What Are You Really Asking?

Sometimes it seems to me that the questions people ask aren’t really driven by a “desire to know” but more by a desire to “affirm what I already am convinced of.” In that sense, the questions aren’t really questions–they are hidden assertions.

At times, this is fairly obvious. For example, when the “asker” ends his or her question with “.  .  . Right?” He is begging for an affirmative answer. She anticipates that you will agree with her because she has already settled on what she thinks the right answer is.

However, at times, the assertion behind the question is a bit harder to discern . . . although not impossible to see. For example . . . is the question really about a desire to know when . . . ?

The person who has reneged on paying taxes owed raises a question, asking, “But doesn’t God tell me that I am first to provide for ‘my own’?”

The unhappily married spouse asks, “Doesn’t the Bible say that people can get divorced?”

The sexually-active teen inquires saying, “But I didn’t think the Bible said anything about having to get a ‘marriage license’ . . . does it?”

I’m sure that there are much more subtle variations on this theme, but perhaps you get the idea. These are non-question questions; they are veiled assertions. And I think that is what is going on when Jesus is “questioned” by some religious people as recorded for us in Mark 10:2-12.

These religious leaders come asking: “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”

What are they really after? What is it that troubles them?

Do they really doubt that there is a provision in the Law for divorce? Is it that they are so committed their own spouses that they are offended and amazed that there might just be such a provision? Are they concerned that they have, somehow, misread some text and would like Jesus to explain that there are no provisions for separating from ones spouse? Or . . .

Have they accomodated themselves to the practice of “easy divorce” and simply want Jesus’ to tacitly approve of their practice?

They simply want Jesus to agree with their ” . . . Right?” They aren’t really asking a question; they are affirming what they want him to agree to.

And, as he typically does, Jesus does not accommodate them as they would have wished. He presses them. He challenges them to think about what they are asking–he wants them to face what is behind their question.

Although there is something of an “exception clause” in the Old Testament Law regarding divorce (literally, “permitting” it), Jesus seems to be stressing that this is not God’s intent. The exception doesn’t prove the rule. The exception is . . . well, an accommodation to hard-heartedness.

Now we won’t be able to resolve the divorce issue in this blog (nor would I intend to do so!); I want to pay attention to the process that is going on and how Jesus responds to it (rather than focusing on the issue itself).

Jesus is confronted with a semi-disingenuous question. The asker already has his mind made up; he only wants Jesus to acquiesce. He is not really asking to know, but asking to get Jesus’ approval to his already-decided point of view. And, I all to often do the same!

I ask Jesus, “You don’t really want me to be taken advantage of by that person, do you?” And what am I really looking for?

I have already concluded that I am “being taken advantage of.” I have already settled that this situation is intolerable. I have decided that I should end whatever it is that is leaving me feel this way. And my question is not really a request for Jesus to tell me what he truly wants me to do, but simply a veiled way of informing him of what I intend to do . . . with a mild hope that he will see things my way.

I ask Jesus, “But, of course, you wouldn’t want me to forgive that person without him having made things right because he would just go and do the same thing again . . . right?”

What is behind this question? Only my settled conviction that forgiveness is about conforming another’s behavior to my standards (rather than “cancelling the debt”), and trying to ensure that others (me, included?) aren’t offended in like fashion again.

The questions reveal what is going on in me, make reasonably plain my already-settled-upon conclusions, and only weakly ask for Jesus’ input.

Jesus’ reply cuts through every one of all such disingenuous questions. He simply tells his hearers, straight up, what God really does want. (With regard to the marriage issue raised by the religious leaders’ question, God is after fidelity and faithfulness. Focus on that, and most of the other tangential questions will be resolved.)

When I raise these kinds of questions, I tend to think Jesus’ reply (if I will listen for it!) will be equally straight up and straight forward. He will let us know what it is that the Father wants.

And then we will have to wrestle with what we really are asking.

What I Don’t Know Should Shape My Praying

I was talking with a friend this morning. We were talking about prayer. A frequent topic of conversation; a frequent frustrating topic of conversation. I just don’t seem to “get” prayer . . . much of the time.

As we discussed how to pray for ourselves and others in the midst of a life that seems battered by trouble and trials, I kept wondering: What am I supposed to pray for in such moments? What kinds of requests should form the foundation of my praying?

