A Good Mystery

I'm not much of a fiction reader, so most of my fiction comes from film and television. Yes, I can concede that this might be a poor man's substitute, but, as I already said recently (see my last post), I like watching TV. Enough with that. My point here is that more specifically a lot of the shows I watch are mysteries or serial dramas, ones that end each episode with a cliffhanger or unresolved story and therefore have the ability, to a greater or lesser degree, to hook you. In the best (or worst??) case scenario such shows might be described as addictive. One example of this would be 24. That this show is potentially addictive is not much of a surprise given that every episode occurs in real time and ends at the end of every hour. This, quite possibly, is both a pro and a con when you have the DVD set and are not watching it from week to week--there is no reason to wait for the next episode; you can watch the next one right away! However, this does lead to the occasional late night . . . So such shows are best reserved for occasions when rising early isn't required the next day! The point is that while I don't read mysteries I do like watching them.

Now when I say mystery, I mean something specific too. Take The X-Files, for instance. Here's a show that counted on its stories being unresolved and on having an overarching mythology that often raised more questions than answers. Such a method of telling stories reflected a key belief on the show, that there are mysteries in life, unfathomable phenomena, that escape the explanatory power of science and reason. To resolve every story and answer every question is tantamount to saying that there are no mysteries inherent in life, that there is nothing beyond what science can tell us.

I think what is attractive about such stories is that we love that there is mystery. It's like the poster on Special Agent Fox Mulder's office wall says, "I want to believe." We want to believe that there is more to life than what we can see with our eyes and touch with our hands. Such possibilities, whether it's the possibility of the existence of extraterrestrial life or the possibility of the existence of God (for me, of course, this is more than a possibility even if it remains a mystery in its own way), promise us meaning and purpose, a way to define ourselves beyond the mundane routines of everyday life. It's no wonder that the producers of The X-Files often liken Mulder's search for proof of alien life to the search for God. Both are mysteries that bring life meaning. So no wonder shows like this become so popular in a world where people long for significance and identity, purpose and direction. Or even just a good mystery.

But, you see, the odd thing about shows like The X-Files, Lost, and others, is that the more questions they answer and the more mysteries they resolve the less satisfying they are. That's when the writing begins to show weak spots. While adept at posing the questions and identifying the mysteries, they are often profoundly inept at providing meaning to the mystery and giving answers to the questions (even if they remain entertaining). Once the mystery gives way to explanation, we often find ourselves profoundly dissatisfied.

So as entertaining and well-produced as any TV show might be, no such show can really provide a person's life with meaning. While they serve as a corporate sponsored reminder that there are mysteries in life, they can no more give us purpose than Dr. Phil can dispense sound, life-changing counsel in short segments between commercial breaks. Though people seek meaning there, even if unconsciously. Hence the large number of fans that absorb and analyse the details of such shows in hopes of cracking the code. It takes more than a good mystery to do that. It takes the best mystery, the only one that truly satisfies. That's the mystery we have in the Bible.

In Ephesians the apostle Paul talks about this mystery and how he had been entrusted to make this mystery plain to everyone: "I became a servant of this gospel by the gift of God's grace given me through the working of his power. Although I am less than the least of all the Lord's people, this grace was given to me: to preach to the Gentiles the boundless riches of Christ, and to make plain to everyone the administration of this mystery, which for ages past was kept hidden in God, who created all things." The apostle here refers to the gospel of Jesus Christ as a mystery. He is saying that until the advent of Christ into the world, the mystery of God's plan was a secret, known only to God himself. He says something similar in Romans. And in Colossians Paul comes right out and says that this mystery is Jesus Christ.

Most people want more than they have. Life doesn't provide automatically a deep, satisfying sense of meaning and purpose. Lots of people wander through life feeling the weight of the world and of the ultimate questions without ever really landing on an answer that quells the thirst and satiates the hunger. This, I think, leads to a sense of loss, but without telling us what it is that we've lost. "My heart is restless, oh God, until it finds rest in You," prays Augustine. We enter this world with a gaping hole in our hearts, one that is, unbeknownst to us, God-shaped. So we try with all our might to fill this hole with any number of things, and usually these things only serve to feed the hunger and increase our thirst. At the very least satisfaction is temporary.

The mystery of God, that there can be wholeness and redemption, fullness of meaning and purpose, has been revealed in Jesus. God's plan in Christ is to disclose his means for saving human beings from their sin and brokenness so that we needn't spend any more time wandering and wondering, lost and directionless, like a ship drifting on the sea. That God-shaped hole in our heart can only be filled by Jesus, for in him the fullness of who God is and what he is up to has been made known.

The big difference between the mystery presented in various TV serial dramas and the mystery of the gospel is that while the presentation of the mysteries in such shows is usually more compelling than any answers they can give, the opposite is true of the good news. We spend our lives consciously or unconsciously looking for answers to life's mysteries, wanting to experience the deep satisfaction that comes when we discover meaning and purpose for ourselves, and it is only when we find our heart's true home, in Jesus himself, that we are satisfied. It's the only mystery that, when revealed, is more compelling than the questions we ask and the attempts at seeking meaning we make. That makes our faith in Christ not just a good mystery, but a great one, the only one worth truly being revealed to us.

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."