Nurture Faith with Dr. Doug Hood

“I’ll visit you when I go to Spain. I hope to see you while I’m passing through. And I hope you will send me on my way there, after I have first been reenergized by some time in your company.” Romans 15:24 (Common English Bible)

I once knew a woman whose romance had gone on the rocks. She made a grand announcement to her work colleagues that she was never going to permit herself to fall in love again. “You only get hurt,” she said. I was a young graduate student struggling in the romance department myself so I remained silent. Fortunately, an older and wiser woman who was our supervisor made the observation, “If you deal with each disappointment that way, you don’t live.” I don’t recall how many work associates were present at that moment but each of us became silent as those few words sunk deep into our hearts. The supervisor continued, “Reassess that relationship. Take something useful from it. Make it fruitful for the next.”

The Apostle Paul wanted to go to Spain. He had his heart set on it. Paul’s zeal for preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ compelled him to reach the outermost rim of the world. What Paul got was a prison cell in Rome. Like my work colleague, Paul was disappointed. Life’s unexpected turns and twists never permitted Paul to take that journey to Spain. That one historical fact dispels the notion that those who follow Christ are never disappointed, and never experience disruptions in their own life journey. Paul wanted Spain. Paul got a prison cell. How Paul responded is instructive for us. Paul used that time in prison to reassess God’s claim upon him, Paul wrestled something useful from his disappointment. Imprisonment provided quiet time to penetrate deeply into the mysteries of Christ.

Psychologists tell us that suicide, addictions, and some forms of nervous breakdowns are evidence that people are ill-equipped to manage disappointment. Loss and disappointment, regardless of the magnitude, deprive us of our ability to think and act beyond ourselves. Our focus on disappointment becomes so sharp that we are unable to see what remains that is positive in our lives. Consequently, loss and disappointment shrink our life to the exact size of our desire that is unmet. Popular speaker and author, John Maxwell, encourages us along a different path—encourages us to embrace failure and disappointments, extracting from them lessons that result in us “failing forward.” It is then those mistakes, failures, and disappointments become stepping-stones to something so much more.

Few people have the opportunity to live life on the basis of their first choice—whether that be a choice in career, a spouse that “checks all the boxes,” or some other longing. Paul wanted to go to Spain. He got a prison cell. A large majority of us will find that life moves in directions that are not of our choosing. That is precisely when the Christian faith tells us that we should get something out of every experience, every new direction, even out of disappointment. The bulk of the New Testament is letters written by Paul—many of them written while in prison! After twenty-some years as an itinerant preacher, Paul gets a prison cell. At last, Paul found the quiet time to think deeply about what he had learned of Jesus Christ and pour those thoughts out in a written form. That would be Paul’s greatest contribution to the Christian Church.

Joy,

It was said of the disciples long ago that people held them in wonder and awe that they had been with Jesus. To be with one of the disciples was to experience one degree of separation from our Lord. That close proximity to Christ resulted in an experience of spiritual vitality and power. God’s love, wisdom, and strength were no longer limited to one’s imagination as stories of Jesus’ life and ministry were shared. In the company of a disciple—or disciples—God’s presence seemed to come near. The vision of God’s glory grew more expansive in the heart as a result of being in the presence of one of the disciples. Perhaps that same fascination is what drives each of us to be photographed with those we admire. There is an unmistakable attraction and thrill to standing in the presence of those who have acquired a larger-than-life persona.

In this passage from Mark’s Gospel, Jesus had just finished a hard, grueling day. A similar day would follow. How could he be ready for it? What would be the spring of fresh physical, emotional, and spiritual strength from which he would drink? Mark gives us the answer and with it the key to Jesus’ vitality and stamina, “Early in the morning, well before sunrise, Jesus rose and went to a deserted place where he could be alone in prayer.” This one verse suggests the great wisdom of prayer: Every morning, draw from the inexhaustible power of God by drawing near to God’s presence. That is done in prayer. Once when a man was asked what he was doing each day sitting alone in a church, gazing upon a picture of Jesus, he answered, “I am simply looking at him and he is looking at me.” Prayer is time with God.

