Constant Communication

Some time ago, I rolled up to a stop light on a late afternoon bike ride and and had the following encounter with a fellow cyclist.

 

Hello! she said. Her hands rested on the handlebars and she rested her weight on the bike’s top tube–and stared straight ahead.

 

Hello, I replied, pleasantly surprised that she had given me more than a nod (but a little perplexed that she couldn’t be bothered to look my way).

 

How are you?! She asked, with what seemed to be unnecessary enthusiasm and concern.

 

Oh, um, I’m fine. Beautiful day. How are you?

 

Hold on a second, she said. Some guy is trying to talk to me. I’ll call you back in a second…

 

That’s when I finally noticed the tiny gadget hooked over her ear. My face flushed as I put two and two together and realized that there was a good reason it sounded like she was talking to an old friend on the phone–she probably was. Even standing there at the intersection of Franklin and Alameda while enjoying a sunny afternoon on the bike, she was able to stay in touch.

 

Of course, her ability to do so is no longer a surprise to any of us. A friend updates his Facebook status from the ski lift. The woman in the airport pulls out her Blackberry and sends a quick email without ever sitting down. Members of congress update their constituents via their Twitter feeds even while listening (or pretending to listen) to the President speak. We are people who are in constant communication with one another.

 

A few weeks ago, a friend relayed a conversation she’d recently had with her eight-year-old daughter. I just love to pray, the little girl gushed. I only dream sometimes at night. Usually I just pray. And lots of times during the day, I don’t even say ‘Amen’ because I don’t want it to be over. I just want to keep talking to God all the time.

 

Here is a little girl who has something that many of us desire–she is in constant communication with her Creator. She, as much as anybody I know, seems to follow Paul’s command: Pray without ceasing. Her life is a continuous conversation with her heavenly Father.

 

I wonder what will happen to that little girl–to her life of prayer–in a few years. What will happen she gets a Facebook account and a iPhone and a Twitter feed with her friends. Will she be able to stay in constant communication with her God–even while she’s in constant communication with so many others?

 

Most of us would like to have it both ways. But I’m beginning to wonder if we can (or if that’s wanting to have your cake and eat it too). Does the constant buzz of communication from cell phones and blog feeds and twitter updates leave us with enough space–enough silence–for us to speak to (and hear from!) our heavenly Father?

 

I’m not one to push giving up something for Lent (I often joke with people that I’m going to try to give up sin). But maybe a helpful experiment for some of us during this time of year would be to sign off for a few weeks–to let our communication with each other slide so that we can get back in touch with our God.

(Edit: Apparently, the Pope reads my blog …)

Parking Lot Prayers

The greatest tragedy in life is not unanswered prayer, but unoffered prayer. (F.B. Meyer)

The habit of not praying is far more difficult to break than the habit of praying. (Philip Yancey

When Art and Dolly told me that they always prayed for parking spots–and that they had never been disappointed–I simply smiled and nodded. I didn’t ask if they felt guilty about cluttering up God’s inbox with their petty parking petitions when they might instead have chosen to bring him a request for–oh, I don’t know–world peace. I didn’t challenge them to explain why God would take the time to cut down their walk to the front doors of Wal-Mart when he apparently hadn’t been able to fit the healing of a friend from church into his ca lander. I didn’t ask. In fact, I didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

But a part of me wanted to.

I know that I’m supposed to be all for prayer (no matter what it’s about)–especially since I’m a preacher and all. But even so, there was something about the way the lovely old couple phrased things there in their doily-filled living room that I found unsettling at the time. It seemed to me that somebody in the prayer equation had their priorities mixed up. Either Art and Dolly did (because they were content to offer up petitions about one of the more trivial matters in life and were neglecting (I assumed) the weightier things). Or God did (because he was so busy managing parking lots that he couldn’t seem to be bothered with world hunger and genocide). It would be better, I thought, if we didn’t bother God with parking spots or Settlers games or even head colds at all. After all, all of us–and God especially–have more important things to worry about.

Well, last Monday, while my legs dangled from the ski lift and I scrunched my shoulders up against the cold, I found myself praying that my car would start. I didn’t mean to–honest. It just happened. I sat there on the lift, thinking about the drive home–hoping that I wouldn’t
have to find someone to give me a push start in the parking lot like I had the previous week.* And the prayer just happened. Dear God, please, please, please, let it start today… For the most part, it was a silent prayer. But every now and then, I may have muttered my plea into the pulled up collar of my winter coat.

I felt rather silly about it at the time. After all, I knew there were many other things I should be using my time to pray for. Even as I muttered that prayer for my car, my iPod was piping into my ear an NPR news story about genocide and child soldiers in some far away corner of the world. Shouldn’t I pray about that instead? It sounds strange to say it, but suddenly I found myself feeling guilty about praying.

That incident has run through my mind nearly every time I’ve tried to start my vehicle the past week (which has worked every time, by the way). And I’ve concluded that, the next time I’m in the mountains and am worried about the car starting, I’ll probably pray about it. Here are a few reasons why:

• God invites us to pray (and is offended when we don’t). He apparently likes to be asked–even for seemingly mundane things like daily bread and dependable automobiles.
• Every action (or nearly every action) is habit forming. Every choice not to pray moves me toward a life of non-prayer. Every choice to pray moves me toward a life of prayer.
• Furthermore, when I pray for the “little” things, I’m reminded to pray for the “big” things. And when I learn to trust God with those “little” things, I’m a step closer to trusting him with those “big” things.
• Prayer helps us learn to see reality more clearly. More specifically, it helps me see that God is a apart of my reality. He is at work in my world and in my life–no matter how big or how small the issue may be.

Does all that mean I’m planning on always getting a good parking space or a life free from car trouble? Not likely. But it does mean that I believe God hears me–and wants to hear from me. And for that, I’m grateful.

*Actually, I didn’t even need to find them. I prayed that God would help me get my vehicle started then too, and these kind folks showed up and offered a hand. Coincidence? Or providence?

Prayer

Stumbled across this old comic recently and was reminded of the parables we’ve been studying from Luke 11 and Luke 18.

Deep Sea Divers

I’ve been re-reading portions of Philip Yancey’s book on prayer this week as I prepare for a (unexpected) sermon on Psalm 13. Yancey has a gift for listening to the wisdom and insights of other people. Two of those insights he includes in his book include similiar metaphors–and they seem fitting for this week.

On grief: “Evengelicals tend to want to get to the happy ending. Sometimes, there is no happy ending, and we’re simply suspended in grief. When I’m with suffering people, I feel like a deep-sea diver accompnaying them into the depths. Come up too fast, and you’ll dangerously decompress. We need to stay with the grief for a while, feel it, let it out. maybe we can see things through tears that we can’t see dry-eyed.” (269).

On prayer: “…God has equipped us to go deep-sea diving and instead we wade in bathtubs. What makes the difference…is how seriously we take prayer. I see prayer as the process of becoming available for what God wants to do on earth through us.” (276)

Praying for Your Pastor

Flipping through Ephesians on Sunday night, I found a pastoral prayer request that ties in well with my last post. Paul says: Pray for me, that whenever I open my mouth, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel…Pray that I may declare it as fearlessly as I should. (Ephesians 6:19-20)

A good one for Paul…and a good one for me!