Getting to the Last Page: Part 1

My office shelves are well-stocked with many books. Most are books of theology and biblical studies. Many are academic, and quite a number fall somewhere between academic and popular-level reading. I used to buy books much more frequently, unsurprising since I once was but am no longer a university student.

During that period of my life not only did I get the textbooks required for my courses, I also frequented the religion and theology sections of any used bookstores I could find. I would scour the shelves for volumes recommended by professors, for books by authors I was already reading, for tomes that would be financially inaccessible at retail, and for classic works I knew I should have.

In more recent years I have not been as avid a book-buyer. This is partly because of the cost of books, but also because, while I used to buy books in the hopes that one day I might get around to reading them, now I usually only purchase books that I know (or am pretty sure) I will read. That narrows it down considerably. There are books and even book-sets (Barth’s Church Dogmatics being one example) that would look mighty impressive on a bookcase but would likely gather dust rather than get read.

This isn’t counting books I have gotten with every intention of reading but which, after I have begun reading them, have gotten set aside either because of time or forgetfulness or more immediately pressing responsibilities.

So I’m always glad these days when I get books (either myself or as gifts) that I actually manage to finish. I have a few recent examples, one of which I’ll mention in this post. The first is A.W. Tozer’s The Knowledge of the Holy, which is part theological treatise on God’s attributes and part devotional on God’s attributes.

What I really appreciated about Tozer’s writing is that he really took some very abstract ideas, such as God’s self-existence or transcendence, and personalized them—that is, he makes the connection between the attributes of God and our own relationship with God. This is not a dry theology text, but a meditation on God’s nature that, if read prayerfully and thoughtfully, cannot help but move the heart as well as inform the mind.

Tozer is also intentional about making each chapter (one on each attribute) relatively short, never more than 10 pages each and often between 5 and 6 pages. This makes it ideal for reading one chapter a day along with your Bible reading. At the beginning of each chapter there is also a prayer whose theme reflects the attribute examined in that particular chapter. Even in his exposition he sometimes breaks into prayer—not unlike Karl Barth in Prayer, his book on the Lord’s Prayer and the Reformers' interpretation of it.

Another thing I like about Tozer’s book is that in a day and age when in evangelical circles we can sometimes seem too cozy or comfortable in our relationship with God, he communicates effectively the holiness, that is, the otherness, the apart-from-us-ness, of God. And in doing so, any sensitive reader will, at times, be both comforted and convicted, challenged and assured.

And rather than start from our experience and ask, “What does this mean for my relationship with and understanding of God?” he starts with a characteristic of God and asks, “How should this inform my experience and my relationship with God?” God comes first. Who God is shapes our experience and understanding, not the other way around. That this is a basic biblical approach doesn’t stop a lot of believers from relying on their own experience more than what the Bible says about God’s nature and character.

Several times while reading The Knowledge of the Holy I found myself thinking how great a sermon series this would be—and by that I mean, how great would it be just to stand at the pulpit and read Tozer to the congregation. You know a book is at the very least a good book if it’s one you’d like to share with others; you know it’s a great book if you have to find a way to share it with others. Tozer’s book, for me at least, is an example of the latter.

Thinking About Prayer: Part 4

This is the fourth installment of what has turned out to be an occasional series of reflections on prayer. Hence the title. With the first post, I hadn't intended it to be so. But prayer is one of those topics that has interested me for a long time. And so it's no surprise that I return to it time and again. In fact, my MA thesis is on prayer; specifically, on the Lord's Prayer and theologian Karl Barth's understanding of it.

Especially during the years when I was studying for my MA, I read a fair bit of Barth, a habit that has waned in more recent years. His approach to theology -- particularly his doctrine of revelation and his doctrine of the Trinity -- had already piqued my interest during my BA years and so when my systematics professor pointed out that Barth was the only major 20th century Protestant theologian to give significant attention to prayer I decided he ought to be the subject of my thesis.

