.

This entry is already getting long, so I need to reserve that topic (the power of words) for another day. But I will close with this simple thought: the nearer I draw to my Lord, the Word of God spoken to mankind with grace and truth, the more I will come to value timely and truthful words. As Jesus is formed in me, I believe I will naturally speak less and listen more. I will weigh my words, and wonder before I speak if there is something the Lord would have me say. As a statement is being formed in my mind, I will ask myself whether this statement is rooted in truth or falsehood.

And as the Lord accomplishes this transforming work in me, my hope is that I will become more like the prophet Samuel. 1 Samuel 3:19 says, “The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground.” May the Lord be with me in such a way, and with you, my friend. And may we be men and women whose words do not fall to the ground.

showing my color

Although I’m sure I’ll revisit the subject of prayer again in the future, I want to turn my attention to a different topic in this entry. In a recent conversation, I found words escaping from my mouth that showed the true color of my heart for a moment; and the color was green.

I was talking with someone about the French courses that I’m presently taking, and found myself commenting on another student who is in several of my classes with me. I began by speaking some words of praise for this student, but very soon shifted to recounting a recent experience that made him look bad. As I wrapped up the story, I felt uncomfortable with myself. My gut seemed to be talking to me, telling me, “something just went wrong.” And indeed it had.

As I reflected on the words I had just spoken, I realized that they revealed an envy of this person that I had not previously acknowledged to myself. He happens to be a doctoral student at Boston University, studying to be a literature professor. He is exceptionally intelligent and seems to have a photographic memory. His mastery of the English language and near mastery of French leave us all in awe at times, professors included.

So, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised at the appearance of some jealousy in my heart. But the truth is that I was surprised; not just at the jealousy, but at the ugly way that, in this particular moment, I had taken pleasure in his pain.

I’ve been thinking for several days now about a passage from James chapter 3. It says:

Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show it by his good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom. But if you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such ‘wisdom’ does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, of the devil. For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice. But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace raise a harvest of righteousness.

I’m struck by several things in these verses. First, it is interesting that James contrasts the humility that comes from wisdom with the envy that comes, ultimately, from the devil. He links envy to selfish ambition, and says that it is rooted in an earthly and unspiritual way of thinking. Another way of looking at this is simply to say that envy and selfish ambition come from pride.

And that doesn’t surprise me at all. The student that I mentioned above is strong in areas that I think I am strong in as well. The problem is that he is stronger. Why does his superior strength threaten me? Because I think I’m something special. The pride within me would like me to believe that I have reason to boast about certain qualities that I possess. When the value of these qualities is diminished in comparison with someone else, this can undermine my self-esteem . . . which makes me feel sad.

When this happens, I am faced with several possibilities. I could simply be depressed. I could look for ways to forget or drown out my sense of inferiority. I could work really hard to assert myself in some area in such a way that would enable me to feel superior once again . . . at least until someone comes along and out-does me in that area as well.

Or, I could let the appearance of envy remind once again of my need for grace. This apparition calls to mind the reality of pride in my heart. If I’m honest with myself, I know that I am powerless to combat this problem; incapable of changing my condition. So, I cry out to the Lord for grace. I remind myself that this battle is his, and I ask him to fight it on my behalf. I confess my sin to the Savior and invite him to cleanse me once again through the blood that he shed for me on the cross. I ask him to fill me with his Spirit, his life-giving Spirit who transforms me from the inside out with resurrection power. I trust him to help me walk in lowliness for the remainder of this day.

One other contrast from this text that caught my attention was that of envy as opposed to peace-making. The envious person is consumed with himself. The peace-maker is concerned for others. The envious person is incapable of communicating peace, because his neighbor, whoever that may be, is always a potential threat to his sense of self. The peace-maker’s sense of self is rooted in the fact that he is accepted in Christ, a reality that is never in peril, that is never threatened by the success or greatness of others. The envious person is on the lookout for weaknesses and flaws in others, which give him a basis for feeling superior over them. The peace-maker is on the lookout for the evidences of God’s grace in others, so that he can call their attention to the Lord’s loving presence in their lives.

I must admit that it disgusts me to see envy in myself. However, even this evidence of sin in my heart is redeemed when I give it over to my Good Shepherd. He uses it to draw me closer to himself, to convince me that I need him just as much today as I did when I first believed.

My Lord, please deliver me of all envy and selfish ambition. Fill me with your peace. Fill me with that security that comes from knowing I have been chosen and adopted by a loving Father through faith in his Son. Empower me today to communicate your peace to others around me, I pray. Amen.

beyond breakfast

If the gospel is the “power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes,” and I believe that it is, then I could use a heavy dose of this power multiple times a day. Why? Because I find that my old, dead self has a way of popping its head up out of the grave in one shape or another, not just daily, but numerous times each day. I am haunted by the ghost of my old man, and the evidence of this paranormal activity can be seen at times in my actions and my words.

Unfortunately, for quite some time, I saw no connection between the power of the gospel, which we might also call “grace,” and my daily struggle against sin and carnal living. The gospel, for me, was simply a set of propositional truths that applied primarily to people who didn’t know Jesus yet.

You have been separated from God because of your sin. Because of His love for you, God sent His Son, Jesus, to die on the cross and rise from the dead, paying the penalty for your sin and conquering sin and death. If you put your faith in Jesus, you may enter into relationship with God and be guaranteed eternal life.

When a person decides to believe this Good News, they become a Christian and then (I assumed) move on to bigger and better things, spiritually speaking. It wasn’t until just a few years ago that I was challenged to reconsider my understanding of the gospel, and more specifically, of the on-going role that it plays in my Christian life. This was a kind of spiritual awakening for me; a revolution that has changed the way I live as a follower of Christ.

As I read and studied God’s Word, I started to find that His grace jumped out all over the place. This grace that lies at the heart of the gospel message turned out to be an essential component for my survival as a believer. I have come to understand the grace of God as, at least in part, the manifestation of His power in my day to day living: a power that I can’t live without.

Let me give you two examples of what this looks like for me: one that shows a recent failure to walk in the grace of God, and one that shows a recent victory.

First story
Two weeks ago, both Annie and I started our day with some time reading in God’s Word and praying. I considered a passage in Ephesians 4 which says, “I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.” This passage is loaded with key words that I was praying for myself, and for my family and for several people that I know, words like: humble, gentle, patient, love, unity, peace.

Now, it is not every day that both of us get a chance to start our day in time alone with the Lord like this. Anyone who has little children knows that this can be a major challenge for parents. So, what could go wrong on a day like this? Well, it wasn’t two minutes after I left my room to start getting ready to leave for class that all hell broke loose in our home; and it was mostly my fault.

Annie asked me if I could take Crystelle to school because Micah was sick and she didn’t want to take him out in the cold. I only had a short window of time before I would be late for class. I let her know how I felt about the fact that she had waited until the last minute to ask me to do this. She let me know how she felt about my tone of voice and attitude. I accused her of something and then she accused me of something and down, down, down we went into the pit of muck. I packed up my things, grabbed my astonished daughter by the hand, and out the door we went.

Where is the life of Christ in that? Where is the evidence of the new creation in that? Where is the humility, gentleness, patience, love, unity, peace in that? I had done what I was supposed to do that morning: quiet time. I should have reaped the benefits in godly living. But, instead, I somehow found myself sprawled out, face first, in the mud. I had operated under the false impression that fifteen minutes of prayer and bible reading would be sufficient to carry me through the day. What went wrong? Should I have spent thirty minutes instead?

No, that’s not it. What I realized later that day as Annie and I reconciled and revisited the events of the morning together, was that I had not put my hope in the gospel, in the grace of God that empowers me for godly living. Instead, I had put my hope in my quiet time. The fact is that I am in need of God’s grace each moment of my day. And my recognition of this on-going need for grace, a grace that works powerfully in us enabling us to live the life that we most profoundly desire to live, is a motivation for what Paul refers to as “prayer without ceasing.” To the extent that I recognize my need for Christ’s “salvation” moment by moment throughout the day, I will find myself turning to Him with my needs in prayer, even if that prayer lasts only a few seconds.

