As Christians, we are part of a long tradition of people who are intent on remembering their story, of remembering the points in our history where God has decisively and definitely acted on our behalf. This rich tradition, of course, began with the ancient Israelites who rehearsed their salvation story - the story where the Angel of Death "passed over" the Jewish firstborns killing the Egyptian firstborns, which ultimately led to their exodus from slavery - once a year at the Feast of the Passover. This was actually a law that the Lord God required of them, in order that they not forget the wonderful acts of their God.
Christians continue this tradition with the celebration of the Eucharist, which I would argue, is the central act of the church. Every time we celebrate the Eucharist, we remember the sacrifice of Christ - his broken body and his shed blood. We remember the story and we make it present once again for us. Christ also prescribed such an action when he proclaimed to his disciples: "Do this in remembrance of me."
One of the reasons that God has demanded such constant acts of remembrance is because we are forgetful people. We need to remember because it is so easy for us to forget - when we feel that God has not answered our prayers or that he has not been present to us for awhile, we quickly jump to the conclusion that he has never been there.
I think, therefore, that it is entirely helpful, and entirely biblical for that matter, to work at remembering the times in your life when God has clearly answered prayer. Such an act can increase your faith and inspire you to more prayer, though you may feel that no one is listening. In light of that, I would like to rehearse for you one of the times in my life when God most clearly and most lovingly answered my prayer.
March of 2006, Julie and I were in Kentucky, unsure of our next steps. I had been accepted to Marquette for doctoral work, but we had no provisions for tuition money. My last chance was the John Wesley Fellowship, but for various reasons, that looked very doubtful. I was scheduled to fly to Houston for an interview one Friday. At the same time, Julie was driving to Milwaukee to interview for a position. She left on Thursday morning and I had the evening to myself. With so much at stake, I decided that I had a lot of praying to do.
Around 9:00 in the evening, I headed to Asbury Seminary, about a mile from our house. I wanted to pray in a special place, which for me was Asbury's chapel, Estes Chapel. At 9:00 in the evening, I figured the place would be deserted and I would be alone with the Lord and my prayers. To my dismay however, as I approached Estes, I saw that all lights were blazing and there was some extremely loud, and rather poor, organ music emanating from the place. Disappointed and dejected, I considered turning around and heading home. Instead, I found a little prayer chapel just to the side of Estes, which I always knew was there, but in which I had never spent much time.
With the lights off, I kneeled at the small altar and began praying about all of the things that were heavy on my heart. I prayed for my wife and for her interview, for her calling in ministry and for our marriage. I prayed for my interview and my calling and for the challenges that a PhD program entailed. Finally I began to pray for the means to pay for the tuition. Knowing that the John Wesley Fellowship was unlikely, I simply began praying that the Lord's will be done. It became a refrain in my prayer: "Lord that you would provide the means to pay for this: your will be done." I remember simply repeating that phrase again and again. At one point in the prayer I looked up and caught my breath at the words engraved above the altar where I knelt:
"Thy will be done."
As most of you know, Julie got the job she interviewed for and I was fortunate enough to receive the John Wesley Fellowship, which has helped us so much this year. We often wonder how we could have done this without the Fellowship. However, I do not think that earning the Fellowship was God's answer to my prayer that night in March 2006. I believe that it was rather his words to me: "Thy will be done." Seeing those words were like God's arms around me, assuring me that he was with me in this walk. That he would not leave me. And though there have been times this year when I have forgotten - more times than I care to relate - I know that this truth remains. God is with me. God is with us.
We simply need to remember.
Showing posts with label Prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Prayer. Show all posts
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Sunday, January 21, 2007
A Cross in the Sole
At our fellowship time after church this morning, I sat down next to an elderly man named Tom and we struck up a conversation. He told me that his wife Barbara had recently been diagnosed with a brain tumor. I could tell the man wanted to talk about it so I asked him, and the story he preceded to tell was a beautiful reminder to me that our Lord cares for us like a Father.
He told me that on the first day of Barbara's chemotherapy treatment, he distinctly remembers that his right foot began to bother him, something like the feeling of a small rock in his shoe, but for whatever reason, he did not check it out. He spent the morning in the waiting room in prayer and encountered two different people, both of whom offered to pray for him. He interpreted these encounters sacramentally, that is he felt the Lord ministering to him through these strangers.
When he and his wife returned home after her treatment, he sat down to remove his shoes. Only then did he discover the culprit of the pain in his right foot. There, sticking in the sole of his shoe, was a small, gold pin in the shape of a cross, with three words etched in it: "He is risen." Facing the potential death of his wife, these words of the Gospel are the very reminder he needed - for those in Christ, death is not the final word. Eternal life awaits. Tom took the scuffed up pin out of his shoe and placed it on his shirt over his heart, where it has remained ever since.
If you think of it, please pray for a man named Tom and his wife Barbara. Pray that they will continue to experience the closeness and care of our Father.
