Notes from the Pastor…
We are now in the third week of August, marking the “Great Change” in our community. Before long our summer neighbors will return to their full-time homes, and businesses will tally the seasonal revenues; comparing it to former years and planning for the coming lean months. Nonetheless, the great change happens not only in the pace of commerce, but also in the purpose of community.
William Butler Yeats once said, “Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.”
This week, as children and youth return to story times, math quizzes, and study halls the fire of education embraces our community. To paraphrase President John F. Kennedy, education is the means by which our greatest abilities are developed, “because in each of us there is a private hope and dream” which, fulfilled, can become the benefit and strength of community. Thus, educators embark in task of community transformation – instructing and inspiring potential into competence. Throughout this educational season, may we be committed to expressing support and providing prayer.
A prayer for teachers [by the United Church of Christ]:
God of Love, thank you for every teacher who notices a child’s special gift. Thank you for teachers who are listeners and gentle guides. Thank you for teachers who expect much and love enough to demand more. Thank you for the special teacher each one of us remembers.
God of Mercy, sustain teachers who give everything they have and feel abandoned when society expects too much. Strengthen teachers who assume the blame for so many problems beyond their control. Help exhausted teachers rest God of Strength, encourage teachers to care and inspire them to nourish. Motivate teachers to keep on learning for the fun of it and to make learning fun for children.
We wonder at teachers who know how to quiet a class of five-year-olds or help fourth grade girls be empathetic. We admire teachers who enjoy middle school writers, or teach physics or math or civics. We cannot even imagine how to help every single student achieve Adequate Yearly Progress. Bless the people who are expected to accomplish these miracles and who know how to comfort children when miracles don’t happen.
God of Justice, help our nation find a way to steward our vast wealth to support teachers in their special calling, wherever they teach and whatever the race or religion or gender or wealth of the children.
We pray these things in the name of our great teacher, Jesus Christ. Amen
Grace,
Pastor Ryan
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Sunday Prayer
May your Sabbath be filled with lights of worship,
moments of reflection,
moments of inspiration,
moments of deep connection to those you see most often, those you miss, those who need your help, and most of all the One who created you and continues to call to you.
May your Sabbath be still.
Still enough for peace to settle where turmoil resides.
Still enough for you to selflessly offer prayers on behalf of others.
Still enough for you to feel the breath of God.
May you accept this opportunity to rest, for God is at work when you are not.
Lord, tune our hearts to sing your grace.
Lord, may we hear from you today?
moments of reflection,
moments of inspiration,
moments of deep connection to those you see most often, those you miss, those who need your help, and most of all the One who created you and continues to call to you.
May your Sabbath be still.
Still enough for peace to settle where turmoil resides.
Still enough for you to selflessly offer prayers on behalf of others.
Still enough for you to feel the breath of God.
May you accept this opportunity to rest, for God is at work when you are not.
Lord, tune our hearts to sing your grace.
Lord, may we hear from you today?
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Pray for C
Waco ISD 7th grade students are at home tonight feverishly preparing their backpacks and school supplies, laying out their outfits, and finishing their summer novels they have been reading for enjoyment- stoked about the first day of school tomorrow. Ok that may be more than a little optimistic but it's my dream world so I can pretend whatever I want. This time last year, I felt like a cat who just found out it had been forced to join the swim team. One year later, first-day-of-school eve is almost an exciting feeling. I am looking forward to applying everything I learned through trial and error last year. I feel ahead of the game instead of desperately trying to catch up. What a wonderful difference!
All that said, I am still faced with the same nervous jitters my students will probably be feeling the weight of as they primp in front of the mirror tomorrow morning. The unknown is so intimidating. However, sometimes the known can be equally intimidating. We (the teachers) received our class schedules last Thursday and there are already names of students jumping off the page at me because they will be returning to my classroom this year. As can probably be assumed, my repeat offenders on my list were not my kindest, most scholastic students last year. The thought of spending another year with them must be approached as a mere challenge set before me and presented as a goal: I didn't get you the first time around, but I have another chance. One student stands out in particular. (For the sake of confidentiality and professionalism, he will be affectionately referred to as "C".)