I know, from John’s epistle, that when I am praying in accordance with God’s will, I can have certainty about how God will answer. But seeing as we have no assurance that we will live trouble-free lives, when I turn to God in prayer when facing difficulties in my life or when speaking to him about difficulties in the lives of others, I sometimes wonder how and what to pray.

Paul helps me, though. I have spent some time reflecting on his prayers. And he often points me in the right direction.

In his letter to the Ephesians, chapter one, he puts pen to parchment to touch on what he is praying for these Christians to whom he writes. He is thankful for what God has done and is doing in them, and he makes some very specific kinds of requests on their behalf.

I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, so that you may know what is the hope of His calling, what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, and what is the surpassing greatness of His power toward us who believe. (Ephesians 1:18-19)

His prayer here is both simple and profound. He prays for enlightenment; he wants Christians to see something. He wants them to know, to grasp, to recognize what they might not be seeing or grasping. He wants God to open their spiritual eyes and grant them sight to see spiritual realities. And, he lists three specific things that, apparently, the Ephesians Christians weren’t seeing but needed know.

He asks God to aid them to see the hope that is theirs because of the call God has placed on their lives. I can readily confess, I need to see hope. In the midst of difficult times, I need the assurance of future, yet-to-come, grace; a confidence that God is moving this life along toward his good end. I need to see and taste and experience hope.

He prays that God will enlighten them so that they will grasp “the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints.” That’s a very interesting expression; there is some debate about what Paul has in mind here. However, studying it out, I think Paul here speaks of the magnificent display of God’s goodness and grace (his glory) that is and will be on display because of what he has obtained for himself (his inheritance) in the lives of those who have come to faith (the saints). In other words, Paul wants the believers to know that God is being glorified in them. I readily confess, I need to know God is finding glory for himself in this life of mine. In the midst of difficult times, it would carry me along to be assured that what seems so troubling is, in truth, bringing God glory.

And, lastly, Paul requests that God work by grace to open eyes so that believers will become aware of the greatness of God’s power that is at work “toward us.” That is, God doesn’t just have great power, but he is exercising that power to accomplish his good purpose and put his own glory on display as he directs that power into our lives. I readily confess, I need to feel and sense and know that I am not in the midst of the turmoil of life adrift and powerless. In the midst of trying and heart-troubling times, it is of immense encouragement to realize that the Almighty is working “toward me” for his end in omnipotent power.

But I don’t always live “knowing” these things. I forget that life is going somewhere by divine design, and I feel a bit hopeless. I lose sight of the truth that God is obtaining glory for himself in whatever is going on in our days, and life feels a bit pointless. And I overlook the truth that the power that moves life forward is not my strength but the glorious and omnipotent power of God, and I feel stuck and on the verge of despair.

So, what I don’t know really should shape my praying. That is, what I don’t remember, what I don’t see, what I don’t recall, what I fail to grasp, what I overlook about God, and his work in our lives, and his design in this life, and his power to achieve his ends for his glory . . . all that is what I need to see! And that should shape my praying.

I wonder what would happen in the lives of those I know if someone (me, perhaps?) began praying for them this way. I wonder what might happen in my life, if someone were to pray . . .

What Do You Know?

Sometimes the problem with living out this life is the seeming tension between the things that I think I know.

Theologically, it comes up when we talk about Jesus in the incarnation. We know that he is God; we also know that he is man. We affirm both his sure deity and his full humanity. We know both these things; the Scriptures teach both. But we are not quite sure how to reconcile the two in our minds. Just how does a God-man live?

Another common tension, often rising to the surface in theologically-flavored discussions, are the issues of “free will” and the sovereignty of God. We know that God is fully in control of all of life; we also know that we are called to act responsibly. We affirm both God’s omnipotent sovereignty and our “willful” living. We know both these things; the Scriptures teach both. But we are not quite sure how to reconcile the two in our minds. Just how do we, as “willing” people, live out and under the sovereignty of God?

Perhaps I will take some time to “think out loud” about these issues in a future post . . . but for now, it is the idea of holding, as certain, things we know that may appear to be at odds that intrigues me.

Listen to Paul’s “certainties” drawn from Romans 8. He writes:

For we know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth together until now. (Romans 8:22)

And . . .

We know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)

Two certainties; two things Paul says every believer should fully know.

The first? That life is painful and is experienced in aches and groaning. The second? That God is working good in all of this. And there is where I feel the tension.

