Getting to the Last Page: Part 2

In one of my recent posts I said, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my own relationship with God and about how hard it is sometimes to give it a lot of thought or consideration because God is what I do for a living. I don’t intend for that last sentence to sound irreverent, but being a pastor sometimes makes it hard to spend time focusing on your own faith, on your own walk with Christ.”

At the heart of what I was feeling was something of a disconnect that can occur too easily: the separation of ‘professional’ ministry and personal faith. Part of the reason a pastor may experience this is because each week you’re responsible for preaching, organizing a worship service, perhaps preparing music, leading group studies, and visiting; and in the midst of all this—the appointments and events that fill our day-planners—our own relationship with God can end up on the periphery.

I know that I’ve felt this. Life can get pretty busy, and between making sure I fulfill all of my pastoral and family responsibilities my own personal faith can sometimes fall between the cracks. But when this happens, it doesn’t take all that long—but even then perhaps it takes too long!—to realize that something isn’t quite right. Something is askew.

And though all of my vocational responsibilities are getting done, some indefinable quality needed in the midst of fulfilling my vocational calling is missing. That indefinable quality is the one thing that is indispensable: God. And of course God is not a quality, but a person, the Person, the reason why my vocation exists at all. But because he’s not, strictly speaking, visible, we can, unfortunately, ignore him and carry on doing ministry on our own.

Now when I say we can ignore him, I don’t really mean that. Instead, we neglect prayer. We read books other than Scripture. We fail to spend time quietly meditating in his presence. We avoid dealing with our own spiritual life for the sake of the ministry and in doing so we inadvertently impair our ministry; that is, we hinder our own ability to serve others by being reminders of God’s grace and light.

But the fact is that the two cannot be separated; professional ministry and personal faith go hand in hand. It is the dynamic between the two that makes a pastor. I say that, of course, and I believe it, but I am not always the best example of it.

So all of this is going through my head, and in my case I’m trying to find my way back to that balance, and while in my office one day I come across—accidentally?—a book. I was looking for a completely different book, which I never did find. The book whose spine drew my attention was Henri J.M. Nouwen’s The Living Reminder: Service and Prayer in Memory of Jesus Christ. I actually took it off the shelf because I couldn’t read the spine! It’s a thin book, less than a hundred pages, and I once I had it my hands I took a quick glance at the introduction. Here is what I read:

“What are the spiritual resources of ministers? What prevents them from becoming dull, sullen, lukewarm bureaucrats, people who have many projects, plans, and appointments but who have lost their heart somewhere in the midst of their activities? What keeps ministers vital, alive, energetic, and full of zeal? What allows them to preach and teach, counsel and celebrate with a continuing sense of wonder, joy, gratitude, and praise? These are the questions of this book.”

And as soon as my eyes poured over these words, I knew I had to read this book. It was just one of those moments where it felt like what I could have regarded as a coincidence or accident—the plucking off the shelf of a book I wasn’t even looking for—was actually a God moment.

That being the case, I’m reading it in anticipation that God wants to say something to me through these pages. I don’t know precisely what yet and maybe I won’t know right away. I’ll hopefully have more to share later. But right now reading this unassuming little volume feels to me like a small, seemingly insignificant act of obedience. I’m hoping and praying that my reading will bear rich fruit even if my doing so only results in a small nugget of insight or encouragement. That alone is reason enough to get the last page.

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!

"I want to want . . ."

Last night when my deacons and I met with our regional minister to discuss our NCD survey results, we talked at one point about the difference between aspirational values and actual values. Aspirational values are the values we say we have. For instance, as believers we say that we want to spend our lives serving Christ and glorifying God, but our actual values -- how we actually live and spend our time -- demonstrate that we'd often (or at least sometimes) rather live ordinary lives enjoying at least modest creature comforts without ever having to journey beyond our comfort zones.