C is a hard person to love. He turned 16 last year and he is still in the 7th grade. He was a constant disrespectful distraction in my classroom. He cussed me out more than once, tore up a test and threw it in my face, walked out of class, and displayed a disregard for human kind in general. He is the kind of person you want to write off completely. At times I wanted to throw my hands up in the air and announce that I am finished. "If you don't care, then neither do I."
I have been told that many first year teachers cry often. I don't think I am any tougher than these, but I only cried once last year- thinking about C. I was thinking about how this is his life. This is not his practice round; he really is growing up this way and it is so sad.
After my many encounters with C, I realized that he had taught me more about Jesus than any Sunday school class or Bible study I have ever been a part of. If there was ever a student who needed my help, it's him. I am willing to give it. He has hurt me many times, but I still want to help him- if only he would accept it. My hand is open but his heart is closed. What I have to offer him (education) can make his life better, but he can't see that and he is choosing a more difficult and less fulfilling life without it.
C will be back in my classroom this year. I have high hopes for him backed up by anguished prayers. This 7th grader with a parole officer desperately needs some support. I hope he sees this year that I am not against him, but rather fighting for him. More than that, I hope someday he sees Jesus in how I love him and realizes how small my support and love for him are in comparison to what Jesus has to offer him. Needless to say, please pray for C. Please pray for me.
... and now, on to a new school year.
All that said, I am still faced with the same nervous jitters my students will probably be feeling the weight of as they primp in front of the mirror tomorrow morning. The unknown is so intimidating. However, sometimes the known can be equally intimidating. We (the teachers) received our class schedules last Thursday and there are already names of students jumping off the page at me because they will be returning to my classroom this year. As can probably be assumed, my repeat offenders on my list were not my kindest, most scholastic students last year. The thought of spending another year with them must be approached as a mere challenge set before me and presented as a goal: I didn't get you the first time around, but I have another chance. One student stands out in particular. (For the sake of confidentiality and professionalism, he will be affectionately referred to as "C".)
C is a hard person to love. He turned 16 last year and he is still in the 7th grade. He was a constant disrespectful distraction in my classroom. He cussed me out more than once, tore up a test and threw it in my face, walked out of class, and displayed a disregard for human kind in general. He is the kind of person you want to write off completely. At times I wanted to throw my hands up in the air and announce that I am finished. "If you don't care, then neither do I."
I have been told that many first year teachers cry often. I don't think I am any tougher than these, but I only cried once last year- thinking about C. I was thinking about how this is his life. This is not his practice round; he really is growing up this way and it is so sad.
After my many encounters with C, I realized that he had taught me more about Jesus than any Sunday school class or Bible study I have ever been a part of. If there was ever a student who needed my help, it's him. I am willing to give it. He has hurt me many times, but I still want to help him- if only he would accept it. My hand is open but his heart is closed. What I have to offer him (education) can make his life better, but he can't see that and he is choosing a more difficult and less fulfilling life without it.
C will be back in my classroom this year. I have high hopes for him backed up by anguished prayers. This 7th grader with a parole officer desperately needs some support. I hope he sees this year that I am not against him, but rather fighting for him. More than that, I hope someday he sees Jesus in how I love him and realizes how small my support and love for him are in comparison to what Jesus has to offer him. Needless to say, please pray for C. Please pray for me.
... and now, on to a new school year.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
wilderness spirituality
Two weeks ago I had the wonderful experience of spending five days at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert. These are my thoughts:
Silence – “as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.”
Experience
It is 2:00pm, Thursday, May 28, 2009 and I attempt to take my preemptive nap that I sometimes like to squeeze in before reporting to work. As I lay down, my mind yells from within about all the things I must finish in the next few days – “I have to go to work tonight.” “Should I try to pick up a shift, for extra money, tomorrow?” “Sunday’s sermon is little more than a vague outline in my head.” “I have to finish those two book responses before Tuesday, when I start my Summer 1 class.” Not to forget, “I wonder when I’ll feel like writing the response paper for the whole wilderness experience.” As these thoughts invade the silence, my phone begins to rings. Normally I am overjoyed that this little contraption reads “Kristyn” (my wife) on the display screen, but when the familiar tone begins my attempted silence is further interrupted. It was not a long conversation, and sadly I should have talked longer, but the minutes were ticking away before I would have to report to Ninfa’s, and I am still wanting just a few minutes of silence before work.