He told me that on the first day of Barbara's chemotherapy treatment, he distinctly remembers that his right foot began to bother him, something like the feeling of a small rock in his shoe, but for whatever reason, he did not check it out. He spent the morning in the waiting room in prayer and encountered two different people, both of whom offered to pray for him. He interpreted these encounters sacramentally, that is he felt the Lord ministering to him through these strangers.
When he and his wife returned home after her treatment, he sat down to remove his shoes. Only then did he discover the culprit of the pain in his right foot. There, sticking in the sole of his shoe, was a small, gold pin in the shape of a cross, with three words etched in it: "He is risen." Facing the potential death of his wife, these words of the Gospel are the very reminder he needed - for those in Christ, death is not the final word. Eternal life awaits. Tom took the scuffed up pin out of his shoe and placed it on his shirt over his heart, where it has remained ever since.
If you think of it, please pray for a man named Tom and his wife Barbara. Pray that they will continue to experience the closeness and care of our Father.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Passing through the Graveyard
On Friday, I spent the hours between 10:00 and 4:00 at Holy Hill Monastery, a Discalced Carmelite monastery, a holy site just a half hour outside of Milwaukee. The Carmelite order started in, I believe, the 12th century when a group of hermits gathered on Mt. Carmel, the famous mountain of 1 Kings where Yahweh holds back the rain through the prophet Elijah to show the prophets of Baal that he has no power. Soon, however, the Carmelites were scattered.
The order was revived in the fifteenth century by St. Teresa of Avila, who, among other things, insisted that those of the order go barefoot or wear sandals in order to identify with the poor. From this point on, they were known as the Discalced (barefoot) Carmelites. Another well known figure of the order was Saint John of the Cross, the mystic who was famous for his book The Dark Night of the Soul. The order emphasizes personal prayer and communion with God, as the monks spend at least two hours a day in silent, individual prayer. This prayer is often modeled after St. Teresa, who liked to imagine that she was in the Garden of Gethsemanie with her suffering Lord as she prayed.
As we drove to the monastery, I was surprised to notice that we passed through an old graveyard, which occurred to me as an odd place for one - we were driving on a busy highway after all. But sure enough, lining both sides of the highway were hundreds of small white gravestones, such that we literally drove directly through. I did not give it much of a thought at the time.
Later, as I was kneeling at my pew in the beautiful sanctuary praying and looking up at Christ on the cross, the Christ who died for me, I was reminded of the graveyard that we passed through. I began to name all of the parts of me that needed to die, that needed to be uprooted, that needed to be left at that altar. I realized that the passing through the graveyard was symbolic of what needed to happen at that monastery, and what needs to happen everyday of my life. So often we use benign language to explain Christianity, that all one needs to do is have faith in Christ. But we also fail to realize that having faith in Christ means dying.
"I have been crucified with Christ and it is no longer I who live but Christ that lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself up for me." -Galatians 2:20
When we are placed in the waters of baptism, we die; when we come out of the waters of baptism we are raised to new life, a life which is not our own, but Christ in us. Passing through that graveyard yesterday helped me to remember my baptism, and reminded me that I have some catching up to do.
The order was revived in the fifteenth century by St. Teresa of Avila, who, among other things, insisted that those of the order go barefoot or wear sandals in order to identify with the poor. From this point on, they were known as the Discalced (barefoot) Carmelites. Another well known figure of the order was Saint John of the Cross, the mystic who was famous for his book The Dark Night of the Soul. The order emphasizes personal prayer and communion with God, as the monks spend at least two hours a day in silent, individual prayer. This prayer is often modeled after St. Teresa, who liked to imagine that she was in the Garden of Gethsemanie with her suffering Lord as she prayed.
As we drove to the monastery, I was surprised to notice that we passed through an old graveyard, which occurred to me as an odd place for one - we were driving on a busy highway after all. But sure enough, lining both sides of the highway were hundreds of small white gravestones, such that we literally drove directly through. I did not give it much of a thought at the time.
Later, as I was kneeling at my pew in the beautiful sanctuary praying and looking up at Christ on the cross, the Christ who died for me, I was reminded of the graveyard that we passed through. I began to name all of the parts of me that needed to die, that needed to be uprooted, that needed to be left at that altar. I realized that the passing through the graveyard was symbolic of what needed to happen at that monastery, and what needs to happen everyday of my life. So often we use benign language to explain Christianity, that all one needs to do is have faith in Christ. But we also fail to realize that having faith in Christ means dying.
"I have been crucified with Christ and it is no longer I who live but Christ that lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself up for me." -Galatians 2:20
When we are placed in the waters of baptism, we die; when we come out of the waters of baptism we are raised to new life, a life which is not our own, but Christ in us. Passing through that graveyard yesterday helped me to remember my baptism, and reminded me that I have some catching up to do.
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