Aches and groaning, pain and trouble, tears and sorrow . . . and all the while God is working good. That where I can end up feeling the tension in the face of what I know.

I can readily affirm the sorrow and pain of life when weeping with a friend over an accident that has claimed the functional life of a dear son. I can feel the ache of soul when a marriage begins to unravel seemingly in spite of the partners’ longing for things to be different. I taste the bitter tears when cancer strikes down a life ripe with promise and confident in God’s grace. I know the groaning that rises from all of creation.

I can also attest to the truth, pictured in Scripture and hinted at in life (at times), that God is working some yet-to-be-seen good in the midst of what appears to hard. I can declare–when I root my thinking in the workings of God portrayed in the Scriptures–that in mysterious and glorious and surprising and delightful ways God is doing good.

But there are those moments in life when I find it hard to hold both certainties in mind and heart with equal bold confidence. There are times when it seems a real challenge to maintain the two in tension; neither ignoring nor denying the reality of the groaning and longing of all of creation while at the same time not abandoning the confident trust that this suffering being experienced is not a glitch in the system and that God is still working, in the midst of all that seems overwhelming, for what is truly good.

How do we live in the midst of this tension of what we know? I started thinking this through in the post entitled “What Help Do You Need?” Pressing on a little further along those lines, as I reflect on Paul’s thoughts in Romans 8, it strikes me as significant that two things are rooted in the text between these two certainties: life lived in hope, and life lived in the Spirit.

Those may be the significant components to how one lives in the midst of the tension between these two certainties.

Hope, biblically, is not “wishful thinking.” Hope speaks to future certainties; hope is bold confident faith in future grace. The Spirit is pictured, in this passage, as the one who helps us in our weakness, aiding us in our praying.

When the tension between the “knowing” of the anguish of this life and the “knowing” of the promise of God’s working good becomes nigh to overwhelming, what I most desperately need is the ability to hold on to the confidence of future grace. I need to grip hope and have hope grip me. And, so, the Spirit comes to my aid in my weakness in prayer and stirs in me a growing certain confidence in God’s goodness and power so that I can rest in future grace as hope experienced.

If we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it. (Romans 8:25)

That is the Spirit’s work, drawing on the witness of the Scriptures and the character of God we have come to know.

What I know is that life is hard even for those who now know God. What I know is that God is good and is working good in life in us. What I need to experience in the midst of the tension of this “knowing,” is the reality of the Spirit’s striring in my heart a praying that latches on to the certain of future grace, yet to be experienced, and to move forward in life in hope.

I know that is really what I need. Now if I can just lean into that experience a bit more!

What Help Do We Need?

I realize that I struggle. There is no misguided thinking there. I long to live this life with Christ, but I don’t always seem to be on task, I don’t always seem to be living consistent with what I say I have come to believe. I need help. That’s obvious. And this morning I have been trying to get my mind around the kind of help God offers me in Christ Jesus through the Spirit. I was exploring Romans 8, and I read:

And not only this, but also we ourselves, having the first fruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting eagerly for [our] adoption as sons, the redemption of our body.  For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for who hopes for what he [already] sees?  But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it.  In the same way the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for [us] with groanings too deep for words. (Romans 8:23-26)

Here Paul mentions the help I need. There is some “weakness” in me where I need the Spirit’s assistance. Although I know that I could or should be praying, Paul says that I don’t know “how” to pray as I ought. And that causes me to ask: What about the “how” of praying am I missing? I know I ought to pray, but Paul says that even knowing that, I do not always know how to pray. And, I feel that in my own soul; and I wonder about the root of that problem with that “how.”

Paul is talking about how we have tasted the “first fruits” of our redemption. Because of the work of Christ Jesus and the grace of the Father, we have entered into life and we have begun to experience the riches of God’s goodness. But there is yet something “out there” awaiting us. As Paul puts it, we are saved “in hope.” There are things about our full redemption that we may have gotten wind of, but which we don’t yet really “see.” So, in anticipation, we hope; we long for all that we believe is being offered us in Christ Jesus.

It is right for us to anticipate what is being held out before us. We are invited into a life we don’t fully, here and now, experience. We have been changed and are in the process of undergoing transformation in order that we might enjoy eternity with the Almighty. But we haven’t experienced all that he intends for us . . . yet. Some, we still anticipate, we hope, we long for, we anticipate.

