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I am not sure all the reasons why, but I have noticed that prayer is not often my first response when facing life’s challenges. Here’s what I mean . . .

Someone shares with you that she is going through a challenge in the relationship she has with her significant other. Is your first response to think about what you would do in that situation and offer some good advice, or is your first response to pray?

A problem has arisen in your church. There seems to be some division and side-taking developing. Do you lean in the direction of getting a committee together to assess what is going on and what to do about it, or is your first response to pray?

In the small group you are part of a couple shares about their son. He’s having trouble at college, hanging out with what seems to them to be the “wrong crowd.” His grades are suffering as he is on the brink of losing his scholarship. Is the primary response of the group to begin to share stories of how the Lord has seen them (or families they know) through such difficulties and making suggestions as to how to help, or is the first response to pray?

It isn’t that offering advice, organizing for action, sharing stories, or things like that are not of some help. It just seems to me that there is such a tendency, even among those who are seeking to walk with Jesus, to resort to prayer only after they have done and said and tried other things.

Luke describes the first community of faith this way:

They were continually devoting themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. (Acts 2:42)

One piece of what characterized them was that “they were continually devoting themselves . . . to prayer.” An earlier post clarified that being “continually devoted to prayer” didn’t necessarily mean that every waking moment was given over to an ongoing worship service. But is does mean that prayer was “at hand,” readily woven into the fabric of life, characteristic of how they lived in the day-to-day. I think it means that prayer was a first thing, not an afterthought.

In Acts 4:1-31 there is something of a “test case” for understanding how these first followers of Jesus approached life. Peter and John have recently healed a man in the city. In doing this, they made much of Jesus, proclaiming the good news about who Jesus is, what his death meant, and that he was alive having been raised from the dead. The Jewish leaders did not like this. They thought that with the death of Jesus the message he brought would die as well. They didn’t believe he had been raised from the dead. And now some untrained fishermen are turning the city upside down with this message. A meeting is held, Peter and John are questioned, and they are threatened and told to stop doing what they are doing. And this threat came from those who had arranged for Jesus to be put to death just a few months earlier.

The Christians are doing what Jesus wants them to. They are not being unruly. They have not broken Roman rule. But they have ruffled the feathers of local leaders. They are physically threatened and told to stop. What do you think the believing community should do now?

If those believers adopted the approaches that many today have taken, they might have . . .

Complained to their friends and neighbors about the corruption that existed in the local government.

Written letters to the local purveyor of news to expose the poor treatment they received.

Held a public protest about the violation of their rights.

Started a movement to have those who threatened them removed from office.

Rallied to “take back our city” from those who didn’t share their religious convictions.

But what these believers did was to pray. It wasn’t an afterthought. They didn’t ask God to “bless their efforts” and to make their plans work out. They didn’t start with what made sense to them or with a plan of action. They started by talking to the Lord about what had happened, about his control over all of it, about his plans and intentions, about what he wanted.

They were “continually devoting themselves . . . to prayer” and it was evident in that when confronted with a challenge the first response was to pray.

Changes come in life. Decisions are made–sometimes you are involved in the decision-making, sometimes the decisions made simply impact you. In those moments, those who are friends of Jesus often talk about “following Jesus” or “listening to the Spirit” or “wanting to hear from the Lord.” All those ideas are wonderful; I’d want all of that and more for my own journey in faith as well as for those with whom I am making this journey. But there are a couple of caveats.

First, we need to move beyond merely saying those words. We need to grow to intentionally and actively learn to listen. We can’t let “following Jesus,” “listening to the Spirit,” and “hearing from the Lord” merely be cool ideas. Such experiences must become part of our lived-out disciple-life. Seeing as Jesus is alive and present in our world, recognizing that the Spirit not only inhabits every believing follower of Jesus but intends to lead Jesus’ friends, and realizing that our great God is not mute nor does he intend to leave it up to us to simply figure out our lives, we must learn to cultivate a conversational experience with God. Just like the kind of conversational life with God that Peter and Paul and Ananias and Philip and Barnabas and others we meet in the New Testament had.