Second story
Last Sunday, we were all getting ready to head out to church. I had some documents to print that I needed to bring with me. Annie was getting herself ready in the bathroom. The kids were starting to get a little nuts. Doors were slamming. The volume of their voices was steadily rising along with my blood pressure. I was nearing boiling point when my son let out a window-rattling yell. I was out the door of my room in a flash, heading for the living room where the kids were, to give them a piece of my mind. But as I made the brief trajectory between rooms, a thought crossed my mind: I need grace now. I am lost in this moment. My anger is threatening to carry me away. I need grace now.

I entered the room, and before speaking a word of correction to anyone, I gathered the kids together and we all sat on the floor in a circle. I asked my daughter, Crystelle to pray for her daddy that the Lord would give him grace. That the love and patience and gentleness of Jesus would shine through him. Crystelle prayed that for me. And then I prayed, and told the Lord how much I needed His saving grace in that moment.

My friends, something changed radically in the atmosphere of our home in those 3 minutes we spent asking the Lord for grace. Even Annie could recognize it in the next room over (where she was drying her hair). My sin and weakness had shown themselves once again, threatening to drag me down into another pit. But, in this moment, I turned to my Savior for grace, for the power of the gospel that is the salvation for all who believe.

I’m finding that my spiritual breakfast, time spent in the Word and prayer at the start of my day, does not make me spiritually bullet-proof for the rest of the day. Instead, it is an opportunity for me to orient myself toward the cross in preparation for the warfare that will inevitably come my way. It is a chance to remind myself that I am lost today without the life-changing power of God working in and through me. It is a means of opening the door of my heart to the resurrection power that was unleashed when Christ emerged from the grave, and that is made available daily to me through the indwelling presence of His Holy Spirit. It is the starting point for my on-going conversation with the Lord throughout the day, a conversation that is fed by the challenges, hardships and even failures that I face as the day unfolds.

So prayer is rooted both in the will of God (discussed in the previous entry) and in the power of God. And if I hope to become a person of prayer, I need to move beyond a simple reliance on my spiritual breakfast, my quiet time, as a protection against the spiritual threats of the day. The fact is that I need the powerful grace of God working in me and through me throughout the day, and prayer is my way of accessing this grace; a grace that God, by His Spirit, is anxious to give me; a grace that enables me to live a life worthy of the calling that I have received; a grace that saves me from sin not just when I first believe, but every day from then until I stand before my Savior in glory.

what hinders?

I have often blamed busyness for the lack of prayer in my life. So much to do, so little time to do it. But, I’m starting to think that this is probably a smoke screen for other problems that hinder my prayers. I’ve been thinking about 2 passages that the apostle Peter wrote in reference to prayer. The first, found in 1 Peter 3:7, is addressed to husbands. Peter encourages them to be considerate of their wives, treating them with respect as fellow heirs of God’s gracious gift of life. What’s really interesting is the incentive that he gives for living this way: “so that nothing will hinder your prayers.” In the next chapter of I Peter, he encourages believers in general to be “clear minded and self-controlled so that you can pray” (4:7). Peter seems to be saying that the way I treat my wife and the control that I exercise over my mind and my body have a direct impact on my prayers.

What strikes me is that my prayers can clearly be hindered by my actions. What I do, and even the way I think, can interfere with my prayer life. Does this mean that the Lord stops hearing my prayers? I actually think that this question reflects a common misunderstanding of how prayer works.

It is fairly common and natural to assume that prayer starts with us. We have a need that we present to the Lord. Our prayer makes Him aware of our need, or at least emphasizes it in some way that hopefully will move Him toward action. Then, the Lord either answers our prayer or He doesn’t (or as some like to explain it, He always answers our prayer, but His answer may be “no” or “wait”; this response has always bugged me for some reason, though it may be entirely true – maybe it seems like a cop-out).

However, one of my professors explained prayer this way: prayer starts in the will of God. The Lord has something He wants to accomplish. He makes His children aware of this desire. His children cry out to Him for the accomplishment of His will in this matter, and this sets the plan of God in motion.

When we think of prayer in this way, it becomes obvious that prayer, as does everything that relates to our spiritual life, starts and finishes with the gracious plan of God. This means that listening to the Lord, hearing the heart of God in prayer comes before speaking. In fact, our speaking in prayer is simply the overflow of God’s Spirit within us. As Romans 8 teaches, “the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will.”

If prayer starts with God, then hindrances must effect OUR hearing and not His. And if prayer starts with God, then a worthy question to ask would be: How can we pray if we can’t hear God? If we spend very little time in prayer, there is a good chance that this is because we rarely if ever hear God’s still, small voice. When we hear the Lord, we can’t help but pray. When we encounter God, we can’t help but long to draw near to Him.

Some would say, “you don’t hear God because you don’t spend enough time in prayer.” And although this statement may have some truth to it, I can think of no place in Scripture where our ability to hear God’s voice is linked to the amount of time we spend praying. Rather, as Peter points out, it would seem that our ability to pray (to hear from God and then respond to Him in accordance with His will) is greatly influenced by the way we live.

Something as simple as the way that I treat my wife, or my children, or my neighbor, or my boss may impact the extent to which I am able to hear the Lord today (I Peter 3:7). If I allow my mind to be cluttered by noise from the radio, from the internet, or from the television, I may struggle to hear the Lord today (I Peter 4:7). If I am consumed with worry about a relationship, a health problem, or a financial need, I may find it difficult to hear the Lord today (I Peter 4:7). If I fail to control my eating, my eyes, my words, or my heart attitude, I may be incapable of discerning the Lord’s still, small voice today (1 Peter 4:7).

And in each of these cases, it seems clear that if I do not hear from the Lord, I will find it very difficult to pray. My praying, if I try to pull it off anyway, may prove to be nothing more than an empty list of surface-level needs. It will lack the touch of the Spirit, that energizing authority and insight that characterize the kind of praying that responds to the revealed will of God spoken into my heart, inviting me to participate in the accomplishment of His plan for this day through prayer.

If I find myself unable to pray like this, it seems wise for me to ask myself: What is hindering my prayers today? I know that the Spirit of God is anxious to reveal all hindrances so that they may be eliminated, and so that the channels of communication with the Most High may flow freely once again.

childlike or childish?

A wise friend posted a comment to my previous blog entry that I have been chewing on this past week. He reminded me, in the context of prayer, that children (and the childlike) are given special priority somehow before the Lord. This raised the following question for me: Is it really possible to learn about and grow in prayerfulness? If it is the simple and the childlike who are heard by the Lord, then wouldn’t any increase in knowledge or experience seem to work against us? I was troubled by this question until I remembered the importance of differentiating between the childlike and the childish.

Although the Lord clearly taught that His kingdom belongs to little children, He also chastised His disciples for their lack of understanding. For Him, childlikeness was an attitude of heart, not a state of mind. In Luke 22, when the disciples began to argue amongst themselves (much like little children I must say) over who was the greatest, Jesus rebuked them saying, “let the greatest among you become as the youngest, and the leader as one who serves.” Similarly, in Mattew 18, Jesus said that, “whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” In both cases, there seems to be a conscious decision (on the part of one who might have reason to brag) to embrace an attitude of lowliness. And it is this willful decision, not ignorance or inexperience, that Jesus commends.

I was struck earlier this week by a passage from Ephesians 4, which includes these words: “. . . until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves . . .” The apostle Peter, in his firt letter, challenges his readers in a similar way: “Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up to salvation – if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good.”

So, while there is certainly a shrinking down of our pride in childlike self-abandon as we draw near to the Lord, there is also a growing up of our spirit through disciplines rooted in grace. The two most fundamental disciplines of grace seem to be prayer and feeding upon God’s Word.

