Everyone's Entitled to My Opinion: About Wordless Prayer

“True prayer is in the silent depths of the soul.” ~ Augustine

In his 1972 British comedy, The Ruling Class, Peter O’Toole plays a nobleman gone mad--he thinks he’s Jesus. His reasoning is simple: “Whenever I pray I have the most disctinct feeling I’m talking to myself.”

He’s not alone. We’ve been told from our very first days of following Jesus about the importance of prayer. Yet many (most?) believers find prayer burdensome and unfulfilling. Have you ever felt as if you’re talking to yourself? One path to prayer does an end run around the problem: it does away with words. Have you ever tried praying without words? Do away with them! Words spoken and words thought. 

Our contemplative brethren refer to it as “centering prayer,” in which it is enough to simply be in God’s presence. It’s true in everyday life: our deepest relationships do not require unending chatter. Being together is enough. It’s also true with our creator.

We are word-hardened, but the Spirit of God transcends our language and our thoughts. In my opinion everyone should practice centering prayer.

Relationship, not Proposition

The voice of doubt speaks loudly to our generation, but what about the voice of faith? Who speaks for faith, and how do we know the voice of faith?

Younger Christians are leaving the faith-expression of their parents because they have been  told faith means believing certain ways about certain propositions: theories of creation, definitions of gender roles, even specific political ideologies. But rules are easy, finding faith is hard.

Jesus criticized religious legalists because their expression of faith included rules and protocols for every facet of life--entering and exiting your house; the details of what to wear, even how far to walk on a sabbath day: “you load people down with burdens they can hardly carry, and you yourselves will not lift one finger to help them.”

One day a man brought his son to Jesus because the boy suffered from seizures:

“If you can do anything, take pity on us and help us."
" 'If you can'?" said Jesus. "Everything is possible for him who believes."
Immediately the boy's father exclaimed, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"

The Lord responded with powerful grace: the boy was healed and the lives of the father and son were never the same again. I believe this account reveals something of how the Lord works: he asks for faith, but he also gives faith. This father was desperate to help his son. In the conversation it appeared Jesus asked of him something he did not have: sufficient faith. The father’s answer was instinctive and instructive, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” The father’s answer also revealed his posture: he leaned toward faith and away from doubt.

Jesus offered more than the help of healing. I believe Jesus helped establish a faith that would last a lifetime within that family. They saw firsthand the mercy of God meet their need. What if their greatest need was not healing, but faith to believe God knew them and loved them?

In John’s gospel Jesus tells us that the work God requires is to believe in him. (v 6:29) Unlike the legalists, though, Jesus does more than demand. He supplies. Jesus is not the kind of person unwilling to lift a finger to help us in our deficiencies. He bears our burden of doubt and demonstrates the Father’s heart toward his creation. The gospels reveal his method: Jesus celebrates faith, and provides faith to each of us like a host passing out party favors to each guest. We can come to the party just as we are, he will provide the proper attire.

Over the years I’ve heard people explain, “faith just doesn’t come naturally for me,” as if some are born credulous and others are more naturally incredulous. In truth I suspect we are all inclined toward doubt. We need to find the spring of faith and drink deeply because it is foreign to our nature. But lately we have been told by religious authorities that we are responsible to will ourselves into faith. We are told to get with the program, to give intellectual agreement to the propositions set before us as matters of faith. The only problem is, faith is in a person, not a proposition. Faith is relational long before it is intellectual.

Consider the famous faith-words in Hebrews 11:6, “without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.”  God invites us into a relationship directed toward him, filled with expectation that he responds.

I cannot imagine that God himself stands, clipboard in hand, checking off a list of religious positions we must hold. “I’m sorry,” he eventually says, “it seems we only agree on seven of the ten necessary positions required.” He closes the doors to the banquet hall and feasts only with those who agree with the required tenets of the correct religious group. No. I suspect God is confident that simply coming to know him more and more will put all questions to rest, and end the arguments among children who don’t understand what they are talking about. We argue about this and that while he says, “Come, get to know me.”

As we place our faith in a Person, I suspect he will love us into complete understanding. I suspect the Holy Spirit had it right when he inspired the words,

Where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

He is the object of my faith, and I simply want to know him more each day. Where does your faith rest?

Monday's Meditation: Discovering My Father

Once I read the Sermon on the Mount and tried to imagine I was one of the people gathered on the hillside. In my imagination I could hear his voice. I felt a breeze soothe the perspiration on my forehead, and I began to hear his words with new ears.