Now it is 2:20pm, less than forty minutes left before my alarm will go off. The above distractions are over, and now I am able to find that comfortable place within the folds of the couch. Ahh… silence. At the brink of sleep comes the unmistakable sound of the neighbors yard crew. Oh, they do a wonderful job; while our yard is kept up by a busy seminary student, the neighbor’s thick Saint Augustine grass is as green as a Ponderosa Pine in early spring; it is the pride of the neighborhood. Normally I welcome the sound of the professional yard crew, even hoping to learn from their years of experience, but “why now?” Silence, had just been reached, why now must it be interrupted for the sake of ascetics.
2:35pm. “Here’s the plan, I will use the hum of the weed eater to mask the anxious thoughts within my head, gaining silence through noise.” Yet, that same divine device that will awake me in twenty-five minutes, the same device that allows me to talk to my bride anytime, anywhere, is now heralding me with a number I do not recognize. My precious silence is interrupted again.
2:45pm. I give up, no nap today, now I must run off to work. Silence has failed, noise has come.
This little scenario plays out in my life more often than not. The thing that I found so easy to add to my life while at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert is the same little thing that evades my grasp in ordinary living. Silence. I loose out moments of identity and knowledge because I either do not hold on hard enough, like the out of shape climber who attempts a 5.11 move his first time on the rock in two years, or I hold on to silence as much as I can only to have it striped from me by metaphorical linebackers.
Most often my life reflects the words of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel:
We do not refuse to pray; we abstain from it. We ring the hollow bell of selfishness rather than absorb the stillness that surrounds the world, hovering over all that restlessness and fear of life – the secret stillness that precedes our birth and succeeds our death. Futile self-indulgence brings us out of tune with the gentle song of nature’s waiting, of mankind’s striving for salvation.
Is not listening to the pulse of wonder worth silence and abstinence from self-asserting?
Rushing through the ecstasies of ambition, we only awake when plunged into dread or grief. In darkness, then, we grope for solace, for meaning, for prayer. (Abraham Joshua Heschel. I Asked for Wonder. 21-22)
Even in my frustrated state, before I joined the noise of a busy restaurant and bar, my longing was for silence. Bill Bright asserts that silence is a mark of spiritual maturity; that, “True silence is the rest of the mind; and is to the spirit, what sleep is to the body, nourishment and refreshment.” (Bill Bright. Holy Silence. 35) True Silence, this is what I long for and so often miss in everyday life; it is what I wished to gain before running off to serve my fellow man enchiladas, margaritas, and guacamole.
Wilderness
I grew up going camping more often than watching a movie in the theater. While this experience may be a rarity for my generation, I find it soothing. The wilderness was my place of growth; it is where I learned anything from leadership to love, from team-building to self-limitations. As I got older and able to drive long distances, the mountains became my respite, my classroom. This wilderness formation found solidification with the summer of 2006 being spent within a tent in the great Yosemite Valley. There is simply no other place I feel in my element as I do when sounded by towering peaks, juniper trees, bristle cone pines, and snowmelt streams. If home is where the heart is, then the wilderness is my abode.
While all this is great and matches much of Robert Frost, the question of life and silence must be lifted to the surface. How do I live in the silence when life’s noise caries the melody of the day? How do I find wilderness in the concrete and glass of the city?
While discussing his spiritual journey from Houston to Portland, in Through Painted Deserts, Donald Miller highlights Dallas in such a way that it has become a mirror into my past and present. He states:
Dallas blew in on the wing of a Gulf coast hurricane and rained glass and steel onto a field of bluebonnets. It’s an odd town, though. A big, Republican, evangelical city where you can’t drink, girls wear black dresses for dates on Wednesday, and the goal is to join the local country club like your daddy and his daddy before him. When you build a city near no mountains and no ocean, you get materialism and traditional religion. People have too much time and lack inspiration. (Donald Miller. Through Painted Deserts. 21. Emphasis mine.)