And it is “in the gap” between what I have experienced of transformation and what I am anticipating and the less-than-glorious experience in my day-to-days that, not seeing, I must hope. And when that gap appears to widen–when my current experience in today does not seem to line up with what I have come to think is being offered us in Christ–that I struggle, and I am left not knowing how to pray.

Paul goes on to affirm the reality in which we live. All things are being worked out by God for good in the lives of those who are his (Romans 8:28-29). But I don’t yet see all things working out that way. And, at times, I struggle in that hope which should constrain my thinking.

Marriages still crumble. Relationships disappoint. Ministry is stifled and seems fruitless. Gifts are neglected. Hurts are multiplied. Hearts remain downcast. Sin still cripples. Although I know that these things do not characterize the end to which we have been appointed, they are the reality of the days in which I live. Living in that gap, between the first fruits of the experience of the promise and the full realization of the promise, I can loose sight of how to pray.

How do I talk with God about my inability, in weakness, to grasp the certainty of the hope held out for us in the midst of the seemingly overwhelming struggles we all face?

And that is where the Spirit comes to my aid. He comes alongside to provide practical and needed help; that’s the sense of the language. And that’s what I need. Without having to pray it in pretty words or express my heart in articulate clarity, the Spirit pleads our case in the courts of heaven, interceding for us for all we need to live in this gap.

And, at times, I feel that. At times I can sense that work of the Spirit. That is the help I do need. In the gap, someone coming alongside me to uphold me in prayer. Who better to be that helped and friend, than the Spirit who always prays for us in line with the will of God.

He Thought They Mattered

“I’ll pray for you.” That’s an expression that seems to be common among those who claim to have a relationship with the living God. The words come relatively easy. We say them as part of our good-bye when leaving a friend, we use them to turn a conversation when we aren’t sure what else to say, we tack them on to our words of condolence when we are trying to make sense of a friend’s trouble or trauma.

But, I wonder. Do we? That is, do we really pray? And, if we do pray, do we think it really matters?

 I don’t mean to suggest that when we (or should I say, more honestly, when I?) use those words, we are being dishonest or insincere.  I only wonder what we really are thinking . . . or whether we are really thinking at all about what we are saying.

Will I really pray? Will I talk to God about the matter as if it really mattered . . . to me? Will I have any sense that if I do talk with God that anything will be different . . . other than my personal conscience will be eased seeing as I have discharged the pledge of praying?

I was looking over Paul’s letter to the Philippians; I am not very far into the letter. I am trying to pay attention to how the language reflects upon Paul’s thinking. I love the attitude of hope and joy that permeates this epistle and I want to try to better grasp how Paul lived in sincere and heart-felt joy in Jesus.

He is in prison; it’s not where he would have planned to be. Some less-than-sincere believers are stirring up trouble in the city of Philippi, a place dear to the heart of this now-aging apostle. And he still writes out of joy. And, in those opening paragraphs, he writes about his imprisonment. He says:

For I know that this will turn out for my deliverance through your prayers and the provision of the Spirit of Jesus Christ (Philippians 1:19).

Although he is in prison and has no human word that his trouble will be coming to end soon, he has a sense that it will; he believes that there is coming some sort of deliverance. It is unclear whether he has in mind actual release from prison or some other unforeseen resolution. Later in the letter, he seems fairly strongly convinced that his days are not yet over. He anticipates more ministry; some deliverance is ahead that will allow him to continue to minister. What intrigues me is how Paul speaks of that certainty.

He knows that the Spirit will sustain and keep and provide for and bring him through this trouble; the Spirit is instrumental to his getting through the present trouble. But he also anchors his certainty to the prayers of the Philippians. That is extraordinary.

Paul is a firm believer in the sovereign work of God; he has just previously confessed (in this letter) that his imprisonment is not a human miscarriage of justice but, in fact, an “imprisonment in Christ” (that is, well within what Christ is doing). But in addition to seeing God’s hand in what is happening, he seems to think that God is going to work in concert with and through the active participation of the prayers of others. God is going to work in and through the prayers of the Philippians on Paul’s behalf. He really thought that their praying mattered.

I have often said to someone, “I’ll pray for you.” But I wonder if those I said that to really ended up feeling a bold confidence that things were going to be different because I was praying.

I have often had others say similar words about prayer to me. But I don’t know that I very often get to the place that I would express bold confidence that things are going to be different because that person or those others are praying.

It’s not that I don’t think prayer does something, it’s just that I am not sure prayer is really as effective and life-altering as Paul seems to think.

