“Do not pray for an easy life, pray for the strength
to endure a difficult one.”
― Bruce Lee
Prayer is such a beautiful, wondrous engagement in which we get to commune with God… until we decide it’s one magnificent exercise of horseshit.
If I’m honest, prayer is often a slog. Don’t get me wrong, I can deliver the best “Father-God, be with my friends, Father-God… And Father-God, you are worthy of praise, Father-God. Thank you, Father-God, for cotton candy, kittens, and strawberry ice cream, Father-God. Yummy and Amen, Father-God.” Might as well mumble like the teacher in Charlie Brown, “Whuh-wah-wah-whuh-wah…”
I find prayer to be a fascinating and frustrating activity. Some days I’m overwhelmed by the Lord of the universe who is hearing and acting on every word, no matter how misguided and whack. Other days, I question the point of worthless air floating into the ethos. Unlike practicing piano, dancing or dieting, we don’t see immediate outcomes. Prayer can feel hollow, disjointed and meaningless, and in our bottom-line driven culture, we may not have the patience to develop the discipline.
One of my favorite authors, John Eldredge, will mention the power of prayer in his life. He’ll talk about climbing Mount Everest without food or water. While at the top, balancing on one hand for 12 hours while juggling bowling balls with his feet, he’ll hear the quiet, still voice of God, whisper, “Pepperoniiiiiiiiiii.” He then bursts into tears for the awesome answer he received from our all-powerful deity. Forgive my sarcasm, it’s likely a matter of envy for anyone who has full trust of even the smallest God-wink from upstairs. That is the challenge: how to stay in communication when it appears circumstances are not changing, the financial provision doesn’t come through, the healing of a marriage doesn’t happen, the ailing health only gets worse. Has God hung up the phone? Is He uncaring? Impotent? Does He exist?
The fact is, the best prayers are the desperate ones we find in the book of Psalms, the ones that talk about dog-tired bones, a withered mouth and a heart faintly beating on an empty tank. Or one a good friend sent me two nights ago, pretty much pitch perfect:
“Father… thank you. Help me. Help Mike. Amen.”
Simple, profound brilliance. I find myself regularly saying, “Lord, I don’t know what to pray. I know you want to talk, so here I am babbling in your general direction.” I’ve heard lots of Christians say they don’t know how to pray, or they’re afraid to express their true feelings, as if God doesn’t know them every moment. Thankfully we have the book of Psalms, which give us permission to cry out in joy, sadness and anger. One of my go-to Psalms the past six months has been Psalm 88, known as the darkest Psalm. Some quick background, Psalms have a general rhythm. They often begin as a lament, a Biblical term for a bitch session. Then finish with a remembrance of past times when the Lord rescued the individual or group. Sort of a reminder of past lottery winnings. Psalm 88 ain’t that. Here the writer is spent, crabby and even sarcastic towards the Lord, “Will you perform wonders for the dead?”
O Lord, the God of my salvation,
I have cried out by day and in the night before You.
Let my prayer come before You;
Incline Your ear to my cry!
For my soul has had enough troubles,
And my life has drawn near to Sheol.
I am reckoned among those who go down to the pit;
I have become like a man without strength,
Forsaken among the dead,
Like the slain who lie in the grave,
Whom You remember no more,
And they are cut off from Your hand.
You have put me in the lowest pit,
In dark places, in the depths.
Your wrath has rested upon me,
And You have afflicted me with all Your waves.
You have removed my acquaintances far from me;
You have made me an object of loathing to them;
I am shut up and cannot go out.
My eye has wasted away because of affliction;
I have called upon You every day, O Lord;
I have spread out my hands to You.
Will You perform wonders for the dead?
Will the departed spirits rise and praise You? Selah.
Will Your loving kindness be declared in the grave,
Your faithfulness in Abaddon?
Will Your wonders be made known in the darkness?
And Your righteousness in the land of forgetfulness?
But I, O Lord, have cried out to You for help,
And in the morning my prayer comes before You.
O Lord, why do You reject my soul?
Why do You hide Your face from me?
I was afflicted and about to die from my youth on;
I suffer Your terrors; I am overcome.
Your burning anger has passed over me;
Your terrors have destroyed me.
They have surrounded me like water all day long;
They have encompassed me altogether.
You have removed lover and friend far from me;
My acquaintances are in darkness.
The NIV version ends with “Darkness is my only friend.” Ouch and scene.
Sure, we can think, jeez, what’s up with that guy? Why so much negativity? The bigger point is how beautiful that God allows this rant in His written word. He knows our pain, He understands our struggles. We don’t know the circumstances with this writer, but he also says God placed him in this situation, a comfort by showing us that not all bad things are our fault. His name was Heman, and this is his only Psalm out of 150 total. Astonishing, and why I love the rawness of scripture. There’s real and painful emotion throughout the Old and New Testament. Anyone who says they can’t connect the narrative of the Bible to modern day circumstances, hasn’t read enough.
I have to make a conscious effort to believe in prayer. I regularly remind myself of those times where I know He responded. Maybe it was only a breadcrumb, but for this side of heaven in comparison to eternity, I’ll take it. I also make a habit of beginning my prayers with a series of thank you’s, “Thank you for my health, thank you for my family, thank you for caring friends. Thank you for my mind that seems lucid on some days.” When I choose gratitude over “bitchitude,” then I know prayer is helping, and God is listening.
See ya next time. ML