Jesus kept repeating two simple words over and over. When he talked about the light of the world, he used these words. When he talked about loving our enemies, he used these words. And as he moved on to generosity, prayer, and fasting, there again were these same words.

The words I heard over and over were simply, “Your Father.” I began to sense that in addition to the substance of the message Jesus preached that day, he was also trying to plant something deep in my spirit: namely, the assurance that God Himself is my Father. 

Rembrandt's Return of the Prodigal

What happened to me as I read the passage and put myself among the listeners was something beyond an idea, beyond a theological construct. I heard his voice remind me again and again,  “You have a Father, a Father in Heaven. What’s more, your Father is within your reach. He’s able to find the most hidden place. He is actively involved in your day, your actions, even your thoughts, and this is a good thing, because he’s your Father.”

I went back to the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount, this time with a pen in hand and made a list of affirmations about my Father and me. Alone in my office, I read each statement out loud. I heard the sound of my own voice speak the truth about God, who is also my Father. Of these things I could be sure:

• My Father encourages me to love my enemies and pray for those who persecute me.
• My Father wants to perfect me.
• My Father does not reward “outward performance.”
• My Father sees what I do in secret and will reward me.
• My Father will meet me behind closed doors.
• My Father knows what I need before I ask Him.
• My Father forgives me when I forgive others.
• My Father feeds the birds; He will feed me.
• My Father knows what I need.
• My Father gives me good gifts from heaven when I ask Him.

That day in my office was too good to keep to myself, so this week I wonder if you could meditate on the simple truth: you have a Father.

Everyone's Entitled to My Opinion: About Under the Tuscan Sun

Call me Nancy. Whenever I myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly, November in my soul; then I account it high time to watch Under the Tuscan Sun. It may cost me my Man-card, but I turn to Diane Lane and the unlikely family gathered around her to embrace again feelings of faith, hope, and love. Come with me.

Audrey Wells’ adaptation of the Frances Mayes memoir probably didn’t target the melancholy middle-age male demographic, but it hits he spot for me. It tells the story of an American writer who buys a broken-down Tuscan villa, even as she is recovering from a divorce, and engages on a restoration project. Both the writer and the villa are restored in due course.

Along the way we meet a real estate broker with the heart of St. Francis of Assisi, a gaggle of Polish construction workers in varied states of emotional distress, and a jilted pregnant lesbian best-friend--all of whom comprise the family gathered around Frances--herself a bit of a work in progress. It doesn’t hurt at all that Frances is played by Diane Lane, the thinking-man’s Hollywood beauty (I say this because I found a thinking man and asked his opinion). 

Spiritual references are added to the film like seasoning: nuns who toddle through various scenes like a waddle of penguins; the expressive silent icon of the the Blessed Virgin, and an Italian wedding scene beautiful enough to cause me to become Catholic (again).

This film portrays the frailty of life and the beauty of restoration. It is a relentlessly hopeful story that women of both sexes will enjoy. In my opinion the guys should bring the chocolate and peanut butter--and leave your Man-card at the door.

What Are We Missing? Not Much, Only His Voice.

Two weeks ago I finally relented and allowed N.T. Wright to say a few words here at my blog. He did pretty well. Discussing the uniquely American debates regarding the Genesis account of creation he dropped these gems in our laps: “You can describe what it literally says but you don’t catch what’s actually going on.” ~ and ~ “To flatten [Genesis 1 & 2] out into ‘this is simply telling us the world was made in six days’ is almost to perversely to avoid the real thrust of the narrative.” I think the good Bishop may be on to something.

When earnest young believers discover the freedom to question the religious requirements of their elders, they sometimes revel in the freedom to doubt apart from the quest for the truth. The sad result is they simply shed one overbearing master for another, and place their trust in the authoritative voice of science because they no longer trust the voice of religious authority. I’d like to suggest a subversive question: what if both sides miss the point? We can argue the facts and miss the voice of the Spirit.

I’m tired of the debates over whether the earth is young or old. Both sides miss the wonder that the earth exists at all. I’m impatient with the struggle between whether the text is “factual” because neither side seems to be concerned with what the text says to every generation. Facts change from century to century; truth is timeless. I try never to confuse the facts with the truth. Orthodoxy is the settled opinion of whoever is in charge: the voice of the Spirit instead points to the One who is alive, who is loving, who is good, and smarter than us all put together.

Jesus does not submit himself to the latest round scientific discoveries nor to religious scholars who confer degrees. Instead, he comes with a simple offer to his disciples,  “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” He is speaking above the fray. 