Although my adolescent years in South Dallas / Waxahachie have long been eclipsed by my college experience in Belton, I have never strayed far from I-35 for any length of time. That stretch of interstate has come to epitomize my non-wilderness experience.
I-35 is a long highway that acts as the coronary artery to the bread basket of the United States. It runs from Laredo, TX to Duluth, MN, and while it crosses many rivers, it never dips into the ocean nor skirt any mountains. It is a concrete monstrosity that can get a person from the pains to the boundary waters within a day, but on that journey there will be little fanfare or taste. The scenery will turn from green to brown, then back to green; you may fall into a few hills but nothing that cannot be maneuvered at 75 mph.
This is how I feel in central Texas, with the only wildernesses within the populated bike trails of Cameron Park or day drives to a hand full of small state parks, whose only major attractions are man made lakes. If there is no wilderness, then there is no abode. Thus I must wrestle every day like a fish out of water looking for silence, looking for home.
Bill Bright says, “If we are never silent, then we never have to look at the truth about ourselves.” When I live outside the wilderness, I live in what I consider the “Dallas effect” – with too much time on my hands, a false focus on material stability, and little inspiration. Silence must be sought no matter how difficult. It may be a slow walk to the library taking time to notice the azalea’s or getting up early and going to the bike trails before the army of Swins take over. Through discipline I may learn how to survive or even thrive in Waco, but only as a man in a straight jacket, knowing he can do so much more.
Prayer
“May 21, 2009 – 8:30am – Monastery”
A prayer from last night:
Lord, I pray for all the cares, causes, and comforts that draw on me like bungee cords; that I may have the strength to resist leaving the silence.
While away at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert there were many cares that drew me to deeper prayer: Grandparents failing health, the upcoming expansion of our family, Kristyn’s parents, and U.S. foreign policy. Jesus says that whatever we ask for in his name will be giving to us; however, from experience we know that there are unanswered prayers. F.B. Myer wrestles with this inconsistency by saying, “The greatest tragedy in life is not unanswered prayer but unoffered prayer”, and so all the cares that pull us from self-absorption are to be interceded upon with faith.
Causes are the good things that grab our hearts out of silence; things that beckon upon us like lilies to light. The orphans in Sudan, the hungry in Zimbabwe, the oppressed in China, the poor in Haiti, the numb in Europe, the busy in Dallas, and these things draw our heart toward the merciful father who wishes for all his children to find rest within his embrace.
The comforts of life are as difficult as parsing second aorist middle indicative verbs. Sometimes they're as simple as a clean bathroom, but can be as complicated as the computer which I type upon. It is the comforts that pull the hardest; it is the comforts that draw us away from the wilderness, away from silence, away from prayer. The Christian is not called to live a life void of comforts; rather he or she is to be Christ μαρτυρες. (This comes from Jesus' command at Ascension to be “his witnesses” (Acts 1:8). The word μαρτυρος is defined as “the one who testifies in legal matters, witness”; moreover, “the one who witnesses at cost of life, martyr.”) In my experience it is the comforts of life that make it difficult to follow Christ so intently, and this is probably where my romantic vision of the mountains takes root. The mountains calls a person to simple living and in simple living silence is sought.
“May 30, 2009 – 9:20am – Waco”
A Prayer:
Oh Lord, as I now live among comforts, with cares, and for the sake of causes, help me find the silence; help me listen to the pulse of wonder.
Place
The Monastery of Christ in the Desert is a wonderful place. I enjoyed this trip more than most my adventures in the wild. To practice silence and detachment with the convenience of mountain scenery and service of humble monks is a tearful joy. Toward the beginning of the week I debated whether these men had much purpose living so far from society, but now with a week's experience and a week's reflection, I see their service to the Kingdom of Heaven is unmatched by most. Their commitment to live in community with nature and one another is a prophetic testimony for all who live outside the desert. Their devotion to prayer is moving to the spirit and the earth. It is unfathomable to ponder on all the good that come from “Lord hear our prayer” and “Amen”. If I had the prayers of the monks of the Monastery of Christ in the Desert on my behalf I would be the first to volunteer to metaphorically storm the gates of hell.