So, the first caveat is that we will have to embrace the idea that the living God still speaks and intends to communicate with and to us. Yes, all his communication will be consistent with his revealed word found in the Scriptures–after all, he will not contradict himself. Yes, everything that we hear from the Lord will line up with his character and purposes as revealed in the Scriptures–after all, he has not changed in purpose or nature. But there are things we will need to know in order to walk out our individual lives with Jesus that we will not be able to simply exegete from texts in the Bible. There will be times we will need to hear from the Lord.

But then there is something else we need to realize. Although our good God is an infallible communicator, because I am not an infallible hearer I just might misappropriate what he is saying. This is not to say that he communicates in such a way that he is either ambiguous or easily misunderstood. In the days of his incarnation, Jesus spoke in plain and understandable ways, but still people managed to misconstrue what he said and misappropriate his teachings.

There’s a little snapshot in Acts that helps me see this. It’s found in Acts 21:10-12:

As we were staying there for some days, a prophet named Agabus came down from Judea. And coming to us, he took Paul’s belt and bound his own feet and hands, and said, “This is what the Holy Spirit says: ‘In this way the Jews at Jerusalem will bind the man who owns this belt and deliver him into the hands of the Gentiles.’” When we had heard this, we as well as the local residents began begging him not to go up to Jerusalem.

Agabus is a prophet. He is a prophet with a “proven track record.” (He prophesied of a famine that ultimately happened as mentioned in Acts 11:28.) He has heard something from the infallible Spirit. And he shares this with Paul and his companions

But notice what those who heard the prophecy did. They begged Paul not to go to Jerusalem. They heard the words the Spirit spoke through the prophet and then they applied or interpreted those words in such a way that they concluded that what the Spirit was saying was that Paul was not to go to Jerusalem. And that was wrong. In that sense, they didn’t hear the Spirit very well. They got the message from the Spirit but they misinterpreted what the Spirit intended.

But Paul didn’t. If you read the rest of the account you will see that Paul affirmed the word spoken through Agabus and agreed that the Spirit was revealing some future trouble in Jerusalem. But Paul had also heard from the Lord that he was to go to Jerusalem, regardless of the trouble that would await him there. So, Paul continued on his journey to that city.

Where does this leave me? Affirming that the infallible Spirit of God can and does communicate with the friends and followers of Jesus. But also affirming that having heard from the Spirit I am neither an infallible hearer nor an infallible “apply-er” of what the Spirit says. That will require a humble admission of my short-sightedness, a willingness to invite others into the conversation to help discern just what it is that the Spirit wants of me (or us) when he does communicate, and a growing awareness of God’s great grace that keeps him communicating with us even when we misconstrue what he might be saying.

I was talking with some friends the other evening about what it means to “be a disciple.” That’s the language used in church circles when talking about “following” Jesus. The language is borrowed from the New Testament, even though we have to do some mental gyrations in order to make that language fully fit with how we “do life” with Jesus.

In the context of the Gospels, being a disciple and following Jesus had a real, pragmatic, “being (physically) in Jesus’ company” sense to it. You “followed” Jesus by literally going where he went and joining him in what he was doing. You were his disciple (the word means “learner”) by watching over his shoulder and actually seeing what he was doing.

But what about those of us who can’t get physically “up close and personal” with Jesus. Are we out of luck? Is following Jesus and being his disciple reduced to an ethical kind of life or merely living with the memory of that guy who used to walk the streets of Palestine? I don’t think so.

In Mark 3:13-15, we get a snapshot of what Jesus really wanted for those who were going to “follow him.”

And [Jesus] went up on the mountain and summoned those whom he himself wanted, and they came to him. And he appointed twelve, so that they would be with him and that he could send them out to preach, and to have authority to cast out the demons.

It would seem that with these “prototype” followers, Jesus was clear about two things: He wanted them to “be with him” and he wanted to send them out to do the kinds of things that he himself was doing. Those two things help define what it means to be one of Jesus’ disciples. Be with Jesus; do the kinds of things Jesus does. But we do have a problem with that . . . because we aren’t quite sure how we do the “with him” part seeing has he is no longer physically present.