Thinking of this tonight made me think that while I can say, "I want to serve Christ and glorify God, what I really mean is, "I want to want to serve Christ and glorify God." At least it can be that way. Even our noblest aspirations are eroded by self-interest. Realizing that so often even my desires are skewed by sin, I see that I don't always want what I should want. Sometimes this is true when we worship and sing a variety of lyrics that tend toward the aspirational rather than the actual. We express things in words, in song, that we don't altogether mean or feel. We confess in sung prayers that we want more of God in our lives, that we long for a deeper relationship with him when in reality there are times that our behaviour demonstrates the opposite: we really want our own way, our own desires met, and we want as little interference from God as possible.

This isn't to say that our worship or our aspirations are therefore disingenuous. Rather, it's about recognizing that our desires -- what we want -- also need to be transformed. Only through the work of the Spirit can the aspirational be gradually turned into the actual. Only through the messy work of prayer, worship, Bible study, fellowship, and daily discipleship do we become what we ought to be and therefore more fully want what we ought to want: to serve Christ and glorify God. This is what I want, anyway; or at least it's what I want to want.

Trouble With Cars

Today Alisha, Ella, and I were supposed to go into town and deposit my paycheck, run some errands, and get groceries. We're basically at that point where the only option for supper is canned beans or . . . No, canned beans is essentially it! So we were all ready to head out, but when we started the car it made a very funny, unpleasant, metallic scratching-squeaking noise. We opted to stay home, not sure that travelling to the city would do our car any good.

So at the moment we're stranded.

The trouble with cars is that they are a huge expense. Gas prices keep escalating, and it looks now like we'll have to have some sort of repair work done. But you can't do without one these days, at least not when you live in the country and everything is a commute. Thankfully, the car is paid off in June but we were hoping to have it last for a few more years at least. But you never know. Ironically, one reason we need to deposit my pay ASAP is because on Thursday our car payment comes out of our account. But our car is keeping us from getting there for the moment.

For now, we're home waiting to hear back from one of a number of people who know much more about cars than either of us. And I'm praying that whatever the trouble, it won't be overly expensive to fix. Can you pray the same thing for us? We'd appreciate it!

Postscript (sometime later): Our neighbour, who knows a great deal about our cars, took ours for a ride and told us that it was probably our rear brakes making the noise, though they were working fine. He said that it is safe to drive but that we should have it looked at soon. We now have an appointment at our mechanic's tomorrow. Soon enough? Our prayers continue that this won't break our bank . . .

No Shortcuts

For much of the last year or so my family and I have had to deal with a serious health issue. Early last winter my wife began struggling with a major depression and while there has been major improvement since then there are still ups and downs. Some ups and downs are bigger than others, but the fact remains that this health issue has, in some sense, defined us as a family. I suppose it's not unlike a family dealing with any serious illness or chronic disease, one that seems to persist or lasts a long period of time. That, of course, doesn't necessarily make it any easier.

I can't completely identify with my wife's situation. I can't completely understand how she feels when she's at her worst moments of depression. I can only be there for her. And even then there have been times when I felt absolutely powerless, able only to offer my presence, weak and fragile though that may seem.

So though I can't speak for her, I can speak for myself, and perhaps for others who live with loved ones dealing with ongoing health issues that are serious and seemingly endless. Being the primary caregiver in such a situation carries with it its own kind of weight and difficulties. Saying so isn't revealing some secret unbeknownst to those cared for. My wife knows full well how her health adds an extra layer of pressure and stress. That said, as someone who has the role of caregiver, I deliberately seek not to dump my feelings and frustrations that result from this role on her lap.

There have been a number of moments, especially when her depression was at its worst, when all I could do was hold her and plead with God to make her better. And I have pleaded. I have begged. I am not proud when it comes to knocking on heaven's door on behalf of my family--my wife or my little girl. Our tears and cries have formed supplications that have stretched the distance between heaven and earth. I can't tell you how many times I have prayed simply for God to heal my wife, to take away this depression completely, to restore to her the joy of her salvation and the simple joy of life itself. And yet her depression, though not presently at its worst, still persists. Why? Why hasn't God done what I've asked?