Now, as I sit on my comfortable couch, I recollect the monastery, my professor, and my fellow students and nothing but sure gratitude wells up from within.
A Prayer:
Oh Lord, as I now live among comforts, with cares, and for the sake of causes, help me find the silence; help me listen to the pulse of wonder.
Silence – “as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.”
Experience
It is 2:00pm, Thursday, May 28, 2009 and I attempt to take my preemptive nap that I sometimes like to squeeze in before reporting to work. As I lay down, my mind yells from within about all the things I must finish in the next few days – “I have to go to work tonight.” “Should I try to pick up a shift, for extra money, tomorrow?” “Sunday’s sermon is little more than a vague outline in my head.” “I have to finish those two book responses before Tuesday, when I start my Summer 1 class.” Not to forget, “I wonder when I’ll feel like writing the response paper for the whole wilderness experience.” As these thoughts invade the silence, my phone begins to rings. Normally I am overjoyed that this little contraption reads “Kristyn” (my wife) on the display screen, but when the familiar tone begins my attempted silence is further interrupted. It was not a long conversation, and sadly I should have talked longer, but the minutes were ticking away before I would have to report to Ninfa’s, and I am still wanting just a few minutes of silence before work.
Now it is 2:20pm, less than forty minutes left before my alarm will go off. The above distractions are over, and now I am able to find that comfortable place within the folds of the couch. Ahh… silence. At the brink of sleep comes the unmistakable sound of the neighbors yard crew. Oh, they do a wonderful job; while our yard is kept up by a busy seminary student, the neighbor’s thick Saint Augustine grass is as green as a Ponderosa Pine in early spring; it is the pride of the neighborhood. Normally I welcome the sound of the professional yard crew, even hoping to learn from their years of experience, but “why now?” Silence, had just been reached, why now must it be interrupted for the sake of ascetics.
2:35pm. “Here’s the plan, I will use the hum of the weed eater to mask the anxious thoughts within my head, gaining silence through noise.” Yet, that same divine device that will awake me in twenty-five minutes, the same device that allows me to talk to my bride anytime, anywhere, is now heralding me with a number I do not recognize. My precious silence is interrupted again.
2:45pm. I give up, no nap today, now I must run off to work. Silence has failed, noise has come.
This little scenario plays out in my life more often than not. The thing that I found so easy to add to my life while at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert is the same little thing that evades my grasp in ordinary living. Silence. I loose out moments of identity and knowledge because I either do not hold on hard enough, like the out of shape climber who attempts a 5.11 move his first time on the rock in two years, or I hold on to silence as much as I can only to have it striped from me by metaphorical linebackers.
Most often my life reflects the words of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel:
We do not refuse to pray; we abstain from it. We ring the hollow bell of selfishness rather than absorb the stillness that surrounds the world, hovering over all that restlessness and fear of life – the secret stillness that precedes our birth and succeeds our death. Futile self-indulgence brings us out of tune with the gentle song of nature’s waiting, of mankind’s striving for salvation.
Is not listening to the pulse of wonder worth silence and abstinence from self-asserting?
Rushing through the ecstasies of ambition, we only awake when plunged into dread or grief. In darkness, then, we grope for solace, for meaning, for prayer. (Abraham Joshua Heschel. I Asked for Wonder. 21-22)
Even in my frustrated state, before I joined the noise of a busy restaurant and bar, my longing was for silence. Bill Bright asserts that silence is a mark of spiritual maturity; that, “True silence is the rest of the mind; and is to the spirit, what sleep is to the body, nourishment and refreshment.” (Bill Bright. Holy Silence. 35) True Silence, this is what I long for and so often miss in everyday life; it is what I wished to gain before running off to serve my fellow man enchiladas, margaritas, and guacamole.
Wilderness
I grew up going camping more often than watching a movie in the theater. While this experience may be a rarity for my generation, I find it soothing. The wilderness was my place of growth; it is where I learned anything from leadership to love, from team-building to self-limitations. As I got older and able to drive long distances, the mountains became my respite, my classroom. This wilderness formation found solidification with the summer of 2006 being spent within a tent in the great Yosemite Valley. There is simply no other place I feel in my element as I do when sounded by towering peaks, juniper trees, bristle cone pines, and snowmelt streams. If home is where the heart is, then the wilderness is my abode.