The weakest, humblest life can be made stronger when placed before God. As we pray, the Bible promises that God will be there. There will be days when God seems absent. The Psalms tell us this. Pray anyway. Know that God is present. Day after day the eyes of the soul become more sensitive to God, the heart more aware of God’s still small voice speaking. Eventually, prayer becomes that daily practice by which the individual soul becomes intertwined with the presence and strength of God. The fact of intimate communion with God is the great reality of true, regular prayer. In prayer, we come to see ourselves surrounded by God’s love and concern for us as we begin each new day.

How strange, how foolish it must seem to God that we should be content with so little prayer. This particular occasion, mentioned in this one verse of Scripture from Mark’s Gospel, was no unusual occurrence for Jesus. Jesus prayed often; Jesus prayed for himself and for others. Jesus took time for prayer before each day and before every difficult challenge that drew near to him. Jesus teaches prayer to us by example, for he knew from his own experience that prayer was a vital part of navigating the inevitable difficulties that each one of us must face. Today, many Christians are troubled by weakness, doubt, and fear, largely because they miss the help that prayer might provide. The greater wisdom of prayer is simply discovering—and experiencing—that we never have to face a day alone.

Joy,

“At evening, morning, and midday I complain and moan so that God will hear my voice.” Psalm 55:17 (Common English Bible)

Framed on my desk is a picture of Eeyore, a character from the Winnie the Pooh stories who is the ever-glum, pessimistic, and sarcastic donkey friend of Pooh. The picture is part of a larger running tease I have with my wife. Frequently, I remind her that my hero is Eeyore simply because he understands me. When I encounter difficulties or obstacles that must be overcome, I imitate the glum voice of Eeyore, saying something like, “It’s no use. I simply can’t manage this setback.” In truth, I find humor in this performance of Eeyore. My wife really doesn’t. With a roll of her eyes, she simply walks away. Imagine my delight when I encountered this passage from Psalm 55:17, “At evening, morning, and midday I complain and moan.” Reading these words to my wife, I exclaimed, “The Bible really gets me!” I received the same reaction from her; she rolled her eyes and walked away.

Recently, I shared lunch with a friend and told him about my fascination with the character, Eeyore. His response resulted in a major disruption of my running tease, “Eeyore may be the most courageous character in the Winnie the Pooh stories.”[i] Bill went on to say that even though Eeyore was certainly a pessimist and always complaining and moaning, he stays in community with his friends. He shows up for them, participates with them in shared adventures, and can be counted on whenever any one of them needs him. Eeyore doesn’t disconnect because of his glum outlook. There is a commitment to his friends that is stronger than what he may be feeling. Eeyore does not allow his mood to be the arbiter of his relationship with others. Numbness and unconcern are rejected by Eeyore, for he realizes that there remains worth in this life; his relationship with those who love him.

Eeyore’s refusal to surrender to withdrawal, resignation, and defeat in life is captured in these words from Psalm 55:17, “At evening, morning, and midday I complain and moan so that God will hear my voice.” Complaint and moaning are not verbal self-pity as one might suppose. Rather, they are a prayer! They are a prayer that is made continuously: “at evening, morning, and midday.” These words are a precursor to Jesus’ own teaching in Luke’s Gospel of our need to pray continuously and not be discouraged.[ii] The Psalmist is not discouraged. The Psalmist’s continuous prayer is a demonstration of faith in the absolute fidelity of a loving God. Keeping Godward channels open by frequent prayer builds and strengthens a relationship with God that brings its own gift, the knowledge that, come what may in this life, we do not move through life alone.

As though opening a can of condensed milk, we now discover that compressed into sixteen words is the formula for making our prayers more vital. First, time for prayer is prioritized. Each day is an opportunity to strengthen a relationship with God. Relationships are never built with the occasional visit or telephone call. Nor is a relationship with God. Even the busiest person will find time for prayer if they really want to. Second, prayer fills the day, “at evening, morning, and midday.” This doesn’t mean speaking to God without interruption. It does mean a continual awareness of God’s presence, who might be addressed at any moment. Third, prayer isn’t bound to our mood. Forgetting prayer until a better mood arrives fails to understand that it is precisely when our mood is all wrong that we need God. Eeyore never fails to be available for his friends. Nor are we to fail to remain in community with God, through prayer. For this is a basic condition of a vital prayer life.