I don't know that I have an answer. Though it seems to me that prayers for physical healing often go unanswered, at least as far as we're concerned. Someone from our church has cancer. We pray and we pray and we pray. But still there is no physical healing. Is it that we don't pray hard enough, with enough faith, long enough, boldly enough? Is it that we pray but still reserve the right to doubt not if but whether God will heal? Is it that we are so shaped and defined by a worldview that eliminates the possibility of miracle that, try though we may, we just can't bring ourselves to believe that even the most ardent prayers will result in healing?

In dealing with being a caregiver, I think I have part of an answer. I've already said that in being a caregiver there are frustrations and difficulties involved. Sometimes that's an understatement. Sometimes I have found myself feeling as though I was at the end of my rope, unable to give anymore, unable to muster any more kindness, patience, or practical expressions of love. I just want the situation to go away, not just for my wife's sake but for my own. Whatever anyone else may say about me, there are times when I am hardly a selfless caregiver, someone whose heart overflows with unending support for my beloved. Instead, I give, but begrudgingly; I support, but hard-heartedly; and I love, but almost unwillingly.

Why do I share all of this? I do so because any prayers I utter for my wife's healing can be as much shaped by my own response to her as they can be by her actual condition. And when my response to her or the situation, expressed or not, is one of frustration and impatience, then my prayers are not without a layer of selfishness. In other words, I pray, "God, heal my wife so I won't have to deal with this anymore!" Such a prayer may be honest, but it's not necessarily good.

Having been put in the position of caregiver means learning to love in difficult terrain. This is not a straight, smooth highway absent of detours, potholes, and unexpected turns. Love comes easy when all is well; but love is proven mature only when things fall to pieces. Not that our life as a family has fallen to pieces; no, but there are cracks in the wood and chips in the paint.

Asking God to completely heal my wife may sometimes be noble, but often the nobility of such a request is tainted by less than noble motives. I want to skip over the difficult times. Or I want to fast forward through a rough patch. But ironic though it is, God's goodness usually doesn't permit this. Strangely, God's goodness often consists in letting us go through such periods. There is no guarantee of daily happiness attached as small print to our gift of salvation in Christ. We are not promised lives free of wear and tear. Yet my prayers often betray a desire for precisely this. Is it possible that this is why such prayers are sometimes left unanswered? Is this why God so often says no?

There are no shortcuts to growing in Christ, to growing the fruit of the Spirit in our lives. And most of the time such growth requires that we weather storms and sunny skies. You can't grow anything without rain and sun. To ask that God would help us sidestep the gales of life is to ask that we be given a shortcut to maturity and wholeness. There is no better environment to learn to love than one where love is extracted from the giver only with sacrifice and even pain. There is no better environment to learn to love my wife than one where love is drawn from me only at the expense of myself. If love is the price, we are the currency, and we are asked, in love, to spend it all. There is no way that can ever be easy.

Do I still pray for healing? Do I still ask God to remove my wife's depression? I do. I most certainly do. Do I expect him to do so? Do I think that one day she will wake up and feel completely healed, having been freed from her present bondage? I have no idea. I've decided, as much as possible, to leave that in God's hands. I don't know what his will is there. For all I know she could get up tomorrow and, thanks to God, leave depression behind like a distant and faint memory. Or for all I know this will be something we will have to deal with for the long-term, to greater and lesser degrees.

What I do know for sure is that my own prayers for her healing are themselves imperfect, reminders of my own self-centeredness even as I care for her. So while I continue to pray for healing, I also pray that in the meantime I will love as I should: patiently, kindly, generously, without complaining or grumbling. Perhaps such prayers result in their own kind of healing, a healing of wounds that my sin has inflicted. What I hope is that such prayers may change me so that as I do continue to pray for her healing, I do so more for her than for myself. And there are no shortcuts to reach that destination.