That was a lengthy entry, the soul purpose of which was to make the point that there is a place for thoughtful interaction about the nature and practice of prayer. Unfortunately, our adult minds seem to work against us when it comes time to embrace a childlike attitude before the Lord in prayer. Thankfully, there are practices that can be learned, both from the Lord Himself and from His disciples throughout the centuries who have themselves discovered ways to overcome their childish distractedness and hyperactivity as they humbly seek the Lord for grace to pray.

how to: part 1

So what do you do if you find it difficult to pray? It’s true that entire libraries could be filled with all of the pages of print that have been devoted to this subject. In light of this humbling reality, I must admit that I have nothing new or revolutionary to add. However, in the next few entries, I will pass on a few insights that I have found particularly helpful.

In the past few months, I have been using passages from God’s Word as a kind of mental anchor during my times of prayer. I am easily distracted when alone in my “prayer closet.” It can be hard to sit still, both physically and mentally, which makes it difficult to enter into the Lord’s rest. And yet, I am finding that the first step in a fruitful moment of prayer is to enter into the Lord’s rest. The Word helps me to take this step.

Before I continue with that thought, let me back up a moment and point out what prayer is NOT. Unfortunately, in ignorance, I have given much time in the past to an activity that I thought was prayer, but that really wasn’t. This activity was often frustrating and unfulfilling for me, but I didn’t know why. After all, I was praying!! Or, so I thought. Although I had often heard people speak of prayer as “conversation” with God, I never really grasped (or perhaps even believed in) what that really meant. The activity that I mistook for prayer was a one-way monologue in which I verbally presented a list of requests to God in hopes that He would hear and answer. Deep down I knew that this was not at all relational or interactive, but I was unaware of any other way to go about it.

I am convinced that one reason why so many believers find themselves giving little if any time to prayer is because they have yet to grasp what prayer really is, much less how to put it into practice. One challenging thing about prayer is that it is counter-cultural to the core. Genuine prayer revolves around practices that are very unnatural and even foreign to us. An obvious reason for that is because prayer is participation in a relationship with a Being that is from an entirely different realm of existence. It is the most extreme form of cross-cultural encounter.

I mentioned above that the first step in commencing a moment of prayer is to enter the Lord’s rest. What does that mean? Though it is still somewhat of a mystery to me, I can say that entering the Lord’s rest has something to do with mentally and spiritually crossing from one state into another. It is removing myself from the whirlwind of work and worry, in order to enter into the peaceful and patient presence of my Lord. It is here, in this foreign place (though I must say that it becomes more and more familiar with time) that genuine prayer emerges. And I use the term emerges because often I find that, once I have entered this place of rest in the Lord’s presence, words seem to escape from my mouth directly from my heart without having taken the long-way round through my mind.

There is much more to say about this entering of the Lord’s rest as a precursor for genuine prayer, but let me finish this entry by acknowledging that I have found the Word to be an invaluable help in this endeavor. And it truly is an endeavor. Making the transition from a “normal” mental state into this other restful place that I am referring to is no easy stroll through the park. My mind is bombarded by distractions: things that need to be done today, ideas for future projects, faces of people I should contact, lyrics for new songs or poems, a lengthy list of requests that I know I should pray for . . . aaaaah!! Get me out of here!!

But if I start with a simple passage from God’s word, it gives me something to hang on to when these waves of distraction start to pound me from within. Often, I will choose a short phrase, like, “his grace is sufficient for me.” I may repeat that phrase over and over again for several minutes as I allow my thoughts to calm down and my pulse to slow a bit. Eventually I start to sense the peace of the Lord descending upon me and I will feel the liberty to begin to interact with Him.

I will discuss more of what this interaction can look like in a future entry, but for now, let it be said that often as this interaction takes place, the distractions will return. It is at these moments, when I realize that I am off track, that I have left the place of rest momentarily, that I turn back to my passage once again: his grace is sufficient for me . . . his grace is sufficient for me . . . his grace is sufficient for me. Soon, in fact, this time round it will happen much more quickly than when I first started, I will find the peace and rest returning, and once again will sense the liberty to continue in prayer.

In closing, does this mean that the Lord doesn’t hear the rushed requests that we so often throw His way? I am by no means suggesting that. The Lord knows that we are weak and ignorant children, much more like sheep even than children. He is anxious to hear us and anxious to meet our need. However, what I am suggesting is that the activity of prayer that He invites us into is something far more wonderful and transformational than many of us have come to know or experience. And this is why the disease of prayerlessness is so rampant among us.

Come and heal our disease, dear Lord. Please teach us to pray. Amen.

when heart is heavy

When heart is heavy, hanging down
When inspiration fails me
You beckon me draw near the Throne
Your invitation hails me
Oh, Gentle Shepherd, lead the way
And clear the path before me
I'll follow you and as I pray
I'll worship and adore Thee.

linger

Several years ago I wrote a poem that expressed to the Lord my longing for more time alone in His presence. I am ashamed sometimes at how easily this heart’s desire can be muted by the worries and occupations of my day. But, as I explore this problem of prayerlessness, I am finding that one help in overcoming the problem has been to reconnect with this deep hunger that is always there, whether I am aware of it or not. When my stomach growls, I normally try to feed it. But if I ignore the growling long enough, chances are good that it will calm down and perhaps even go away after awhile. Depending on how busy I am, I may even forget entirely about the fact that I need to eat. I wonder if this might happen with the growling of our souls for more of God. The poem below expresses a desire to learn to wait on the Lord with the faith that doing so yields rich results. I recently put the poem to music, and have been singing it as part of my prayer time. So, if you want to hear what it sounds like in song, you can click on the YouTube link beneath the poem.

Let me learn to linger longer,
Loving Lord, within Thy Light
Hoist me higher, Hope of Heaven,
High like hinds upon the heights
Grace me, God, with glorious gladness
Grab me . . . grip me with gentle glove
Ask of me anything, Adored One, my Abba
Anoint me, Almighty, with oil from above

http://youtube.com/watch?v=fkDHEiiMCbo

the impossibility of change

I recently heard a minister say that both religion and irreligion can be evidences of unbelief. On the one hand, a person who does not believe in the power of God may choose to lead a completely irreligious life. He may reject spiritual ritual and practice of all kinds, throw morality out the door, and embrace a lifestyle of wreckless self-indulgence. On the other hand, a person who does not believe in the power of God may choose to lead a completely religious life. He may work to overcome his sinful habits, engage in all sorts of spiritual activities, and devote himself to various forms of self-denial.

It is interesting to think that both responses may reflect an unbelieving heart. In the first case, unbelief is put on display and is, therefore, obvious to all observers. But in the second case, unbelief may be mistaken for genuine faith by all but the most discerning. It is amazing how hard we may work at the Christian life, not realizing all along that our every effort may flow from an unbelieving heart. And what would be the evidence of this unbelief?

I think that prayerlessness is probably the most obvious evidence. The starting point of prayer is an awareness of my own inability to accomplish something. It is an acknowledgement of my weakness in a particular area of life, or of my powerlessness to help someone else with some area of their life. Prayer is a sign of humility and a sign of faith. When I pray, I declare to God my belief in His ability to hear and answer. Even if I have my doubts about these things, the very act of praying is a step of faith on my part. Prayer can be a faith-awakening statement to my own uncertain heart that something within me trusts in God to accomplish this on my behalf. It makes sense, then, that I would consecrate to the Lord in prayer any area of my life where I recognize my own inability, weakness and powerlessness. It makes sense that I would bring to the Lord any need that is presented to me which I am certain I cannot meet.

Given that my life is filled with inability, weakness and powerlessness, and given that I am faced with needs every day that I can’t possibly meet in the lives of people around me, what does it say about me if my life is characterized by prayerlessness? It says that I must not really believe in God’s power to hear and answer. I may pour myself into religious activity of all kinds, attending church every Sunday, tithing regularly, participating in a small group or bible study or church ministry, perhaps even sharing my faith with a friend from time to time. But, if I am not regularly bowing myself before Almighty God in prayer, then chances are good that all of this is really a mask for unbelief in His power to act on my behalf.

