Confession time: When I hear people say they experience "the power of prayer," I'm envious. Most of the time, I feel like I'm talking to myself. I try to devote part of my morning quiet time to prayer, but I rarely seem to get past, "Lord, thank you for this day." Then my mind wanders to some lines from hymns or psalms, and then I'm officially distracted by "what should I do next?"
Meditation and contemplation come more easily. Praying with a friend or small group comes more easily, as does shooting up brief arrows of prayer in moments of need. Is there something I am missing in personal prayer? I suspect it is the discipline of it, like exercising a muscle that only becomes stronger with use.
Richard Foster, in his chapter on the discipline of prayer, gives me two very useful tools for personal prayer. First, he suggests engaging the imagination by asking God for pictures during prayer. I'm guessing that Foster is a right-brainer, like me, opposed to prayer check lists and daily guides, and more inspired by art and metaphor.
I tried it out this week, and as I prayed for my son, God gave me a picture of a shield around this beloved young man. I smiled, thinking of Noah's recent performance in Camelot as King Arthur, bearing a sword and shield. This picture was further confirmed by my subsequent reading of Psalm 5 that morning, which ends with "For you bless the godly, O LORD, surrounding them with your shield of love." Big smile!
This was a glimpse into the power of prayer. A picture. A scripture to confirm it. A rush of gratitude in response. The prayer muscle strengthened.
The second tool is to pray expectantly. I so often pray half-heartedly, using sacred powerful words like bless, help, protect, and guide in a routine way, as if I'm reciting from some bank of acceptable prayer words. But if I slow down and picture an actual hand of blessing on a person, a literal grip of help, a strong shield of protection, and a guiding light upon a dark path, now there is something different. If I become specific in my desires and as bold as the psalmists, now there is power. If I devote myself to listening and watching for clues that God is working and answering the cries of my heart, now there is the key to unlock the mystery of the power of prayer.
John Piper nailed me today. He pointed out that I fail to think of life as war and instead move happily through my day in pursuit of peace, harmony, beauty, and a catchy little song. I'm a born optimist, it's true, but optimism makes my prayer life weak. This quote from the book, Let the Nations be Glad, woke me up this morning.
Life is war. That's not all it is. But it is always that. Our weakness in prayer is owing largely to our neglect of this truth. Prayer is primarily a wartime walkie-talkie for the mission of the church as it advances against the powers of darkness and unbelief. It is not surprising that prayer malfunctions when we try to make it a domestic intercom to call upstairs for more comforts in the den. -John Piper
Oh my. Forgive me for my lack of insight. Even as I see death and destruction around me, I still recline in my comfortable, insulated life and forget that a spiritual battle rages. Darkness wants my children. It wants all our children. It woos them with promises of comfort, acceptance, excitement. Now right there is a war worth praying over.
This morning, as the warm light of day began to lift the darkness and the hunters spilled out of trucks across the field, I sat cozy in my spot and took a little gem of counsel from Spiritual Classics, Richard Foster, ed.
photo by Dave Pearson
It was the strangest thing I've read on prayer, written by an anonymous in The Cloud of Unknowing centuries past. He wrote,
"Let me start by saying that the best thing you can do when you start to pray, however long or short your time of prayer is to be, is to tell yourself, and mean it, that you are going to die at the end of your prayer."
What? That's not very affirming. Some weird monk must have thought of this.
But you know what, I tried it. I took the posture of reflecting on my own demise. Immediately, tears sprang to my eyes. "God, thank you for all of this..." I choked. "God, I can die now, because you are good and I am forgiven and the universe will not stop spinning without me. You are the power and the glory."
Many have looked death in the face and trembled. The rest of us can let our imaginations lead us to that small and humble place where we glimpse a purer, wider, broader, deeper vision of God.
Lectio Divina: (LEK-tsee-o di-VEEN-ah) sacred reading
Those in the Catholic tradition might be aware of this Latin phrase, but it was new to me and something about it drew me in. I read the words in an article somewhere and jotted them down to investigate. I've always been fascinated with ancient monastic writings and practices and was exposed to many when I participated in a Bible study based on Devotional Classics, edited by Richard Foster.
I've tried many approaches to my morning quiet time. When one gets stale, I seek out a fresh one. In this pearl of a phrase, Lectio Divina has proved to be as fresh and delicious as Emma's homemade bread. I wake up eager to move to my place, open God's Word, discover His message for me.
There are many books available on what it is and how to do it. I'm glad I randomly picked Tony Jones' Encountering God Through the Ancient Practice of Lectio Divina. It's written from a contemporary pastor dad of small children who is even from Minnesota. It's worth reading an in-depth book before you try it, but here it is in a nutshell. Four steps:
Lectio- reading...choose a short section of Scripture. I use an on-line lectionary to guide my daily reading. Read it over and over and over, 10 or 15 times.
Meditatio- meditate on the word or phrase that most caught your attention and stirred up an emotional response. Explore it. Lean into it. Think hard on it.
Oratio- prayer...pray your response back to God. Whether you need to repent, offer thanks, intercede, or all of them, do it now. Silence is a valid response as well.
Contemplatio- Let go. Close your eyes and quiet your mind in God's love. I envision myself plunging backward into the ocean of God or resting in his strong arms. Clear your head of all thoughts but for sweet communion with Him.
When I ease back into the day, I realize I have been in a vortex of worship, communion, and interaction with the Holy Word. I briefly journal my reading selection and thoughts, especially the phrase that came forth in meditatio. I find that questions have been answered, my cup has been filled, my mind has been fixed on holiness, and I can enter into the day with gladness. For me, it takes about 30 minutes.
This is obviously not an inductive style of study. I've done those and they serve a different, yet equally meaningful purpose. I think I will stick with this practice for awhile, because nothing compares to the sense of encountering God at the break of day.
For days overripe with sibling squabbles, whining discontent, and a strung-out mother, there are ways of escape. Susanna Wesley, mother of 19 children including Charles & John, would sit in her kitchen and throw her apron over her head. This was her posture of prayer and the children knew to leave her be.
I have a lovely window seat, where I have placed a prayer journal, a Bible, meditative books, and a pen. I'm supposed to go there when I need to escape. The children know that although it is in the main living area, it is a quiet place, for anyone who needs it.
But where do I usually escape to instead? My laptop. E-mail, Facebook, blogsites, Amazon. A colorful, interactive, addictive distraction. I have no memories of my mother sitting in front of a computer, but I wonder if this will be a strong memory of my own kids.
A mom whose face is set aglow by monitor light.
The faint click of the keyboard.
Her rapt attention to a glass rectangle,
where they seem to temporarily fade into the
background.
This is not the picture I want to model, let alone imprint on their memories; not a legacy I want to pass on to them.
Can I change? Can I learn to gravitate to the window seat instead of the laptop? Can I learn the art of being present, so the temptation to escape is not so strong?
Can I throw the apron over my head, or will I end up looking like this...
Western society has accepted as unquestionable a technological imperative : not merely the duty to foster invention and constantly to create technological novelties, but equally the duty to surrender to these novelties unconditionally, just because they are offered, without respect to their human consequences. ~Lewis Mumford