While all this is great and matches much of Robert Frost, the question of life and silence must be lifted to the surface. How do I live in the silence when life’s noise caries the melody of the day? How do I find wilderness in the concrete and glass of the city?
While discussing his spiritual journey from Houston to Portland, in Through Painted Deserts, Donald Miller highlights Dallas in such a way that it has become a mirror into my past and present. He states:
Dallas blew in on the wing of a Gulf coast hurricane and rained glass and steel onto a field of bluebonnets. It’s an odd town, though. A big, Republican, evangelical city where you can’t drink, girls wear black dresses for dates on Wednesday, and the goal is to join the local country club like your daddy and his daddy before him. When you build a city near no mountains and no ocean, you get materialism and traditional religion. People have too much time and lack inspiration. (Donald Miller. Through Painted Deserts. 21. Emphasis mine.)
Although my adolescent years in South Dallas / Waxahachie have long been eclipsed by my college experience in Belton, I have never strayed far from I-35 for any length of time. That stretch of interstate has come to epitomize my non-wilderness experience.
I-35 is a long highway that acts as the coronary artery to the bread basket of the United States. It runs from Laredo, TX to Duluth, MN, and while it crosses many rivers, it never dips into the ocean nor skirt any mountains. It is a concrete monstrosity that can get a person from the pains to the boundary waters within a day, but on that journey there will be little fanfare or taste. The scenery will turn from green to brown, then back to green; you may fall into a few hills but nothing that cannot be maneuvered at 75 mph.
This is how I feel in central Texas, with the only wildernesses within the populated bike trails of Cameron Park or day drives to a hand full of small state parks, whose only major attractions are man made lakes. If there is no wilderness, then there is no abode. Thus I must wrestle every day like a fish out of water looking for silence, looking for home.
Bill Bright says, “If we are never silent, then we never have to look at the truth about ourselves.” When I live outside the wilderness, I live in what I consider the “Dallas effect” – with too much time on my hands, a false focus on material stability, and little inspiration. Silence must be sought no matter how difficult. It may be a slow walk to the library taking time to notice the azalea’s or getting up early and going to the bike trails before the army of Swins take over. Through discipline I may learn how to survive or even thrive in Waco, but only as a man in a straight jacket, knowing he can do so much more.
Prayer
“May 21, 2009 – 8:30am – Monastery”
A prayer from last night:
Lord, I pray for all the cares, causes, and comforts that draw on me like bungee cords; that I may have the strength to resist leaving the silence.
While away at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert there were many cares that drew me to deeper prayer: Grandparents failing health, the upcoming expansion of our family, Kristyn’s parents, and U.S. foreign policy. Jesus says that whatever we ask for in his name will be giving to us; however, from experience we know that there are unanswered prayers. F.B. Myer wrestles with this inconsistency by saying, “The greatest tragedy in life is not unanswered prayer but unoffered prayer”, and so all the cares that pull us from self-absorption are to be interceded upon with faith.
Causes are the good things that grab our hearts out of silence; things that beckon upon us like lilies to light. The orphans in Sudan, the hungry in Zimbabwe, the oppressed in China, the poor in Haiti, the numb in Europe, the busy in Dallas, and these things draw our heart toward the merciful father who wishes for all his children to find rest within his embrace.
The comforts of life are as difficult as parsing second aorist middle indicative verbs. Sometimes they're as simple as a clean bathroom, but can be as complicated as the computer which I type upon. It is the comforts that pull the hardest; it is the comforts that draw us away from the wilderness, away from silence, away from prayer. The Christian is not called to live a life void of comforts; rather he or she is to be Christ μαρτυρες. (This comes from Jesus' command at Ascension to be “his witnesses” (Acts 1:8). The word μαρτυρος is defined as “the one who testifies in legal matters, witness”; moreover, “the one who witnesses at cost of life, martyr.”) In my experience it is the comforts of life that make it difficult to follow Christ so intently, and this is probably where my romantic vision of the mountains takes root. The mountains calls a person to simple living and in simple living silence is sought.