One of Barth's works that nurtured both my interest in his theology and in the relationship between theology and prayer was a little book of lectures called Evangelical Theology: An Introduction. In this book Barth reflects on the task of the theologian and of theology, and in a section on the work of theology he puts prayer at the front. Today during my own prayer and devotional time, I decided to read this chapter on prayer and I found lots of wonderful food for thought, for mind and for heart.

Beginning this chapter on prayer, Barth says that

"The first and most basic act of theological work is prayer . . . [and that] theological work does not merely begin with prayer and is not merely accompanied by it; in its totality it is peculiar and characteristic of theology that it can only be performed in the act of prayer."

And as I was reading this I found myself inserting preacher or pastor when he wrote theologian and inserting preaching whenever he talked about doing theology. It was a perfect fit, of course. What he says is true of theologians and their work is also true of pastors and their work. Barth says this himself when he comments that theological work "must have the character of an offering" to God and that such theological work includes

"the tiniest problem of exegesis or dogmatics, or the clarification of the most modest fragment of the history of the Church of Jesus Christ, but, above all, if it is the preparation of a sermon, lesson, or Bible study."

I also like the fact that Barth designates preaching as theological work.

Even when you're a pastor it's not difficult to forego prayer for more busy-work. Pressure to get things done, including our sermons, lead us to neglect prayer. What ought to be the fruit of a life of prayer ends up replacing prayer in our daily routines. Sometimes I think that this is because prayer seems less useful than actually typing sermons or preparing a Bible study. And sometimes I think that this is because prayer is actually harder than preparing a sermon or Bible study. But robbing my sermons of prayer is robbing my preaching of not only its heart but its power. That is, preaching without prayer is tantamount to depending on the power of my very human words rather than depending on God's Spirit.

Knowing this, Barth writes,

"For in prayer a man temporarily turns away from his own efforts. This move is necessary precisely for the sake of the duration and continuation of his own work. Every prayer has its beginning when a man puts himself (together with his best and most accomplished work) out of the picture. He leaves himself and his work behind in order once again to recollect that he stands before God."

Great stuff. I know that I need this sort of reminding regularly. I also love this:

"A man prays, not in order to sacrifice his work or even to neglect it, but in order that may not remain or become unfruitful work, so that he may do it under the illumination and, consequently, under the rule and blessing of God."

I'm not sure if this is what Barth is getting at, but sometimes we can neglect prayer because we don't want to sacrifice our real work. We don't want to neglect what we think is more important or what may be more utilitarian concerns. No wonder Barth describes prayer as the first part of theological work. Placing it under the rubric of theological work is Barth's attempt to re-orient our thinking of what prayer actually is and how theological work -- preaching, teaching, and, indeed, the whole of the Christian life -- is theological work, properly speaking, insofar as it is the fruit of the fellowship we have with God through Jesus Christ. Put simply, a sermon is a genuine sermon only if it is borne of time spent in prayer in the presence of the God the sermon attempts to proclaim. And when this happens, when a sermon emerges from such holy communion, the sermon itself, the very act of preaching itself, is prayer-full.

So this morning, when I began to think about finishing my sermon, I stopped short of jumping right in to work on the manuscript itself. I wrote much of my sermon on Tuesday, and, technically, there is not a whole lot left to do; that is, if one just considers the outline, the points, the attempt to draw out practical application, and the illustrations, all that remains is an introduction and a conclusion, some of which I already have in note-form. Yet instead of running ahead and writing I sat and read Barth which reminded me of the importance of prayer in preaching, in ministry, and, truthfully, in life. I was convicted, too, because sometimes my attention to prayer is sporadic and inconsistent. Dare I admit this as a pastor? Either way, I am thankful that Barth reminded me that there is a great deal more to preaching, as well as theology, than a series of well-constructed sentences, paragraphs, and points. He reminded me of other things as well in this profound chapter on prayer, but rather than ramble on any more I think I'll actually spend some time following his advice: ora et labora!