Continuing from a previous post. . . .Prayer, What Good Does it Do?
American culture is probably the hardest place in the world to learn to pray. We are so busy that when we slow down to pray, we find it uncomfortable. We prize accomplishments, production. But prayer is nothing but talking to God. It feels useless as if we are wasting time. Every bone in our body screams, “Get to work.”
When we aren’t working we are used to being entertained. Television, the Internet, video games, and cell phones make free time as busy as work. When we slow down, we slip into a stupor. Exhausted by the pace of life, we veg out in front of a screen or with earplugs.
If we try to be quiet, we are assaulted by what C. S. Lewis called it, “The Kingdom of noise.”1 Everywhere we go we hear background noise. If the noise isn’t provided for us, we can bring our own via iPod / earbuds / cellphone.
Even our church services can have that same restless energy. There is little space to be still before God. . . . We are uncomfortable with silence
One of the subtlest hindrances to prayer is probably the most pervasive. In the broader culture and in our churches, we prize intellect, competency and wealth. Because we can do life without God, praying seems nice but unnecessary. Money can do what prayer does, and it is quicker and less time-consuming. Our trust in ourselves and in our talents makes us structurally independent of God. As a result, exhortations to pray don’t stick. . . . .
A Visit to a Prayer Therapist
Let’s imagine that you see a prayer therapist to get your prayer life straightened out. The therapist says, “Let’s begin by looking at your relationship with your heavenly Father. God said, ‘I will be a father to you, and you shall be sons and daughters to me’ (1 Corinthians 6:18). What does it mean that you are a son or daughter of God?” You reply that it means you have complete access to your heavenly Father through Jesus. You have true intimacy, based not on how good you are but on the goodness of Jesus. Not only that, Jesus is your brother. You are a fellow heir with him.
The therapist smiles and says, “That is right. You’ve done a wonderful job of describing the doctrine of the Sonship. Now tell me what it’s like to be with your Father? What is it like to talk with him?”
You cautiously tell the therapist how difficult it is to be in your Father’s presence, even for a couple of minutes. Your mind wanders, you don’t know what to say. You wonder, Does prayer make any difference? Is God even there? Then you feel guilty for your doubts and just give up.
Your therapist tells you what you already suspect. “Your relationship with your Father is dysfunctional. You talk as if you have an intimate relationship, but you don’t. Theoretically, it is close. Practically, it is distant. You need help.”
Ashley’s Contact
I needed help when Ashley burst into tears in front of our minivan. I was frozen, caught between her doubts and my own. I had no idea that she’d been praying for Kim to speak. What made Ashley’s tears so disturbing was that she was right. God had not answered her prayers. Kim was still mute. I was fearful for my daughter’s faith and for my own, I did not know what to do.
Would I make the problem worse by praying? If we prayed and couldn’t find the contact, it would just confirm Ashley’s growing unbelief. Already, Jill and I were beginning to lose heart. Her childhood faith in God was beginning to be replaced by faith in boys. Ashley was cute, warm and outgoing. Jill was having trouble keeping track of Ashley’s boyfriends so she started naming them like ancient kings. Ashley’s first boyfriend was Frank, so his successor became Frank the second, Frank the third and so on. Jill and I needed help.
I had little confidence that God would do anything, but I prayed silently, Father, this would be a really good time to come through. You’ve got to hear this prayer for the sake of Ahsley. Then I prayed aloud with Ashley, “Father, help us to find this contact.” When I finished, we bent down to look through the dirt and twigs. There, sitting on a leaf, was the missing lens. ~~Paul E. Miller, A Praying Life (NavPress, The Navigators, Colorado,Tyndale House Publishers 2009,2017) p. 3-6