Thinking About Prayer: Part 3

I think God expects us to worry. Or at least he's not surprised when we do. Certainly, there are always plenty of worries in life that can give rise to anxiety. It's amazing we don't spend more time wracked with anxiety than we do! Of course, for some worry and anxiety is incapacitating. And while, again, this doesn't surprise God, this is also not his will for our lives.

I've used Paul's words on prayer in Philippians 4:6 probably more times than I can count: "Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God." I have used these words frequently in my own prayers simply because I can struggle with anxiety, that awful in-the-pit-of-your-stomach feeling that serves to distract and disturb. I begin with the thought that God knows I worry. If people weren't prone to worry, why provide such admonition? Only the presence of anxiety in people's actual experience provides ample reason for Scripture to counsel us in such a way.

Because God is our heavenly Father, he can be trusted. This is what we believe. Or at least this is what we say we believe; what we live sometimes contradicts our verbal confessions. But each of us is a bundle of sinful contradictions anyhow. "I believe; help my unbelief" are words we can all relate to at one time or another. Praying these words gets us on the road to trusting God. This is what Paul is advising.

The Message translates Paul's words here as follows: "Don't fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns." Having worries is one thing; letting them dominate you is quite another. Prayer is an act of trust that what worries us needn't rule us, that even if God doesn't solve all of our problems in an instant, he can give us peace in the midst of them and help us through them. But for this to be true, we have to pray. We have to ask. To experience "the peace of God" we have to know him as our Father, one who will provide for our needs and grant us our daily bread.

Yet, it's still not always easy. I don't find it so. Some worries and cares are so immediate that the promise of peace from God through prayer seems an abstract and distant hope at best. We desire the peace offered, but find it impossible to believe. We do and we don't. "I believe; help my unbelief!" Sometimes it simply takes us longer to let go and give things into God's hands. And when we finally do it's begrudgingly so; and we offer no guaratee that we won't try to snatch our cares back.

But we also shouldn't berate ourselves in the midst of all this for our lack of faith. Sure, Jesus points out the disciples' lack of faith several times in the gospels; but I don't think we should follow suit here. Instead, I think we should approach God with whatever scraps of faith we have and ask him for more. Too many people get down on themselves when anxiety besets them. "If only I had more faith, I would not be so worried!" I should say that I am preaching to myself to some extent here!

Everything we think and feel is material for prayer. God already knows every thought and emotion we experience. So nothing we go through is a secret we can keep or a surprise we can suddenly reveal. If we lack faith, ask for faith. If we lack faith that God can help us with our worries, then ask for faith that God can help us with our worries. "Help" is the most honest prayer of all. More than anything, God wants us to trust him with our lives. Much in life teaches us to do precisely the opposite. Our world is not conducive to faith. We are surrounded by enemies that drain the energy we need to bring to our prayers. But even a whimpered prayer is better than resigned silence.

All this to say that if you ever struggle with prayer and with worries, you're not alone. And God understands even before you try to explain yourself. The best thing to do is be yourself, to be open and honest with him, "and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

Thinking About Prayer: Part 2

Imagine that you've just upset or offended someone you know or love. You've made them mad. And now you feel guilty and sorry for what you've done. Maybe you've said something you shouldn't say to your wife. Or perhaps you mouthed off to a co-worker, a friend, or someone at church who really gets on your nerves. Both your common sense and good manners dissolved in an instant only to be replaced by a short temper and thoughtless words. Chances are, the very next conversation will at least begin awkwardly.

Or maybe think of it this way. You've neglected to keep in touch with a close friend, someone you intended to call or e-mail. It's been awhile since you've seen them or spoken to them, and you feel guilty for this. And the guilt you feel leads to further neglect of the relationship. You're afraid of what the next encounter will be like, so you do your best to avoid an encounter altogether. You really don't want to face that person. Fearing what they think of you and what they might say if you finally resume contact, you put it off. Procrastination becomes habit.

