I wrote in an earlier blog of my struggles with prayer, with
praying, and with the whole theology of prayer. Is there some fancy $3 word for
the theology of prayer? I never studied to be a preacher, so I was never privy to the complete
list of fancy $3 theological words. What few I do know, I use sparingly, and only to impress my audience!
Be that as it may, I was very interested to learn Yancey was
writing a book about prayer and I was more than eager to get my copy. To be honest,
my first attempt through it was not so encouraging. But now that I’m going back
through it, I’m finding much that I missed. Perhaps I was so eager to have my prayer life “fixed” that I missed the meat of the book.
I appreciate Brady asking me to contribute to this
“discussion” though from the evidence of responses, it hasn’t been much of a
discussion yet, in spite of Steve’s excellent job of getting us started.
Chapters 3 and 4, Yancey addresses the subjects: Just As
We Are and The God Who Is. Both have been problematic to this
preacher who was “called” through the back door and has yet to be exposed and expelled from the pulpit.
Chapter 3 begins:
“Sometimes I wonder if the words I use are the least important
part of prayer. Who am I? And who is God? If I can answer those two questions,
the words I pray recede. Prayer invites me to lower defenses and present the
self that no other person fully knows to a God who already knows.”
As for prayer, my early education consisted of what I heard at
church. Not a very good source for learning to pray as I look back on it all. We had a weekly game we
played (my best friend, the preacher’s son, and I) where we would see who was
doing the opening prayer and then try to recite the prayer before it was actually prayed. We were amazingly accurate. My father even talked differently when
he led prayer. He said certain words more “prayerfully” than in regular
conversation, so we even threw in the accent for extra credit. Prayer was basically an exercise in the repetition of popular phrases. Same prayer from the same person each time. And always in the King James vernacular. God, apparently, did not recognize (or appreciate) the street language of our day.
Yancey offers several natural states from which we come to
God: Guilty (the most obvious one). Helpless (not very politically correct these days). Humble (rarely did I see that
growing up). Doubting (my favorite natural state). Honest (a fearful state if
that meant truly confessing the junk in my life). And finally, Exposed ("Yikes!").
Mine changed over the years. A key development in my prayer
life came a year following the death of my uncle and best friend in life, Tom.
He died at an early age from cancer that pretty much ravaged his body. Unknown
to me at the time, I was filled with anger … no, make that rage … at God for
Tom’s death. We had so much fun together. He was my mentor. My best friend. My
antagonist. My buddy. We had plans for the future.
About a year after I preached his funeral, we were playing
softball on the church team in Florida. I was pulled from the game (and I was
playing well, for a change) by a man who had come to replace Tom in my life. "Big Cecil" Walker
(my friend, Cecil’s, dad). I walked off the field, went straight to the car and
told my wife on my way out that I was going home. It was a cold, silent drive.
She finally broke the silence by asking what had happened about this time of
year in my life. We finally figured it out: it was the anniversary of Tom’s death and
all my anger with God was coming to the surface.
A day or two later, at home alone, I poured out my heart and
anger and frustration toward God. For at least an hour or more, I let it flow … and I learned something I’d never known. God is
big enough to take all of that from me! It didn’t adversely affect our relationship at all. For that matter, it greatly improved our relationship, at least from my perspective. I really could come to God just as I am and he
would accept me. Listen to me. Love me. And, in time, comfort me. I’ve come many times
since just as I am, which almost always leads to the natural states of
guilty, helpless, doubting and exposed. Seems I’m not the best example of a
prayer warrior, so I struggle along.
The good news is chapter 4, the God who is. We are
conditioned by numerous factors to view God from a certain perspective. For the
most part, growing up in a southern church of Christ, the perspective modeled
to me was less than attractive to me. Maybe it worked for them, but it didn’t
work for me. As I grew on my own (having finally learned how to study the bible
for myself at Harding Graduate School of Religion … never graduated, so I never
got the full list of $3 fancy words), I created a lot of stress for my parents
and friends. I sounded less and less like a true church of Christ-er and more
like those denominationalists out there who believed in grace instead of works.
But the discovery of the God who is was and is a wonderful
discovery. And the more I allowed God to introduce himself to me through his
word (Scripture) and his Word (Jesus) and his Spirit, the more I came to
treasure my Father. That, in itself, is an on-going discovery as I never had a
very healthy relationship with my earthly father. But I’m learning. The Father, Son, and Spirit became real to me. Personalities with whom I could have a relationship beyond just reading about them.
I’m learning as a father just how difficult is that role.
I’m learning my own father was not such a bad guy. He just had a far different
model of what a father should be than what I needed. We grew up in the turbulent 60’s
and the response, “Because I said so” just didn’t cut it with us and I
rebelled. But in my rebellion, I finally saw my father for who he was and that
he loved us very much … just showed it in a way that didn’t connect with a
rebellious heart. So he did all he knew to do. He let me have my space. And I took it. And I’ve regretted it to some extent, but it taught me to be a better father to my own children.
I’m learning God is not a Super-Cop to be feared (as Yancey
puts it), but a heavenly Father who is who he is, but is approachable. Who
invites us to call him “Abba.” Who loves me more than I can ever love my
children. Who gives me my space, but mysteriously continues to draw me to him. One comment in Yancey’s book that really struck a chord in my heart: In a world that glorifies success, an admission of weakness disarms pride at the same time that it prepares us to receive grace…. In the presence of the Great Physician, my most appropriate contribution may be my wounds (p.36).
I’ve taken enough of your time. Read the book and let us
know … what has been your experience? Where did you learn prayer? What is your most natural state of coming to God? What was your earliest impression of God and how did that affect your prayer later in life? Just some starter questions to get us talking.