That seems to me to be an idea worth pursuing. James writes that the prayer of a righteous man accomplishes much (in James 5); Paul seemed to think that the prayers of the Philippians mattered greatly. Maybe I need to start thinking like Paul and James.

How different would I live if I thought that the prayers of others (and my prayers for them) really did matter?

I See That!

Last week I got hijacked. No, not literally, but something really did happen that radically altered how my minutes were being spent. And it had everything to do with how Jesus is messing with my life and drawing me to learn to follow him.

A lunch appointment I had scheduled got cancelled at the last minute. Without much thought, I decided to spend a few minutes at the food court at the local mall, get a bite and read a bit of Romans (what I have been exploring in my own life recently). Just about the time I was finished with the reading and the eating, a woman walked up to me, tugged on my sleeve and, pointing to my Bible, asked, “Are you just reading that or are you a pastor?”

I hemmed and hawed a bit, not knowing what my answer might lead to. She asked me if I would be willing to pray for a little baby girl–the little child I had been trying to ignore for the past six or eight minutes who was screaming and crying behind me. I turned to look, and saw a little African-American child, well under a year, with some kind of orthopaedic contraption connected to shoes holding her legs apart and her toes pointed out. And this little baby was clearly not happy.

I began to think through what this woman wanted of me and why she picked me out and what would happen if I prayed and the little girl only screamed more and what people standing around and watching would be thinking and . . . .

So I offered a variety of “theologically informed” disclaimers about praying in such situations, after which the woman (who was a friend of the mother holding the little girl) again asked me, “So, could you pray for this baby?” What could I say? “Of course.”

And I prayed . . . a relatively pathetic, dispassionate, detached, “safe” prayer. But right then, as I was praying, something happened . . . in me. I actually started to listen for what Jesus might just be doing. It was when I said my “Amen!” (and was finally quite enough to listen) that I think I heard him say, “She will be fine after she sleeps.”

Now I didn’t understand that to mean that he was going to heal this little girl. (I’m not a dis-believer in healing; I’ve seen him do such things. But as best as I could sense what Jesus was saying, this was about comfort and care and not about healing . . . at least in this moment.) So I mentioned that to the friend. “I think Jesus is saying that she will be fine–she will be comforted and free from this distress–after she sleeps.” And the friend explained that was part of the problem. The little girl had been crying for hours and hours–since the early morning when the special shoes were put on–and would not sleep.

Now I wanted to pray. I saw it differently. I actually thought I could see what Jesus was doing. So, I bent over the stroller where Celine, the little girl, was lying, wailing. I put my face up close to hers. And I began to pray with my heart in it. I asked Jesus to comfort her, feeling like that is what he said he wanted to do. I told her that Jesus cared for her. And, literally, in moments, she fell asleep.

I stood up. The mom and the friend were quietly whispering. A few people at the tables crowded around this stroller seemed to stopped in mid-bite, watching. What had just happened? I think Jesus stepped into this moment in the food court and I got to be a part of that.

I wonder if that is how it felt to Peter.

In Acts 9, Peter is in the city of Lydda. We aren’t told but how, but he came across a lame man named Aeneas. And Peter said to him, “Aeneas, Jesus Christ heals you.” What is easily missed is the sense of Peter’s words. He, literally, tells Aeneas that “Jesus Christ is healing you right now.”

What does this mean? What is Peter saying? Minimally, I have to conclude that Peter somehow saw, somehow knew, what Jesus was doing. And all Peter did was get in on that! It wasn’t that Peter decided to heal this man; it was only that Peter saw what Jesus was doing and joined him in what he was doing. Jesus stepped into that moment and Peter got to be a part of it.

“Celine, Jesus Christ is comforting you!” Jesus stepped into the food court and I just happened to be there and it pleased him to involve me in what he was doing. I see that . . . now.

The Man Who Built that Boat

Everyone knows the basics of the story of Noah. Even those who do not consider themselves “believers” could say:

“Yes, Noah. He was the man whom God (who I don’t believe in) spoke to (which I don’t think happens) and was told to build a big boat (which I don’t think realistically he could have done) that would hold two of every animal (which sounds like a fairy tale) so that they would all be spared when God (again, that guy I don’t believe in) brought a flood upon the whole earth (which I don’t think really happened).” Noah is known as the guy who built the boat and was spared when the flood came.