Often when this sort of thing happens, the next conversation or encounter isn't as bad as our anticipation of it. Whoever the other party is, they end up being much more accepting than you expected, than your fears led you to believe they'd be. Then you feel rather silly for having put off getting in touch or for procrastinating reconciliations and apologies.

I got thinking about all of this because sometimes I avoid prayer. Either I simply choose to jump into whatever work or chores lay in front of me or I neglect it because I've already been avoiding it for awhile. And why is that? I realized today that it's because, despite all my knowledge that tells me precisely the opposite, I fear that God is mad at me and won't hear my prayers, that my very avoidance of praying for a couple of days will mean God's not going to listen once I do finally get around to it and begin talking to him again.

I associate worries we all have with human relationships and superimpose them onto my relationship with God. That we all do this in one way or another at one time or another is no surprise. We can all fall prey to judging our relationship with God in the same way that we judge our relationship with other people. There are people, for instance, who question the title of "Father" for God since so many people have negative associations with their earthly fathers and, so the argument runs, will never be able to see God as a good and loving Father. The very idea of fatherhood is so abhorrent because of their poor and sometimes even tragic experiences that it forever taints a person's ability to see God as Father. In lesser ways this also happens. We generalize from our most common and closest relationships.

But God is not human. He is not subject to the whims of mood and appetite and doesn't relate to us haphazardly depending on the weather or any other temporary conditions. Even if I haven't prayed for a couple of days, God is not mad. He might very well be saddened. God wants us to pray. This is his will for us. But whatever he makes of our difficulties in prayer, our God is not the sort who will shut his ears to us because of them. This is because, despite the poor reflection of this in the world around us, he is a loving, heavenly Father.

So given the God we believe in, one revealed in Jesus Christ, I need not fear his retribution or rejection. Even if I have failed to come to him in prayer, failed to open myself in heart and mind to his presence by inviting him more fully into my life, failed to lift up the needs of my loved ones and brothers and sisters, God is not, like some people when we fail them, going to respond to me out of spite. He is ever loving and faithfully kind, merciful and good. If anything, I can always run to him, no matter how long I may have been running in the other direction.

I find it astounding at how easy it is to fall prey to misconceptions of God after years of reading and studying the Scriptures, going to church and being in ministry, and even after having lots of positive examples of God's good and kind character surrounding me with love and support. How feeble-minded I can be at times to judge God--often unconsciously--by the worst and most feared aspects of our human relationships: rejection, judgement, and failure. If anything, such a tendency to bad lived-out theology throws into sharp relief my own desperate need for God and for communing with him in prayer. In other words, the very fears I have about approaching God, knowing their source are not from him, should propel me into his arms rather than drive me away. I can only pray that this would be so. I pray the same is true for you.

Thinking About Prayer: Part 1

Every Sunday morning in church we take prayer requests for the pastoral or congregational prayer, and almost inevitably most requests concern, generally, the same thing: physical well-being. And this is understandable. We have had people in hospital, having surgeries, struggling with various illnesses and health conditions, and so it only makes sense that when we come together to pray that such issues form the bulk of our prayers. Or does it?

It is true that such prayers emerge from the basic sense that God cares for our well-being and that he is intimately involved with the details of our lives. We bring our present life experience--experience often defined by health concerns and other earthly priorities--before God in prayer; and to do this is natural. Our God is Immanuel or God with us. But I do wonder that if in concentrating largely on petitions regarding physical health we are missing much of what God wants us to be praying about. While God is with us, he is so for his own purposes and will and not for ours. While intimately involved in the details of our lives, he is so in order that we might become closer to him, to grow in our knowledge of God. Yet how often do our prayers--personal and corporate--reflect God's concern and God's cause? And are we able to see the details of our lives--at home and at church--in the light of God's plan?