So, where does that leave me? Perhaps I should develop some rigid prayer schedule with the determination, MUST PRAY MORE!! Perhaps I should find a few prayer partners who will HOLD ME ACCOUNTABLE. Perhaps I should attend a SEMINAR or BIBLE STUDY on prayer. Perhaps I should READ SOME BOOKS on the subject of prayer. Perhaps I should encourage my pastor to PREACH A SERIES on prayer. The scary thing is that I might easily give myself to ANY AND ALL of these reasonable pursuits before ever taking the first step on the road toward prayerfulness.

It seems to me that learning to pray starts with the humble admission that change is impossible for me apart from the transforming power of God in my life. I will never become a man of prayer by striving to be one. In fact, the harder I work, the more fruitless my efforts will be. This is one aspect of the mystery of the gospel. The work of Christ on the cross was not merely sufficient and essential for my salvation, it is sufficient and essential for every step that I take in my journey heavenward. I can do nothing apart from Him. Even today, after having walked with Him for more than 16 years, I find myself powerless to live out the Christian life on my own.

To the extent that I am willing and able to acknowledge this powerlessness and cry out to God for His grace and intervention in my life, crisis by crisis, day by day, and eventually moment by moment, to that extent will I find myself becoming a man of prayer. In fact, I will begin to find prayer spilling out all over the place as I become more conscious of my weakness and more purposeful about turning to the Lord with this weakness. Once again, I come to find that what humbles me helps me and what lowers me lifts me, for when I am weak, then I am strong.

some music

If we're gonna dance the dance of lowliness, we'll need to have some music!

And so, I thought I might share a song with you that I recently wrote for my wife's 30th birthday. It's a song about a lowly woman named Hannah, whose story is told in 1 Samuel chapter 1. Hannah was unable to have children, and became an object of scorn because of it. But, she cried out to the Lord for help, and she came to find that the Lord is a God who hears.

My wife's name (Anne) is the French name for Hannah in the Bible.

If you click on the link below, you can view a not very impressive video presentation of the song. By the way, I don't believe that the pursuit of lowliness is an excuse for mediocrity. But, I will say that I'm a YouTube beginner, and my self-broadcasting skills are very limited, as you will see. I will make no excuses for my voice or guitar-playing, as I'm learning that pride can manifest itself in the form of INFERIORITY just as easily as superiority.

Click below:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=xmZ1gsUJscM
I apologize in advance for any questionable YouTube content that may appear on the same page as my video. Unfortunately, I have no control over this.

Lyrics to the song "He hears"

Verse 1
I will ask and I won’t cease
Until my answer’s been released
Until I can be sure my need is known

I will beg and I will plead
Until with my eyes I have seen
The evidence of grace from heaven’s throne

Oh Lord Almighty look and see
Your humble servant’s misery
Have mercy now and please remember me
Remember me . . .


Verse 2
I lay my trouble at His feet
I will not drink and I won’t eat
Until I’m sure my God has realized

The depth of my despair and grief
My anxious cry for His relief
I’ll wait till I’ve found favor in His eyes

Oh Lord I hope in You alone
I’m lost and helpless on my own
I humbly bow before your gracious throne
Your gracious throne . . .

Refrain
Hannah you are heard by the Most High
Hannah speak the word and He will reply
Hannah loving arms He holds open wide
They beckon you come boldly as a favored child

Oh Hannah, dry your tears
He hears

Bridge
In the Lord and in His strength I will delight
In the Lord who stands alone for He is holy
Who from the barren woman brings forth life
Who raises up the poor and lifts the lowly

Verse 3
I asked the Lord for him and now
In my arms I hold Samuel
The son I feared that I might never bear

And I will offer sacrifice
To Him who heard my desparate cries
Forever my son will live in His care

Oh Eli come rejoice with me
The Lord has listened to my plea
And granted my request so graciously
So graciously . . .

Refrain

where it began

Today marks ten years since my brother Andy passed away. I hadn’t planned to write on the subject, but I was helpfully provoked by a beautiful e-mail from my mother and a thoughtful phone call from a friend. And I was reminded that this event, my only brother’s death, was really the starting point of my journey into lowliness. I apologize in advance for the fact that this will probably be an exceptionally long entry. But I feel compelled to tell the story, and I imagine that someone may be interested to read it.

Andy was twenty-two months younger than me, which meant that I had some work to do in order to maintain my status as the superior older brother. Given that I was naturally more outspoken and interactive, I tended to enjoy more attention and recognition than he did during our childhood and adolescence. Though we experienced seasons of limited friendship, much of our growing up was characterized by separation: I went my way and he went his.

It wasn’t until high school that I started to realize that my younger brother might pose a threat to my self-esteem. In all honesty, I hadn’t noticed until that point much of what went on in his life and what kind of person he was becoming. Looking back I know that this was mainly because I was so consumed with myself: with my own pursuits, my own friends, even my own spirituality. In 10th grade, a missions trip altered my relationship to the Lord in a dramatic way, launching for me a genuine pursuit of God that continues to this day. But none of that was shared with my brother.

I began to notice that Andy had a special quality about him during a trip to Spain and Israel that we took together as part of a ministry team, the summer before my junior year of high school. It was on this trip that I was first exposed to his sense of humor, to his compassion for others, and to his ability to listen and ask the kinds of questions that enabled people to open up to him. I could see various members of our team being drawn to him, and this bothered me to some extent, because I was used to people being drawn to me.

Unfortunately, not much changed in terms of our relationship until after I had left home for college. And even then, the change that took place was not pleasing to my ego. In his last two years of high school, Andy really started to find a life rhythm. He excelled in the sport of volleyball, combining his tall body with an athletic prowess that made him lethal on the court. Trying his hand at theatre, Andy discovered an avenue for artistic expression that he was exceptionally talented in. And diving (scuba and free) provided an outlet for his adventurous spirit as well as an excuse to spend time in the mysterious underworld of the Caribbean Sea.

When I came home from college for the first time during the Christmas vacation of 1994, it almost seemed as if there was a stranger living in my home. I didn’t recognize this person who inhabited my brother’s body. He was confident, he was cool, he was clever, he was accomplished . . . and all of this without being cocky. What a few may have mistaken for arrogance was really simply self-assurance and an obvious comfort in his own shoes. This comfort with himself made him really easy and fun to be around. And this comfort was something that I knew I did not possess.

In fact, my first semester at Wheaton College had served to undo much of the self-confidence that I had built up during my years in high school. Having excelled in my own arenas as a member of a very small student body on a small island, I quickly found at Wheaton College that I was just an average Joe . . . at best. I was surrounded by valedictorians, some of whom were also superior musicians AND athletes AND spoke multiple languages. They were highly driven, type-A personalities, many of whom happened to be eldest siblings like me. My ego took a pretty good drubbing during those initial months, and I had not yet come to appreciate the benefits of such abuse.

So, in the wake of what turned out to be somewhat of an identity crisis, I returned home to find a younger brother whose sense of self was both healthy and attractive. And this seemed to poke more holes in my already sinking boat.

Two years passed, during which Andy finished high school and started his college education at Eckerd College in St. Petersburg, Florida. During his first semester at Eckerd, Andy and I started to communicate through e-mail, a phenomena which we had both only recently discovered. That Christmas, when we both came home from college, there was the scent of something different in the air between us.

I remember Andy meeting me at the airport when I arrived. He gave me a big hug, which was unusual for the two of us. Riding home in our dad’s black CJ-7 (really cool Jeep, for those who don’t know cars), salty breeze blowing through our hair, swapping dorm stories and laughing at eachother’s jokes, I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. I remember wondering: Is this me and my brother? Is this a dream? It was a scene that I had often imagined in my mind and hoped for deep down, but that I had never really believed I would live out in this life. And here I was, thoroughly loving spending time with my brother.

And that’s how it went for us that Christmas break. We spent loads of time together, and I honestly loved every minute of it. Altough I had the sense that our roles had somehow reversed, with him leading the way and setting the terms, I found myself settling into that rather than fighting against it. It seemed somehow appropriate and right at this time in our lives.