Joy,

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[i] Appreciation to Bill Bathurst for this observation.

[ii] Luke 18:1 (Common English Bible)

Written by Jim Mignard, a friend of Dr. Doug Hood.

“They all met together and were constantly united in prayer, along with Mary the mother of Jesus, several other women, and the brothers of Jesus.” Acts 1:14 (New Living Translation)

God invites, but never compels his people to join him in honoring his name and in carrying out his purposes.  We send our R.S.V.P. to the Father’s invitation by praying daily, as the Christians of the first century did.

The earliest disciples didn’t fuss over strategies, their knowledge of the Old Testament, sermons, or the right kind of hymnal.  Rather, after praying, they caught the fire of Pentecost (Acts 2), pushed outward, and literally changed the history of the world.

Luke’s first volume, his Gospel, climaxes with the ascension of the Lord Jesus Christ and the praying and rejoicing of the disciples (24:52f)  His second volume, Acts of the Apostles, opens with the picture of the disciples “constantly devoting themselves to prayer” (1:14).

Before the disciples appointed someone to replace Judas, they prayed (Acts 1:24). Before choosing the Seven for the work of hospitality, they prayed (Acts 6:6).  Stephen, the first Stephen Minister, prayed that the sins of those who were stoning him to death would be forgiven (Acts 7:59f).

Daily prayer for God’s work, as well as for our own needs, does not require a special vocabulary of deep understanding of the Bible.  But it does require a willingness to engage the whole person with God, and such an engagement, you will find out, is really what is meant by worship.

If it’s not your habit to pray each day, consider purchasing a collection of prayers for daily use..  A prayer, after all, is a prayer.  Or, ask someone in the church to write out for you simple prayers that show praise, adoration, and gratitude to God, and that express your desire for the furtherance of his work in your life, in your family, in our church, and throughout the world. 

Years ago, my wife and I adopted the principle of Hudson Taylor, the founder of the old China Inland Mission, on the practice of prayer: “We must learn,” he said, “to move men through God by prayer alone.”  That still holds.  It advances the gospel and builds up the church.  But most importantly, it honors God.

Joy,

Rev. Susan Sparks wrote the following meditation featured in Dr. Doug Hood’s book, A Month of Prayer and Gratitude: Five Minute Meditations for a Deeper Experience of Gratitude.

“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.” 1 Chronicles 16:34 (Common English Bible)

Recently, I saw an image on social media that said “Life*” at the top, then underneath, in small print by the asterisk, it said: “Available for a limited time only, limit one per customer, subject to change without notice, provided ‘as is’ without any warranties, your mileage may vary.” While this was meant as something to make people laugh, it packed a powerful message. Amazingly, we tend to believe that life comes with some type of warranty that promises things will always be easy, fun, and painless. And when it’s not, we complain—incessantly.

We complain about the weather. “Oh, my goodness, it’s so cold, when will it ever stop?” Then, two months later we carp: “Oh my goodness, it’s so hot and humid, when will it ever stop?” We whine that the trains and buses are late. We moan that people are rude, the stock market hasn’t done well, or that the grocery store is out of our favorite item. Recently, I was at Whole Foods, and I heard a woman complaining to the manager that they were out of her “soymilk substitute.” First, what is soymilk substitute? And second, why would anyone want it? We waste so much time complaining about the superficial things that we miss precious seconds, hours, days, even years of our life. It’s like the Jewish prayer: “Days pass and years vanish, and we walk sightless among miracles.” We must be grateful in the good times and the bad, for in the end, it’s still life.

Warnings like “life is short,” get greeted by eye rolls and shrugs. Yes, we’ve all heard this saying many times—which is part of the problem. We have heard it so much that we have become immune to it. But there is urgency in those three short words. Things can change in the blink of an eye. We don’t know what is going to happen from one day to the next. We don’t know if we will be given tomorrow—or even the rest of today. Just look at the headlines: random shootings, tornados that tear apart entire towns, soaring cancer statistics. Life – is – short. It is also sacred. The Psalmists offered this wisdom: “You created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb … I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” (Psalm 139:13, 14). Life is the greatest, most sacred gift we have. Sure, you may think other things are important, but if you didn’t wake up this morning, then what difference would it make?