So that got me thinking about another guy in the New Testament–Ananias (not the Jewish priest nor the guy who dropped dead early in the book of Acts but the disciple of Jesus). You should read about what happened with this Ananias in Acts 9:10-19. (I’m not going to post the whole passage here.)

What is so interesting is that Jesus and Ananias end up having a conversation. They talk back and forth. Apparently it wasn’t the first time this had happened with Ananias (because he wasn’t entirely weirded out when Jesus started talking with him!) And the result was that Ananias went and laid hands on someone (the future apostle Paul no less) and was used to restore that someone’s eyesight.

Where is all this going? Just this: Ananias got it! After the resurrection, after the ascension, after Jesus is no longer physically present in Israel, Ananias is still “with him.” Ananias’ “with-ness” is massively relational. He is relating to Jesus as a person who really is still “there” (although not in the same physical way he was during the pre-ascension days). And the result of Ananias’ being “with” Jesus is that he ends up doing some of the kinds of things that Jesus himself did.

Seems like Ananias made the transition from the “physically present Jesus” to the Jesus who was no longer present in the same way . And Ananias was still “with Jesus” and the result was that Jesus sent him out to do the very kinds of things that Jesus himself was accustomed to doing. Seems like that is what Jesus intended all along for all of disciples . . . whether we are physically in his presence or not.

A couple of moments in time, over the past few weeks swirl around in my thinking.

The first, was while I was in the airport in Nassau, returning from a teaching trip. I saw a family, waiting for their flight. Each of the teenage daughters was busy on her smart phone; posting to and reading posts on some social media website. Mom had her laptop open, tied into the airport wireless service. Dad had a head set on, listening to his choice of music from his Mp3 or iPod (I couldn’t tell). It wasn’t that I could see what they were reading or posting or listening to; I just noticed that here was a family traveling together and they were each, individually, tuned into their own little world, seemingly oblivious to not only the world immediately around them, but almost entirely out of touch with those they were traveling with.

The second moment was a conversation with some friends, sitting over lunch. We were talking about life with Jesus. We were thinking about how to live in relationship with the living God and not reduce it merely to some ethical system, opting for a theoretical relationship with a concept rather and vital, tangible experiential life with someone.

And we talked about listening–listening to and for God.

And I wondered . . . do I do life with God like that family in the airport?

Am I so distracted by the things I want to listen to, so attentive to the “social network” that I have constructed around me, so enraptured by own selection of input, that even in the presence of the living God I am pretty oblivious to him?

As I reflected on this, I began to think about a small yet defining moment in the life of the church in Antioch, as recorded for us by Luke in Acts 13:

Now there were at Antioch, in the church that was there,prophets and teachers: Barnabas, and Simeon who was called Niger, and Lucius of Cyrene, and Manaen who had been brought up with Herod the tetrarch, and Saul. While they were ministering to the Lord and fasting, the Holy Spirit said, “Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them.” (Acts 13:1-2)

These men were together; they were with one another. But they were also with the Spirit of God, as they “ministered to the Lord.” In their worship, they apparently were aware that they were not there by themselves–the living God was with them. And they listened.

The way Luke describes it, I can’t imagine that one or more of them simply “had a feeling.” I don’t think this was some vague “impression.” This was content-ful communication. The Spirit was instructing the leaders of the church that their two teaching pastors were to be sent away on a God-given mission. That’s pretty life-altering, and very specific. And they heard the Spirit, clearly.

If I don’t think that the Lord will or can speak, I won’t listen. If I am too distracted by the internal and external “noise” I surround myself with in life, I won’t be able to hear.

So over lunch, with those friends, we tried to put into words how to give ourselves to listening better.

It seems pretty simply:

Think that God might really want to communicate in a clear and personal way.

Listen well to what you think he is saying to you and respond.

Neither the thinking nor the listening can or should be done apart from the Scriptures. Martin Luther, the great reformer, insisted that one cannot truly discern the “inner Word” without familiarity with the “outer Word.” That’s consistent with what we see in Scripture. The Spirit’s voice, the Lord’s personal leading, coincides with his revelation in the Scriptures.