In recent years, as I have had more time to reflect on our relationship, I realize that, to some degree Andy took leadership over our relationship in a way that I had never been capable of doing. My pride and insecurity had rendered me incapable of bridging the gap between us as we were growing up. And now, as we were entering into adulthood, it was Andy’s sense of peace with himself and security in who he had become that enabled him to do what I could not do before. This is humiliating for me to admit, and I shudder with shame at times as I think of the years lost and the opportunities wasted due to my foolish pride.

Christmas 1996 was for me a taste of what I had been missing all those years. And though the taste was bitter-sweet because of what it revealed about me (only in a limited way at the time), I drunk deeply from the stream of new friendship with my brother during those weeks.

The following summer, I came home for several weeks to work before heading off to camp up in northern Wisconsinm where I would finish off the summer as a high school counselor. I worked for a roofing company called Rooftops, and Andy joined me there for the last two weeks before I left island again. We had lunch together almost every day, and we also worked on several projects together. As far as our friendship was concerned, we built on the ground that had been laid over Christmas and seemed to be finding a way of relating that worked well for us. I left St. Croix with a sense of enthusiasm for what was emerging between us, and an expectation for more of the same in the years ahead.

And then came August 4th. I remember that I was sitting with one of my high school kids at a picnic bench down by the lake at Honey Rock camp. His parents had recently been divorced and he was struggling to find his way through the mess of it all. We had been reading from James 1 together, where it says, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” Little did I know at the time that this passage was meant just as much for me as it was for my camper.

During this discussion, I received a message from the office saying that my dad had called and that I needed to call home. I sensed immediately that something was really wrong. And because it was my dad who called, I worried that something had happened to my mom.

I had a really hard time finding a phone that was available. It was a Sunday afternoon, and there were only four pay phones for the entire camp. I circulated among the phones until one finally opened up. When I called home, one of our neighbors answered the phone. This really worried me because it meant for sure that something was up. She quickly passed the phone to my mom, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard her voice. My dad got on the phone as well, and they asked me if anyone was with me. I told them that I was alone, and there was a sigh and then silence on the other end of the line (apparently they had included in the message a request that someone accompany me for the phone call . . . in some ways I’m glad that part didn’t get through because it would have really freaked me out).

The next words I heard were: “Andy drowned today.”

Even typing those words brings tears to my eyes once again as I think of the dramatic force with which that statement hit my soul. I needed no time to process. The response was immediate. I remember a loud cry escaping my mouth, as if it had been vomitted out of my heart, and this was followed by what seemed like an eternity of uncontrollable sobbing.

I was overwhelmed with a sadness that goes far beyond the mere loss of a loved one. I know now that my soul was grieving more than Andy’s death. It was grieving the loss of what had only just been born between us. It was grieving what would have been in the years ahead. It was grieving all that there was about him that I didn’t yet know, that I hadn’t yet experienced. It was grieving my own absurd self-absortion that had robbed me of precious years with my one and only sibling.

And it was this that made the week that followed so bitter for me. I returned home to join my family and to attend Andy’s memorial service. For days, our house was filled with people who came to tell their stories, to share their experiences, to express how much Andy had meant to them. I could feel my heart grow harder and harder inside with each new story that I heard, with each new word of affirmation spoken. These people were speaking of a person that I barely knew, and now would never know in the way that they had.

For the first time in my life, I dreaded being with others. I felt alone in a sea of people who had loved and appreciated my brother during the years of his life. I felt condemned and ashamed inside, and though I didn’t fully understand these emotions at the time, I could sense this dark cloud descending over me as the week wore on. The day of his memorial was sheer agony for me as I sat through several hours of testimonies, poems, and stories about Andy’s life and impact. I did not share anything on that day, and the reality is that I had very little experience about which to share. Our friendship had ended in its infancy, and this was a source of great bitterness for me as I listened to the rich experiences that others had enjoyed with my brother.

In the wake of this twighlight zone week, I was faced with the reality of some really dark corners in my heart. I honestly had never really considered myself all that sinful before. Though I knew I was a sinner in the way that everyone is a sinner, I really thought of myself as somewhat morally exceptional up until this point in my life. In the weeks and months following Andy’s death, I finally became convinced that my spiritual condition was far worse than I had ever imagined. My response to Andy’s death and especially to his memorial service served as a kind of awakening for me to the wickedness that was within me. It was a shocking realization that finally opened the door for me to start to understand the gospel for the first time in my life.

The work that has taken place in me since then, as I have grown in the awareness of my own sinfulness and helplessness, as well as in my comprehension of the gospel, the cross, the grace of Christ and His redemptive work in our lives, is really nothing short of a miracle. And that is an entirely different story that must be left for another entry.

My purpose in telling this particular story about this particular event has been to remind myself (and perhaps inform some of you) of the dark and filthy pit in which the grace of Christ found me. I had been a Christian for many years before Andy’s death; but without really knowing it, I had been blind to the harsh reality of my own sin and to the wondrous reality of God’s grace. Andy's death was for me the starting point of my journey into lowliness.

I still do not rejoice in the loss of my brother, for I would far rather have had the Lord find me through some other form of suffering. When my inner man is tempted to shake his fist at God (which is a temptation that I still face to this day), I hear the words of Job in my head as he responded to his foolish wife, “Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble.” Andy’s death has troubled me profoundly. The older my kids get, the more I long for them to know their one and only uncle on my side of the family. I know that he would be their hero. And perhaps it is an evidence of God’s grace in my life that, now, 10 years after his death, I genuinely hope that he will be.

surprise? yes and no . . .

I don’t think it would be an overstatement to say that the vast majority of Christians in the West devote very little if any time to prayer on a daily basis, outside of meals and perhaps a moment or two before bed. This is both surprising and unsurprising.

It is surprising because the Bible both encourages and commands the faithful to pray. Consider a few examples: Pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests (Eph. 6:18). Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God (Phil. 4:6). Pray continually (I Thess. 5:17). I urge, then, first of all, that prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for everyone (I Tim. 2:1).

It is surprising because some of the greatest promises of the Bible are linked to prayer. Consider just a few from the New Testament: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you (Mt. 7:7). Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours (Mk. 11:24). And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it (Jn. 14:12,13). And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus (immediately following the exhortation to pray in Phil. 4:6,7). This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. And if we know that he hears us – whatever we ask – we know that we have what we asked of him (I Jn. 5:14,15).

It is surprising because Jesus’ life and ministry, as well as those of the apostles were characterized by prayer. Consider once again just a few examples: He went up on a mountainside by himself to pray (Mt. 14:23). Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed (Mk. 1:35). But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed (Lk. 5:16). They all joined together constantly in prayer (Acts 1:14). They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer (Acts 2:42). “And we will give our attention to prayer and to the ministry of the word” (Acts 6:4).

It is surprising because many of the most noteworthy saints in Christian history lived lives that were characterized by prayerfullness. It is also surprising because many (if not all) of the great movements of God’s Spirit in Christian history came on the heels of extended and concerted prayerfullness on the part of the saints in a region. One of my professors went so far as to say that God, in His sovereignty, has chosen not to act except in response to the prayers of the faithful.

At the same time, our prayerlessness is not at all surprising. Whereas prayer calls us into silence and solitude, we live in a “media” culture that constantly bombards us with noise and makes us feel insecure about being alone. Whereas prayer requires waiting and persevering, we live in a “microwave” culture that wants results NOW! Whereas God’s response to our prayer may look entirely different from what we asked or expected, we live in a “warranty” culture requiring outcomes and results that are guaranteed. Whereas the fruit of our prayer may never be attributed to our efforts, we live in a “copyright” culture that begs for recognition and compensation.

Our prayerlessness is also unsurprising because of how limited our experience of “need” is. Prayer flows most fluidly and fervently from the lips of one who is in need. Many of us don’t really need much of anything. Or, if we do need something, our instinct is to figure out how we can take care of that need on our own. We tend to be completely unaware of the depth of our spiritual need, satisfied at having been “saved” through faith in Christ and “guaranteed” a place in glory.

What we often don’t realize is that, although we may warm a seat in the church service every Sunday, throughout the week our activity may be characterized by the fruit of fleshly living. As we have discussed at length in this blog, pride seems to be the most obvious evidence of life according to the flesh rather than according to the Spirit.