“May 30, 2009 – 9:20am – Waco”
A Prayer:
Oh Lord, as I now live among comforts, with cares, and for the sake of causes, help me find the silence; help me listen to the pulse of wonder.
Place
The Monastery of Christ in the Desert is a wonderful place. I enjoyed this trip more than most my adventures in the wild. To practice silence and detachment with the convenience of mountain scenery and service of humble monks is a tearful joy. Toward the beginning of the week I debated whether these men had much purpose living so far from society, but now with a week's experience and a week's reflection, I see their service to the Kingdom of Heaven is unmatched by most. Their commitment to live in community with nature and one another is a prophetic testimony for all who live outside the desert. Their devotion to prayer is moving to the spirit and the earth. It is unfathomable to ponder on all the good that come from “Lord hear our prayer” and “Amen”. If I had the prayers of the monks of the Monastery of Christ in the Desert on my behalf I would be the first to volunteer to metaphorically storm the gates of hell.
Now, as I sit on my comfortable couch, I recollect the monastery, my professor, and my fellow students and nothing but sure gratitude wells up from within.
A Prayer:
Oh Lord, as I now live among comforts, with cares, and for the sake of causes, help me find the silence; help me listen to the pulse of wonder.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Prayer
Tomorrow we will finish up a seven weeks series on prayer. During this series we have looked at what prayer does: 1)changes you and I 2)changes situations; then we looked at four prayers in Scriptures that give us prospective and examples of prayer: Psalm 51 - 'prayer of repentance', Habakkuk 3:17-19 - 'prayer of trust', Nehemiah 1:5-12 - 'prayer of petition', John 17:9-19 'prayer that imparts purpose'. Tomorrow we will attempt to tackle one of the more difficult aspects of prayer: 'unanswered prayer'.
In all these discussions I have learned at least one thing... out of all the things I do poorly, prayer is the one thing that I wish to work on the most.
To quote Abraham Joshua Heschel:
We do not refuse to pray; we abstain from it. We ring the hollow bell of selfishness rather than absorb the stillness that surrounds the world, hovering over all the restlessness and fear of life - the secret stillness that precedes our birth and succeeds our death. Futile self-indulgence brings us out of tune with the gentle song of nature's waiting, of mankind's striving for salvation. Is not listening to the pulse of wonder worth silence and abstinence from self-asserting? Why do we not set apart an hour of living for devotion to God by surrendering to stillness? Rushing through the ecstasies of ambition, we only awake when plunged into dread or grief. In darkness, then, we grope for solace, for meaning, for prayer.
I leave you with one last word on prayer - it is the benediction I have given for the past few weeks...
May you continually wrestle with Prayer
May you beseech the door of Heaven with shameless boldness.
May your Prayers produce, in you, a countenance of joy, a gracious demeanor, and a peaceful heart
And may the God of hope, fill you with all peace, that you may abound in hope, assured that your prayers are heard by a loving and gracious Father.
In all these discussions I have learned at least one thing... out of all the things I do poorly, prayer is the one thing that I wish to work on the most.
To quote Abraham Joshua Heschel:We do not refuse to pray; we abstain from it. We ring the hollow bell of selfishness rather than absorb the stillness that surrounds the world, hovering over all the restlessness and fear of life - the secret stillness that precedes our birth and succeeds our death. Futile self-indulgence brings us out of tune with the gentle song of nature's waiting, of mankind's striving for salvation. Is not listening to the pulse of wonder worth silence and abstinence from self-asserting? Why do we not set apart an hour of living for devotion to God by surrendering to stillness? Rushing through the ecstasies of ambition, we only awake when plunged into dread or grief. In darkness, then, we grope for solace, for meaning, for prayer.
I leave you with one last word on prayer - it is the benediction I have given for the past few weeks...
May you continually wrestle with Prayer
May you beseech the door of Heaven with shameless boldness.
May your Prayers produce, in you, a countenance of joy, a gracious demeanor, and a peaceful heart
And may the God of hope, fill you with all peace, that you may abound in hope, assured that your prayers are heard by a loving and gracious Father.
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