Certainly you can recall the story. The big boat. All the animals. The flood that covered the earth. The boat coming to rest on a mountain. The receding waters. And the rainbow. So many facets of the story; so many things make it memorable.

But there is something about the story, as recorded in Genesis 6 through 9 that easily gets overlooked. And, it just might be the most important thing about the story of Noah–it might be what we need to get a hold of if we want to make sense of the account. (Perhaps it would help if you read the account!)

God spoke. In fact, God speaks a lot. In the story of Noah, we don’t even hear the words of Noah until the very end; and then we only get a couple of verses recording what Noah said to his sons. But the story of Noah is filled with God speaking.

Of the 92 verses that encompass the account, almost 40% are the words of God to Noah. Just to give some perspective on that, think about Abraham.

Abraham is “the friend of God.” Abraham is considered the father of faith and the patriarch of the nation of Israel. Abraham is, perhaps, one of the key figures in the Old Testament. And it takes over 370 verses to provide us with the account of his life; and of that only about 15% is God speaking. Although we can’t evaluate significance and weight solely on the basis of percentages, I was shocked to see what is so evident here.

In telling the story of Noah, the focus is clearly on God speaking. Although Abraham’s journey is driven forward by God’s compelling conversations with Abraham, verse for verse, the story of Noah gives twice as much attention and emphasis to God speaking than does the account of Abraham, the friend of God.

What then makes the story of Noah? Does the boat matter? Certainly! Are the animals important? Sure! And the rainbow, is that significant? No doubt! But it is so easy to overlook what, in fact, gets the most ink in the account: God is speaking! God is talking to Noah, a lot. The story is, certainly, about the events that happened to Noah and his family; but the story is also about–perhaps even in a bigger way–God speaking to someone, and their life changing because of that.

So, that causes me to wonder. What do I privilege in my own journey with God? Am I caught up with the “things” that happen? Do the events of life loom prominent? Or am I at least as taken with the idea that God speaks?

Through his Word, by his Spirit, in the person of Jesus, in our hearts, through our souls, God speaks. That is incredible. That is the launching point for every great “story” in the Bible. It is what makes the account of Noah so startling and amazing. And I think that the idea that God speaks, to you and to me, in a variety of ways, is probably what should make the stories of our lives so startling and amazing and joyful and attractive.

It’s Not About Informing Him

I am still thinking about prayer; how we pray, why I find it hard, at times, to pray. I really long for an ongoing, rich and vital, conversation with God. And I don’t think that’s presumptuous; it seems to me that the Scriptures make it clear that God intends to have conversations with us. So, I continue to think about prayer and how it happens . . . and what gets in the way of a good conversation with God.

Although narrative passages of Scripture don’t necessarily give us direct instructions on “how to,” when I watch people interact with God, I can often catch glimpses of what is helpful, and what is not. With that in mind, I was looking at some early accounts of prayer. One that clearly warrants some thought is the exchange God had with Cain that is found in Genesis 4.

Cain killed Abel; although the Genesis passage doesn’t explicitly tell us why, there are hints in the passage of Cain’s jealousy of his brother. In any case, murder was the outcome.

And then God comes to talk with Cain. Repeatedly, God initiates some exchange. After Abel has been killed, God asks Abel: “Where is Abel your brother?” (Genesis 4:9)

Well, God is not asking Cain this question because he doesn’t know; in the next verse God makes it clear that he knows that Abel is dead and that Cain was responsible. So, God’s intent in asking Cain this question was not about getting needed information.

And Cain pushed back; he resisted God’s inquiry. Cain responded: “I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?”

Cain’s response, although conversation with God, was hardly healthy praying. Cain lied and Cain deflected God’s question. He lied in saying he did not know where Abel was. He deflected God’s pursuit by ignoring the basic question and suggesting God was going after something else.

God knew that Cain knew what had happened to Abel. And God wasn’t interested in assigning Cain the task of being his “brother’s keeper.” God was asking so that Cain would be honest with where his head and heart were at that moment.

I beleive that is often a bigger part of prayer than I tend to think. I often approach praying as if it is about informing God. I feel that I have to tell him stuff, subtly acting like he needs me to inform him. I tell him about what is going on; I tell him what is or is not happening; and I advise God about what he should do about the situation. And I can often deflect God’s nudges, refusing to look at the things he is stirring in my heart whether through promptings of the Spirit or through what he is showing me in his Word. I end up having “Cain prayer” with God.