And it shouldn’t surprise us at all that pride and prayerlessness tend to go hand in hand.

Another way of saying this is that pride and prayerfulness are mutually exclusive. It is impossible for a person whose life is characterized by pride to enjoy a rich and fruitful prayer life. And, it is impossible, when someone is seeking the Lord in prayer, for pride to go unnoticed or unchecked for long.

Unfortunately, it is also impossible for those of us who suffer in the sin of prayerlessness to change our condition in our own strength. Those who try find themselves facing failure and discouragement again and again. The impossibility of this task and how we respond to it will be the subject of a future blog entry.

the man the king delights to honor

I hope to continue writing on the subject of prayerlessness later on in the week, but I wanted to take a moment to recommend an excellent sermon on the subject of pride and humility. Dr. Timothy Keller, head pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church in New York, gave a series of messages on the book of Esther in April of this year. The series was entitled "Esther and the hiddenness of God." The third message in the series is entitled, "The man the king delights to honor." It advances our discussion on humility in a profound way. For those who are interested, you may purchase and download the sermon at the following web address:
http://sermons.redeemer.com/store/index.cfm?fuseaction=product.display&Product_ID=18639

indisputable evidence

Prayerlessness is perhaps the most indisputable evidence of pride in my life.

The act of prayer is first and foremost a purposeful step in the direction of humility. It is an acceptance of my weakness and a sign of my dependence on One far more powerful and wise than I. When I pray, I lower myself. I declare my need. I acknowledge my insufficiency. Without question, prayer must be considered one of the principle activities of the meek and humble.

Prayerlessness, however, is the opposite of all these things. It is ignoring my weakness and rejecting the Lord’s gracious provision and guidance. It is a statement of independence and self-sufficiency. When I refuse to pray, I declare to God (either consciously or subconsciously) that I don’t need what He has to offer. Without question, prayerlessness must be considered one of the principle characteristics of the proud, and a grievous insult to our loving Savior.

Prayer is, in fact, the most powerful weapon the Lord provides for pummeling pride and for waging spiritual war against the presence of sin in my life.

Daily, the Lord waits to place this weapon in my hand, anxious to train me in its use. But rather than accepting His gracious gift and devoting time to the practice of prayer, rather than allowing the Spirit of God to instruct me in this martial art, I have often chosen to ignore the offer and to go about my daily business as if there were no need for such a weapon.

I may take the weapon in hand playfully from time to time, as if it were a toy; before meals and to open and close a meeting with other Christians. But I know next to nothing of its value as an instrument of war. And at this point, armed combat, face to face conflict in the spiritual realm is out of the question. Examples of answered prayer in my life? Well, I’d rather not talk about it. If I’m honest with myself, the thought of seeing God’s transforming power unleashed in response to my prayers seems almost mythical.

Now, those last few lines may have been slightly exaggerated, but I want to paint a disturbing picture that is, unfortunately, not entirely unlike the experience of many Christians with prayer (including myself at various stages of my journey in Christ). And the reality is that prayerlessness is an obvious sign of spiritual anemia. Andrew Murray says that:

Nothing so reveals a defective spiritual life as the lack of believing and unceasing prayer. Prayer is the pulse of the spiritual life. It is the great means of bringing (to believers) the blessing and power of heaven. Persevering and believing prayer means a strong and an abundant life (The Believer’s Prayer Life).

In the next several entries, I will be examining prayerlessness as a symptom of pride and spiritual sickness in my life. I invite your comments and insights. I sense that my participation in the dance of lowliness will be enhanced or hindered in direct relation to the nature of my investment in prayer. This means that any examination of my prayer life (weak and fragmented as it may be) will prove to be not just beneficial but essential to my progress in humility.

shadow dancing

When I recognize that my need for a “witness” is actually a gift from a loving God who sees me and invites me to live in the light of His gracious gaze, I then must wrestle with the twisted craving for worldly attention that lingers in my heart. I have acknowledged this craving in previous posts, so the idea is not new. But, the fact is that my longing for attention persistently and covertly works its way into my motivations, perverting much of what I do and say in the course of a given day. Even the actions and words that I might intend to offer or appear to offer to the Lord can be infected by the disease.

So, what do I do about it? Certainly, I can and should be honest with the Lord about the problem, confessing my sin and inviting Him to transform my desires. But as I do that, I need to expect that He has heard my prayer and will answer it. This expectation moves me to be on the lookout for “helps” that the Lord will send my way to assist me in this battle against my ego-mania.

And what might such a help look like? I would suggest that any circumstance that places me in the shadows has the potential to prove highly useful as a weapon in this war. One of the best ways to destroy a sinful craving is to STARVE it. Unfortunately, as an American, I don’t like the word “starve” very much and am not used to depriving myself of things that my flesh really wants. Fasting, for example, is a spiritual discipline that I have been slow to cultivate. However, sin seems to be almost organic in nature, growing as it is fed and diminishing as it is deprived of nourishment. In the flesh, I am naturally drawn to opportunities and circumstances that will put my “star” qualities on display; that will earn me the attention and admiration that I am convinced I deserve. Unsurprisingly, the more often this desire is satisfied, the stronger it grows and the hungrier it becomes (like Audrey II in Little Shop of Horrors, “Feed me, Seymour!”).

But what happens when I find myself in someone else’s shadow? It may be the shadow of a highly successful parent, or of an older or younger sibling, or of a co-worker, or of a neighbor, or of a brother or sister in the church, or of my own spouse. The motivation to escape from the shadow of this person can be a powerful driving force. Something within me yearns to at least be recognized as their equal, if not their superior. I may find it difficult to appreciate their success or celebrate their victories. I may find it easy to quietly enjoy their failures or even find some twisted pleasure in their hardships. This person becomes for me an enemy, perhaps without ever having engaged in a single act of aggression against me. Why? Because I want the attention that they get.

Consider, though, how this relationship changes if I have been dancing the dance of lowliness, walking the path of humility. Let’s say I have confessed my craving for recognition to the Lord, and have admitted that I am not satisfied with living before an audience of One. I have asked Him to humble me and to refine me so that my joy is genuinely found in living for Him alone. Later that day, I am on the phone with my grandmother and she starts raving about how proud she is of my older sister (who is an imagined character in this imagined scenario). As numerous members of my family often do, my grandmother begins to run through a list of my sister’s accomplishments and admirable character traits. I can feel the resentment rising within me, as it has many times before.

But then, I’m reminded of the request that I recently made to the Lord, and I realize that this is perhaps the first of many helps from Him in stifling that need to be recognized and cultivating a comfort with the shadows. I can sense that my pride is really ticked off and it strikes me that this is actually a good thing. I settle into the moment, allowing my ego to take a hefty beating, and thanking the Lord for answering my prayer. In fact, if I really want to stick it to my pride, I may even add a couple of my own positive comments about my sister to the conversation. Before I know it, I find myself inwardly rejoicing each time someone praises my sister in my presence. What once depressed or enraged me inwardly, now brings delight because I recognize the experience for what it really is: a gracious gift from the Lord that helps me by humbling me, that lifts me by lowering me.

It really is amazing to consider the potential freedom that may come from embracing humility. How many people are there in my life who cast shadows over me in one way or another; shadows that I have until now deeply resented and fought to escape? How many relationships have been hindered by my jealousy of another person’s success? The dance of lowliness teaches me that spiritual success is often found far away from center stage. The steps of this dance often lead me away from the spotlight and into obscurity, as far as the world is concerned. But surprisingly, and paradoxically, I am coming to find that the light of God’s love shines brightest on those who gladly dance in the shadows. And the more I come to enjoy shadow dancing, the more capable I am of enjoying the people around me whose success and popularity and giftedness were once nothing more than a threat to my happiness.

guest post: parent as witness

A friend recently posted the following as a comment on the entry entitled, "dancing in the dark." It advances the conversation in a way that I didn't want others to miss out on, just in case you don't read other people's comments. So, I am adding it as a guest post. Hope you enjoy and maybe you'll be provoked to respond with your own comments as well.