But I may have to more fully embrace the idea that the Lord really does want to communicate in a clear and personal way. I may have to actually anticipate his communication and listen well when I think I hear something. I might have to unplug, disconnect, log off, turn down, shut down all the “communication” I so readily give myself to that leaves me inattentive to him even though I am with him.

I don’t want to be traveling through life in the company of the Savior and be so entirely out of touch that I won’t hear what he might want to say.

I’ve been journeying through the book of Acts with some friends. We read and discuss what Luke records for us there about how the early followers of Jesus “did life.” It’s not that Acts is an instructional manual (as if Luke is telling us “you must do this!”), but it does give us some snapshots of how life was lived by those first friends of Jesus. And having models like them is of help . . . particularly when life is hard.

Those accounts that Luke wrote intersect my life and the lives of my friends in many ways. And when I see those intersections, I often end up with a little insight that helps me make sense of life.

For example . . . an example from Acts.

Paul has been sent under the guidance of God’s Spirit to Jerusalem. There he is going to bring a word about Jesus. But the Spirit has also told him that he will face some trouble there. And that is what happens (as recorded in Acts 21 and 22). But when Paul is put in “protective custody” by the Roman officials who don’t want trouble in the city, Jesus speaks to him and gives him a very particular message:

But on the night immediately following, Jesus stood at his side and said, “Take courage; for as you have solemnly witnessed to my cause at Jerusalem, so you must witness at Rome also.” (Acts 23:11)

It seems to me a couple of things are clear from this simple message to Paul.

Paul was going to be taken or sent to Rome; Jesus intended for him to get there. Paul was going to have the opportunity to continue to share the good news about Jesus when he got to Rome; Jesus intended for Paul to keep on making much of the good news as he had for many years now.

And then we read the rest of Acts 23 and chapters 24, 25, and 26. That’s a great deal of ink spilled to tell us about what happens next . . . nothing much!

Paul is not in Jerusalem . . . but he is not in Rome, either. He has been taken “for safe keeping” to a prison in Caesarea. There the local government officials listen to him . . . on occasion, as it pleases them. And there the local officials appear to conclude that there really isn’t a good case against Paul . . . but they still leave him in prison.

So Paul is neither in Jerusalem nor Rome. And Paul’s “witnessing” is curtailed in a big way by being tucked away in a prison on the coast. And we get no indication that anything even closely approximating Paul’s wonderful and grace-filled ministry that had characterized his life before this imprisonment is happening . . . and this last for over two years!

What is going on?

Did Jesus overlook Paul? Was the whimsical treatment he received at the hands of the local Roman officials not taken into account when Jesus told Paul he was going to be sent to Rome? Was Paul put on the shelf by Jesus for some unspecified offense? Was Paul finished as a witness? We are told of no one who came to faith during those two years. We are not told of any change that came in culture or life in the city. Nothing notable about the prison or prisoners is mentioned. It seems to have just been a prolonged and seemingly unnecessary delay in getting Paul to where he needed to be so that he could do what Jesus told him he was to do.

Only that it was all, apparently, well in the control of Paul’s Lord.

Jesus was right. Paul ends up in Rome. Paul does witness there as he had in Jerusalem. It’s just that the way I thought Paul should have gotten there was not how Jesus took him there.

And there it is that the picture in Acts intersects the reality of life.

I think I have some sense of what Jesus is doing in my life. I have an idea of “where he is taking me” or what he wants of me. Only for reasons beyond my control–and sometimes for reasons that seem to be rooted in the sins and obstinacy of others–I just can’t get where I think I’m supposed to be. And time drags on . . . and I lose patience . . . and I start to gripe and complain.

But Paul does get to Rome. And Paul does witness there as he had in Jerusalem. And Jesus’ word to Paul is true. And Jesus did orchestrate things in such a way that everything he intended for Paul would come to pass.

It’s just that it didn’t happen the way I thought it should or would . . . and that’s like a lot of life, isn’t it?