But what is often missing in that kind of praying is what God seems to be pursuing in his exchange with Cain.

In Genesis 4:6 God asks Cain questions, not to get information that he didn’t have, but to draw Cain to think better about how he was doing life. In Genesis 4:9 God asks Cain a question, not to get information that he didn’t have, but to invite Cain to expose what was really going on in his soul.

Prayer, in these instances, is not about informing God, but about exposing oneself to him. Prayer is an adventure in self-disclosure and not simply the act of reporting facts to the Almighty.

I think I miss that, often. I spend so much of my time in prayer merely reporting facts to God. I act as if what is most important is for me to bring God up to speed on what is going on. When, all along, what he really is trying to do is to gently nudge me to expose my heart, my soul, my aches, my anguish, my personal “stuff” so that he can meet me there.

I am not sure what would have happened with Cain had he answered more candidly when God asked him questions. But I have a suspicion that Cain’s journey with God would have been very much different had these early moments of prayer moved from informing God toward exposing his own soul.

I wonder what would happen if my praying changed. What if I began to talk with God as if it were about so much more than simply informing him? What if I really began to talk with him about what was going on, on the inside?

She Didn’t Get Her Way . . . And Yet . . .

Numerous times, as is evident in all the Gospels, people came to Jesus with some need–whether physical, emotional, or spiritual–and Jesus did something about the need. He healed this one, he delivered or freed another, he spoke the needed word to bring wholeness and vitality and life. Jesus really did (and does!) meet the needs of those who come to him.

But this isn’t to say that everyone, all the time, simply got Jesus to do what they wanted him to do. Jesus wasn’t on the receiving end of manipulation; he wasn’t merely a pawn, given over to the whims of those he was around. When he met needs, he wasn’t capitulating to the demands of others; he was doing what he wanted to do.

Jesus sometimes did not respond to a request for help in the way others thought he might or thought he should (as in Mark 1:35-39). At times, it appears that Jesus didn’t do as much as he was capable of doing because of some extenuating issue (as in Mark 6:5). But when we do get “close ups” of Jesus healing or delivering or ministering in power, we get to see his kindness and mercy and grace and authority on display. And as we watch him, in those close up moments, we can rightly ask: What is going on here?

In Mark 7, a Syro-Phoenician woman approaches Jesus. He is in a predominantly Gentile region; not among the Jewish people who were the primary focus of his ministry during the years of his incarnation. She was “from the wrong side of the tracks.” Non-Jewish herself; Mark’s description of her leads us to believe that she was raised in a pagan culture. And she faces a desperate situation; her daughter is “demonized”–the girl is afflicted by some malevolent spiritual being.

This woman has come to Jesus. The exchange she has with Jesus is rich and intriguing. (Worth reading!) And, in the end, the woman’s daughter is delivered; the little girl is freed from the oppression. One of the noteworthy things about the exchange is the words Jesus says to her in affirming his gracious work of deliverance: “Because of [your] answer, go; the demon has gone out of your daughter” (Mark 7:29).

Did the woman get her way? Well, in one sense, absolutely! She came asking for Jesus to deliver her daughter from cruel oppression. But it is her “answer” to a comment made by Jesus that opens the door for our understanding. She didn’t get her way if, what it meant by that, we are saying that she made Jesus capitulate to what she wanted. She didn’t force his hand. How do we know that? Her “answer” is what tells us.

In his exchange with her, Jesus affirmed that he had a plan and a purpose (Mark 7:27), and that it would be improper for him to abandon that merely to give in to the woman’s request. In reply, the woman said:

“Yes, Lord, but even the dogs under the table feed on the children’s crumbs.” (Mark 7:28)

Her answer might seem cryptic; but it wasn’t that way to Jesus. She is saying a few very clear things. She affirms Jesus and his plans and purpose; she says “Yes” to what he has said. And then she confesses that she would be willing to take grace, to settle for whatever he might want to bestow; she says that whatever falls from the table he is spreading will be sufficient.

She says, in effect, “Jesus, what you want is right; I affirm that. Jesus, whatever you choose to bestow on me in grace is sufficient; I will accept your benevolent assessment of what is best. Jesus, I will take crumbs if that is what you brush off in my direction.” And, that is an amazing answer.

Her daughter is delivered. Not because the woman moved the hand of God by her insistence, but because the woman stepped into the grace of God in the person of Jesus by her humble acceptance of his will.