Rachel said:
Our interdependence, our inability to exist without mothers/fathers, our need to be watched is how life begins. Helpless babes cannot survive without being cared for(active witnessing)? As you note the need of a witness (caregiver), is indeed a God given basic instinct. An unattended child will disgrace his mother. The very act of being witnessed will provide the motivation to behave. It seems the corruption of this need is based in laziness. As a babysitter in college I used to think I had this incredible skill with children for I had very few problems with the children misbehaving. Now as a parent I understand why-I wasn't distracted. Now that I'm juggling reality and children I see when I'm not focused on interacting(active witnessing) is when bad behavior creeps in unnoticed. Witnessing is the essence of parenting,seeing/participating in the lives of our children. Giving them the peace that they are protected because someone is watching out for them. Someone wants front row in their life. It seems if parents took this reponsibility seriously, the transition to understanding the eternal eye of God would be natural. God wants to actively witness our lives--He wants to participate. When I draw near, He is always there. May we actively witness the lives of those we love and may we honor God by opening our lives to His active witness.

my audience

In my last post (“dancing in the dark”) I considered the idea that “we need a witness to our lives,” and I suggested that this longing may be related to the fact that we were created to live under the gaze of a God who sees us. What really interests me is the potential impact that this truth might have on our day to day living IF we really believed it. And that IF obviously suggests that we really don’t believe it. I think it is healthy for me to ask myself often: Who is my audience? Who am I putting this show on for? Whose opinion of my performance really matters? And if I were to consider my actions and words throughout the course of the day, and take a moment to examine the underlying motivations for these, I imagine it would not be very hard to identify who my audience really is.

Church is a great testing ground for this. I shudder as I think of the number of times that I have sat through an entire church service, singing the songs, listening to the message, taking the communion, perhaps even engaging in prayer without REALLY pondering the profound idea that God is there and that He sees me. If this is the case in church, how much more so throughout the rest of my week?

The up-side to this, of course, is that He really does see me. And that reality has the potential to be extremely liberating if I can grab hold of it. What a relief it would be to narrow the members of my audience down to One. I’m not suggesting that I intend to embrace a monastic lifestyle or live in isolation. Other people will see me; there is no way around it. And in fact, what they observe in my life may serve to advance God’s purposes in theirs. The issue here is not who is in the audience. The issue is who I am performing for.

How freeing it would be to ignore the voices of the critics and the flatterers, to live uninfluenced by what they will think and what they will say. To the extent that my attention may be fixed upon the face of the One who sees me, the One who knows me inside and out, the One who designed me and who understands how I function and why I function that way, to that extent will I find satisfaction and fulfillment in the life that I live on the world’s stage.

And this, I believe, proves to be true even when I am far removed from the world’s spotlight, when I do not occupy center stage. Perhaps, as I suggested near the end of my previous post, performing in the shadows on the world’s stage makes for a far more pleasing performance in the eyes of my Audience.

Hebrews 4:13
And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account.

dancing in the dark

I’m not normally a big fan of sappy romance films, but a comment from the movie “Shall We Dance” (2004) struck me as surprisingly profound (for a film featuring Richard Gere and Jennifer Lopez that is). For those who don’t know the movie, the basic plot includes a bored estate lawyer (Richard Gere) who decides to take dance lessons from a beautiful dance instructor (Jennifer Lopez) in an attempt to spice up his life a bit. The lawyer’s wife (Susan Sarandon) starts to worry that he is having an affair and so she hires a private investigator to check things out. In one of their meetings, the investigator asks the lawyer’s wife why she is so committed to being married. Why not just leave him? Her response is, for me, the most memorable part of the movie:

“We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness'."

I’m impacted by this quote on a variety of levels, and if I were still an English teacher, I would have a blast picking it apart with my high school students. But, writing for this blog, my purposes are more narrow; so I’ll just follow one thought trail as it relates to the dance of lowliness.

“We need a witness to our lives.” How true it is that what we create and what we accomplish and what we achieve often only seems valuable to the extent that it is recognized by others. This song I wrote doesn’t really come alive for me until I’ve had the chance to sing it to someone and observe their response. This grade I earned for my final paper isn’t nearly as satisfying if no one else knows that I got it. Putting in the extra effort that is required in order to not just do the job, but to do it well seems pointless if no one really seems to notice or care. For many of us, it is the “witness” that gives purpose and meaning to the things we do. Without a “witness” it can be hard to find the motivation to try anything out of the ordinary; anything above average; anything beyond the bare minimum. Mediocrity and meaninglessness often characterize the “unobserved” life; the life lived outside the gaze of an “other.”

Because of this, we can often find ourselves, either consciously or subconsciously, striving to win over the attention of those around us. If many of us were to examine the basic motivations behind the clothes we wear, the objects we buy, the words we choose, and the various pursuits to which we give ourselves, I think we might find, among others, a profound longing to be noticed and perhaps even admired by the “witnesses” around us. And although it would be easy to conclude that this motivation must be rooted in sin, I think that like so many other casualties of the fall, this longing is simply a corrupted version of a God-given desire.

Before I go any further with this train of thought, I want to interject a passage from the gospel of John that begs to be included. Very quickly after Jesus comes on the scene in the early chapters of this gospel, John the Baptist finds himself being overshadowed by this newcomer’s ministry. John’s disciples become distraught over this development and say to John, “everyone is going to him.” John’s response to their concern for his waning notoriety and popularity stands as a shining lamppost for those who would travel the path of lowliness: “Therefore this joy of mine is now complete. He must increase, but I must decrease.”

If the longing to be witnessed, to be recognized, to be noticed is common to all men and women, and I believe that to some extent it is, how is it possible that someone could genuinely find joy in disappearing? What satisfaction is there for the person who finds himself in the shadows? What delight is there for him who dances in the dark?

I know that I lack the wisdom and life experience to respond to this question in a satisfying way. But, I will suggest two thoughts that are taking shape in my mind as I consider it. First, I think that this deep longing for a witness, though twisted by the fall, is God-given because we were created to live under the gaze of a God who sees us. Second, in the mysterious way of the kingdom, it seems that the less visible our actions and accomplishments and abilities are to the earthly witnesses around us, the more valuable they are to God.

Though I would like to explore these two statements in greater depth, I sense that I have written enough for now and need to simply let them sit awhile. I invite your comments and responses knowing that it is often through Spirit-led dialogue that the Lord brings the truths of His Word to light.

my costume

So, how am I helped by circumstances, events, words, people that humble (or even humiliate) me in some way? My May 1^st entry provides some context for this question, just in case you haven’t read that yet. Consider this: for much of my life I have been reminded by others both in friendly ways and in not so friendly ways that I am a rather skinny individual. The fact is that at one point or another in virtually every day of my life, I think about this physical attribute and often wish that it was different.

About a year ago, I was strangely encouraged during an interview with Chris Rock (African American comedian and actor for those who may not recognize the name) that I heard on National Public Radio’s daily program “Fresh Air.” Terry Gross, who was conducting the interview, acknowledged the fact that Chris is a skinny man, and asked him if he thinks much about it. In one of the very few serious statements that he made in the interview, Chris told Terry that he thinks about it every day.

This admission made me wonder if perhaps many or even most people think in a dissatisfied way about some aspect of their physical appearance regularly, if not daily. I was comforted to think that I am not alone in this particular insecurity, but also disturbed at the realization that this self-awareness occupies so much of my thought life. When I started to explore the idea that “what humbles me helps me,” I immediately turned my attention to this arena of physical insecurity.

I definitely feel lowered each time I think of my own appearance in comparison with any number of toned, muscular men that cross my path either in the world of entertainment or in real life. And there is no getting around the fact that our culture elevates the buff and humiliates the bony (with the possible exception of runway models . . . though even they have taken some flack for their appearance in recent months). The fact is that there are loads of physical attributes displayed in the appearance of most normal men and women that don’t fit with the commonly held cultural ideal of beauty. Given the standards of a pop culture that seems to scream at us wherever we turn, it is unsurprising that many people don’t feel very sexy at all most of the time.