To argue over facts is to miss the message of the Spirit. The One who brooded over the waters of chaos is busy revealing the truth about the world and all who dwell therein. To demand a specific interpretation of Genesis is to bottle up the Living Word. Don’t tell me “Aslan is not a tame lion” even as you try to back him into a religious corner.

What if we set aside both our doubt and our certainty, listening instead for the voice of the Master? I’d like to suggest that anyone smart enough to create and sustain the universe is smart enough to write a book that can last through the ages of scientific discovery. What if we are missing the banquet table he set for us? May I share just three appetizers of the meal that remains to be enjoyed in Genesis?

1). Genesis tells us all of creation is good: Science cannot tell us creation is good, it can only point to the obvious--that creation is. Have we failed to hear the voice of the Spirit affirming the goodness and wonder of all that we see? In whatever manner he chose to create, God has transformed his innate goodness into the air we breath and the earth we walk. What if we concentrated on witness of creation rather than the method?

2). God Himself rested: When we read that the Creator God rested on the seventh day from all he had done, we are invited to discover the mind-blowing possibility that by resting from our labors we can become imitators of God. The failure to observe the sabbath is not simply a transgression against some religious law but rather a missed opportunity for transformation.

3). One account is not enough: When we notice the distinctive difference in focus and tone between Genesis 1 and Genesis 2 (I know--it starts at 2:4b, actually) we discover the liberating reality that one account is not enough to describe the nature of God. Chapter One reveals an Eminence who creates from afar off--he spoke, and it was done; he commanded, and it stood fast. Power, glory, and majesty shine forth from this transcendent picture. But that is not enough: in Chapter Two reveals the tender mercies of the God who comes near. The Creator of the universe personally fashions the man and kisses the breath of life into his handiwork. The first picture leads me to trust in God’s power and greatness; the second assures me of his love and care. I am not forced to choose between a god of power and a god of love. He is both, and He is real.

These three ideas are merely suggestions, not definitive judgments on the “meaning of the text.” Yet suggestions like these have given me the freedom to listen for his voice instead of demanding an answer. Do we really imagine our intellect can contain his voice? I prefer to hike the trails in the forest of his revelation. Let the scientists and theologians both examine the leaves, I want to see the beauty of the woods.

Monday's Meditation: Indigenous Worship (dot com)

Today’s meditation is simple: it’s good to help your friends, and my friends have developed a new website!

Worship springing forth from local soil.

Indigenousworship.com launches today--a website dedicated to encouraging songwriting in the local church. Why not check it out each day this week as John Mark McMillan discusses songwriting and worship?

One of the downsides to our mass media-drive age is a dreary sameness in cultural expressions--movies, music, and books all begin to merge into one pale hue. But the Kingdom of God should blossom forth into a million blooms, each flower distinctive to the soil that supports it: that’s indigenous worship.

From nation to nation, region to region, even city to city--God should be praised in the idiom of the local people. The book of Revelation celebrates people of every nation, tribe, and tongue--wouldn’t it be a shame if our locality had no songs to bring?

Everyone's Entitled to my Opinion: About John Chapter Three

“Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God—children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.” (John 1: 12 – 13) These famous words come from the opening of John’s gospel, the very same gospel from which we draw the idea of being “born again.”


John’s gospel is famous for the encounter between Jesus and Nicodemus in chapter three. Jesus told Nicodemus that the born again experience was necessary to see the Kingdom of God (John 3:3). A more literal rendering of the phrase “born again” is actually born from above. Jesus said, "You must be born from above." Nicodemus understood Jesus’ meaning in terms of a second birth, as the context shows, but the author of the fourth gospel, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit chose his words carefully: while affirming the need for a spiritual rebirth, the words born from above point to the source of that birth—it comes from above. It comes from heaven.

Jesus, whom the scripture describes as “the firstborn among many,” opened the womb of heaven. Now everyone who is born from above has the life-giving Spirit of Jesus. The nature and the power of the resurrection dwell in each new child of God. This is no mere formality: the reality is that because the womb of heaven has been opened by Jesus each believer has the potential to bring heaven to earth. Those who are born from above carry heaven’s DNA with them here on earth, now.

If our view of the new birth in Jesus Christ is limited to going to heaven when we die, then the power of being born again is only effective when we die. If, however, we understand our new birth as being born from above, it means that heaven is breaking into earth as soon as we turn to Jesus. The presence of the Holy Spirit and the resurrection power of the Spirit are available to each new child of God right away. Is heaven breaking into your world?