Can we be assured that we will always “get our way” with Jesus when we come in prayer? No, because sometimes we ask amiss; sometimes we don’t see what really needs to be done. So, sometimes I won’t get my way.

But is there a way to come to Jesus to have him address our needs (and, thus, in a different way get our way . . . that is, avail ourselves of Jesus’ gracious help)? Yes. We can come like this woman comes.

I am learning to say (with her): “Yes, Jesus. What you want is right. What you are doing is best. Your way is the way things should go. Yes, Jesus.” And then, in the face of needs that seem so real and pressing, I am learning to say (with her): “Whatever you deem best for me, Jesus, that is all and only what I want. Grace from you is enough, is more than enough.”

And what will we find when we approach Jesus this way? I think we will discover what this woman discovered. Jesus’ plan is best. Jesus does what is right. Jesus’ grace is more than sufficient. And we will find him to be enough, we will find him to be good and right, we will find him to be what we wanted him to be all along.

Early Hints About Prayer

I wish it came more naturally, more comfortably. I do pray, as do all those who long to follow Jesus. I do talk to God, as do all who long to enjoy life with him. I just don’t think I do it very well. My praying doesn’t often flow out of my soul well.

I struggle with what to say, how to say it; I wonder if God is listening and, if so, why he indulges me by listening to what often degenerates into griping about how he manages the world (and, in particular, how he is managing my life). So, like couples who are struggling to connect emotionally, I try and think a bit more about my “communication”–and with God that means thinking about prayer.

After all, prayer is communication; I am speaking to (and, hopefully, with) God. He invites it; it isn’t our idea. He welcomes it; even when I do it poorly. But, still, I would like to grow as a pray-er. And, so, I try and think more about my praying. And that thinking took me back to what must be the first example of prayer in the Bible.

Adam talked to God. In Genesis 3:10, we have the first recorded words of a person addressed to God–the first prayer. And in that single verse, I see some hints about prayer.

Adam admits that he had heard God; he says he had heard God’s voice. That simple observation reminds me. Prayer is not my initiating communication with God as much as it is my responding to his voice, reacting to his actions, reacting to his overtures. I pray, I talk with God, because he has invaded my world and chosen to open up communication with me.

Adam then goes on to tell God that seeing himself the way he did he was afraid. That may not seem like much, but it is part of Adam’s prayer. He confesses, as it were, that there is something amiss in himself and admits that what he knows about himself causes him to be afraid of God. There I see something else about prayer. Talking to God could well be self-revealing. That is, I may end up not only seeing God more clearly in and through my praying, but I may well end up seeing myself more clearly as I enter into dialogue with God. And, I just might not like what I see. Adam didn’t; and that led him to feel afraid.

And so, Adam announces that in that fear he intended to hide from God. Adam doesn’t like what he sees in himself, Adam has certain ideas about how God must think about the things Adam doesn’t like about himself, and so Adam decides to distance himself from God. And his praying moves in the direction of identifying and affirming the distance he feels from God. That really isn’t what God wanted, in initiating this exchange with Adam, but it is what Adam opted for.

Three simple components to Adam’s early endeavor at praying. He responded to God’s initiative, he admitted what he saw in himself and what he felt about God, and then he gave voice to his desire to hide from God, put distance between himself and God. His praying seemed to both open the way for him to be closer to God while still giving voice to his intention of being distant from God.

And I tasted a bit of that this morning, driving to my first appointment of the day. I felt the tug of God on my soul; he initiated some conversation, breaking into my life, speaking to my heart. Sensing that, I was immediately aware that all was not entirely right within me; I was feeling a bit unsettled about life, about the day that lay ahead of me, about how I had spent my time yesterday. I felt a little afraid about God opening up conversation with me. So, I turned on the radio; I hid. In word and in action I told the Lord, “Let’s talk later. I’m a bit . . . distracted right now.”

But it didn’t have to be that way. God took the initiative to “start talking.” He wasn’t surprised by what I would see or feel in my own soul. He was interested in talking it out. He knows that would be good for me, best for my soul. And if I could just see that, I might not have turned to hide so readily.

I see it in Adam; in those early hints about prayer. I see it in me; in my own experience this morning. But by his grace and because of his relentless pursuit in love, I think I am going to get over it. Next time he asks, “So, do you want to talk?” I am planning on saying, “Yes!”