So how does this sentiment help? Although it must be acknowledged that these standards are rooted in a false vision of beauty, and that our physical attributes were fixed in the sovereign will of God long before we were born, for the average Joe and Jane, these truths supply little comfort when one is faced with his or her own likeness in the mirror every day. But, for the person pursuing humility, this encounter with my own physical “flaws” can serve as a daily dose of antibiotic for the ailment of pride.

Though some may feel uncomfortable with drawing spiritual benefit from a lie (specifically the lie that I am physically flawed, or that physical appearance even matters much at all), and although it would clearly be preferable to simply convince yourself of the truth (that God made you the way you are and that you are beautiful to him and to your mother, and that inner beauty is more important anyway), I am becoming convinced that one way to weaken the effect of a persistent form of self-deception in my life is to see how I can use it as a springboard toward holiness; in this case manifested as humility. (I apologize for the super-long sentence . . . my high school English teacher, Ms. Barton, would be horrified.)

So I’m looking in the mirror and I’m thinking, “Boy, are you skinny!” And at that moment, I have at least two options in front of me. I can carry that thought with me into the day, letting the pride within me that desperately longs to be seen and admired and considered attractive keep me feeling like a lanky loser. Or, I can decide to dance . . . the dance of lowliness that is. I can acknowledge the obvious, that I’m not the Hollywood hunk that something within me insists that I should be. I can let this reality serve as a reminder that I’m not what everyone is looking for. I’m no superstar. I don’t stand out in the crowd. I don’t have what people think they need. I’m just an average Joe.

And as I pummel my pride a bit with this thought process, I can turn to the cross once again and remind myself of the awesome image of the only man in all of history who was anything more than an average Joe. What he came to offer had nothing to do with anything so shallow or fleeting as physical appearance or sex appeal. He walked among us as one from whom springs of living water flowed. Unlike me, he could satisfy the deep longings of the men and women with whom he interacted. He could see beneath the surface of things, completely ignoring what people and society tried to demand of him, and recognizing instead the great joy that accompanied obedience to his Father.

And so, what humbles me helps me. Awareness of my physical flaws can remind me that I still don’t see with the eyes of Christ quite yet; that what I value doesn’t always line up with what he values; that my longings can still be shallow and misplaced; that my Redeemer still has a lot of redeeming to do. If I choose to dance the dance of lowliness and gladly welcome those things that lower me, occasional reminders of my less attractive attributes may serve as healthy blows to pride and helpful building blocks for humility in my life.

Lord, may it be so for me today.

a few meaty excerpts

from Humility (Preface), by Andrew Murray
available on-line at http://www.worldinvisible.com/library/murray/5f00.0565/5f00.0565.c.htm

When I look back upon my own religious experience, or round upon the Church of Christ in the world, I stand amazed at the thought of how little humility is sought after as the distinguishing feature of the discipleship of Jesus. In preaching and living, in the daily intercourse of the home and social life, in the more special fellowship with Christians, in the direction and performance of work for Christ,-alas! how much proof there is that humility is not esteemed the cardinal virtue, the only root from which the graces can grow, the one indispensable condition of true fellowship with Jesus. That it should have been possible for men to say of those who claim to be seeking the higher holiness, that the profession has not been accompanied with increasing humility, is a loud call to all earnest Christians, however much or little truth there be in the charge, to prove that meekness and lowliness of heart are the chief mark by which they who follow the meek and lowly Lamb of God are to be known.

. . . we have the mystery of grace, which teaches us that, as we lose ourselves in the overwhelming greatness of redeeming love, humility becomes to us the consummation of everlasting blessedness and adoration.

. . . nothing is more natural and beautiful and blessed than to be nothing, that God may be all.

. . . it is not sin that humbles most, but grace . . . and it is the soul, led through its sinfulness to be occupied with God in His wonderful glory as God, as Creator and Redeemer, that will truly take the lowest place before Him.

a song for the dance

I have delayed for some time now my discussion of a topic that is, in my opinion, essential to participation in the dance of lowliness. The reason for this delay is because I have lacked the time and mental energy to do the topic justice. But, I am now 3 months (and 9 entries) into this blog, and I can’t wait any longer.

So here it is:
If you want to dance, it helps to have a song to dance to.
But for the dance of lowliness, not just any song will do.

For well over a year now, my own participation in the dance of lowliness has been dramatically enhanced by a brief “refrain” that is more poetic than musical. But, I’ll refer to it as a “song” for the sake of the metaphor. The refrain is as follows:

What humbles me helps me
What lowers me lifts me
For when I am weak
Then I am strong.

The idea flows from II Corinthians 12, where Paul described his painful struggle with a “thorn in the flesh.” He acknowledged that the purpose of his suffering was to keep him from being “too elated” by the spiritual experiences he was having. Though he begged the Lord to deliver him, the Lord let his suffering continue, supplying these words as an explanation: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” And I would suggest that Paul’s response to this revelation provides the biblical basis for the dance of lowliness:

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities.
For when I am weak, then I am strong.

What sets genuine followers of Christ apart from the adherents of any other religion where folks lay claim to the truth, testify to life transformation of some sort, enjoy some form of spiritual community, or involve themselves in humanitarian aid? I think that perhaps this may be one distinguishing feature: folks who follow Jesus can dance when they suffer. Just as Jesus embraced suffering “for the joy set before him,” and just as the apostles rejoiced that they were “found worthy to suffer for the sake of the Name,” so Christ followers throughout history have heard in the message of the gospel a song that they can dance to, even in, and perhaps especially in the midst of hardship.

Unfortunately, many men and women who claim to represent the way of the kingdom are pointing people to a false understanding of what the gospel accomplishes in our lives. They would suggest that following Christ diminishes our suffering and reduces our life problems. The thinking goes like this: the better you get to know Christ and the more faithfully you follow His teaching, the less hardship and pain you will experience. In fact, this idea often drowns out the sweet music of the kingdom, muffling the lyrics of a song that brings hope to those who are suffering and joy to those who are in pain.

If the gospel is about eliminating pain and hardship in people’s lives, then no wonder a large number of men and women who think that they are Christians are confounded by their inability to escape from their suffering. The harsh realities of life often leave these folks wondering why they can’t hear the music; why they can’t find a rhythm they can dance to.

But just as a businessman walking the noisy streets of Chicago needs to adjust his hearing in order to recognize the faint sound of the cricket chirping in a sidewalk planter, so many followers of Jesus need to adjust their hearing in order to recognize the life-giving song of the kingdom.

The song beckons us to find grace in the midst of our suffering. It points us to the possibility that those difficult events or encounters that lower us somehow, that chafe at our pride and choke our self-esteem, that shake our sense of identify and stimulate our insecurities, are really helps in our journey heavenward. What humbles me helps me, and what lowers me lifts me. Though our society encourages us to delight in our strength and celebrate our success, the lowly way of the kingdom scandalizes us with the call to rejoice in our weakness and find God in our failures.

So we find in the gospel a song to dance to. Following Jesus inevitably brings us down the path of suffering. And some of us will walk this path for the vast majority of our journey here on earth. Whether we ache with our own hardships and personal struggles, or whether we share in the pain of others, or whether we groan with creation in eager anticipation of a redemption that is yet to come for this lost world, those of us who follow Jesus must know that we will suffer quite often. But the good news is that those things which make us suffer can also make us dance; that is, if we have ears to hear the lowly song of the kingdom.

The Water Song
(from Hannah Hurnard's Hinds Feet on High Places)

Come, oh come! Let us away –
Lower, lower every day,
Oh, what joy it is to race
Down to find the lowest place.
This the dearest law we know –
"It is happy to go low."
Sweetest urge and sweetest will,
"Let us go down lower still."
Hear the summons night and day
Calling us to come away.
From the heights we leap and flow
To the valleys down below.
Always answering to the call,
To the lowest place of all.
Sweetest urge and sweetest pain,
To go low and rise again.