All this has been on my mind because I see a huge contrast between prayer as I experience it personally and corporately and prayer as I see it in Scripture. Looking, for instance, at Paul's prayers, we can observe pretty quickly that much of what occupies our times of prayer doesn't even show up on Paul's radar. All of his letters, except Galatians, mention his prayers for the recipients. For all we know there could be people in those various congregations that have serious health concerns, yet Paul is largely silent on such matters. That's not to say that such concerns were never addressed in prayer--but they were not the first or only prayers on the list.

Theologian and biblical scholar D.A Carson wrote a book a number of years ago called A Call to Spiritual Reformation: Priorities from Paul and His Prayers, and in this book he discusses some of these very same issues. He begins by looking at 2 Thessalonians 1:3 -- 12 and the framework of Paul's actual petitions on behalf of the believers in Thessalonica. Two things, Carson argues, shape Paul's prayers: First, a thankfulness for signs of grace among the believers. In other words, Paul expresses thanks that their faith is growing, that their love for one another is increasing, and that they are persevering under trials. So Paul is not thankful for simply anything; he is thankful that they are living the Christian life more obediently and faithfully and with resilience in the face of opposition. And how often are our prayers--mine included!--shaped by such thanksgiving?

Second, Carson says, Paul's prayers are shaped by the anticipation of Christ's return. The tenor of Paul's prayers are guided by his eschatology, the belief in the world to come with the Second Advent of Jesus--and how this will result in vindication for believers and in retribution and judgement for non-believers. Carson goes on at length discussing this point, especially since some would find the notion of God exacting such judgement distasteful. But he is simply talking about what Paul himself says:

"He will pay back trouble to those who trouble you and give relief to you who are troubled, and to us as well. This will happen when the Lord Jesus is revealed from heaven in blazing fire with his powerful angels. He will punish those who do not know God and do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus. They will be punished with everlasting destruction and shut out from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might on the day he comes to be glorified in his holy people and to be marveled at among all those who have believed."

And then in the next verse Paul says: "With this in mind, we constantly pray for you . . ." With this in mind . . .

How often do any of us truly pray with such things in mind? If we were to take these foundational elements of prayer--a thankfulness for signs of grace and growth in the Christian life and, as Carson calls it, Paul's "fundamental orientation to the end of the age"--and make them the basis of our prayers, what might our prayers sound like?

I don't think we approach prayer naturally this way. Truth be told, I don't think we approach prayer naturally at all. There is nothing natural about prayer. It is super-natural. It is conversation with God borne of the Spirit of God about the things of God. And we don't know how to do it. This is why the disciples asked Jesus, "Teach us to pray." We need to be taught to pray, as much as we need to be taught to tie our shoes and boil water on the stove. "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans," Paul writes in Romans 8:26. So we learn to pray from Jesus, and indeed all of Scripture, and we rely on the Spirit to make of our prayers what they never could be on their own. We don't know how to pray and we don't know what to pray for. But God does and, thankfully, he's more than willing to teach us.

There's an old Puritan proverb: "Pray until you pray." Certainly this could mean that we ought to be persistent in our prayers. But it means more, I think. It means practicing prayer, keeping at it until it moves beyond formalism, awkwardness, and religious duty, until it becomes an intimate expression of our relationship with God. The more we pray, honestly and biblically, the more we will learn how to pray. Pray until your prayers become honest expressions of faith before God.

I think this proverb can also mean that we ought to ask God to instill within us certain priorities in prayer--pray until you really pray: pray for God's cause, pray with thankfulness at signs of grace among your fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, and pray with an eternal perspective, that sense of hopeful anticipation of Christ's return. We don't know how to do this, to pray as we ought--Scripture tells us as much--but we are told where to go and learn. This doesn't mean we stop praying that our loved one's cancer is healed but that we also pray they would learn to trust in God's grace even in trials, despite the persistence of illness, hopeful that Christ will restore them upon his return. It means seeing our earthly concerns from a heavenly perspective and allowing a heavenly perspective to shape how see and pray about our earthly concerns. In other words, "Pray until you pray."