Life is short. Life is sacred. And, because of that it should be celebrated in the good times and the bad. It doesn’t matter where you find yourself: a long line at the Department of Motor Vehicles, the dentist chair, or the chemo room, it’s still life and there is joy to be found in the simple taking of a breath. The author Elisabeth Kübler-Ross wrote, “People are like stained glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.” Find that light. Strive to be grateful in all circumstances. Use that gratitude to inspire and lift up others who are mired in difficulty. We were never guaranteed that life would be easy, or fun, or painless. Yet, even in the pain we can be grateful for the simple gift of being alive because in the end it’s still sacred, it’s still a gift, it’s still life.

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Nathanael Hood, MA, New York University; MDiv, Princeton Theological Seminary.

“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He wouldn’t even lift his eyes to look toward heaven. Rather, he struck his chest and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ I tell you, this person went down to his home justified rather than the Pharisee. All who lift themselves up will be brought low, and those who make themselves low will be lifted up.'” Luke 18:13, 14 (Common English Bible)

There’s an old story that tells how once, in between his mighty battles throughout Europe, the Prussian emperor Frederick the Great visited the notorious Potsdam Prison. One by one, he spoke with various prisoners, all of whom swore up and down about their innocence. “Not I, Emperor,” shouted one. “I was framed,” vowed another. He continued his review until he came across one prisoner who, unlike his fellows, sat quietly in the corner with his head bowed, avoiding the Emperor’s gaze. Curious, the Emperor asked the prisoner who he blamed for his sentence. “Your Majesty,” the prisoner answered, “I am guilty and deserve my punishment.” Immediately, the Emperor yelled for the prison warden: “Come and get this man out of here before he corrupts all these innocent prisoners!” In that moment, the prisoner’s humility proved his salvation as the Emperor’s act of grace redeemed him of his crimes.

During his ministry, Jesus told a story not unlike Frederick the Great’s prison encounter. But instead of prisoners and convicts, Jesus’ parable focused on the Pharisees, the religious authorities of his day. Self-righteous to a fault, the only thing the Pharisees of first century Palestine loved more than being pious was bragging about being pious to anyone within earshot. For them, no good deed was worth doing unless there were witnesses, and no witnesses were more valued than the religious rank-and-file. Here in the eighteenth chapter of Luke, Jesus sets the stage: once two men went to the Jerusalem Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, and he prayed aloud to God that he was thankful that he was better than other people. Better than robbers, he continued. Better than evildoers and adulterers, he trumpeted. Better even—turning to the second man next to him—than a tax collector. Understand that back in Jesus’ day, tax collectors were often corrupt agents of the Roman Empire. As collaborators with the army occupying their homeland, tax collectors were social pariahs among their fellow Jews. Having duly humiliated the tax collector in front of God and neighbor, the Pharisee turned the attention back on himself, crowing about his good deeds.

But the tax collector acted differently. Ashamed and embarrassed, he stood at a distance from everyone else within the crowded temple complex. Not daring to turn his eyes to the heavens, not daring to look his Lord in the face, he beat his breast and prayed “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Despite the man’s sins, Jesus explained, despite his economic corruption and imperial collaboration it was this tax collector who went home justified before God. It wasn’t the Pharisee, the religious expert with spotless behavior and a proven track record of good deeds, who was forgiven. No, it was the sinner who perhaps deserved punishment who received God’s forgiveness. How this must have shocked the people of Judea!

While many people probably can’t relate to the Pharisee, at some point in our lives all of us have felt like the tax collector. We know when we’ve sinned, when we’ve repaid good with evil, when we act selfishly instead of selflessly. When we pray, we come to God knowing that we have nothing to offer God than our guilt. Compare this to the Pharisee who prayed for himself—what did he stand to gain from such a prayer? His was a meaningless prayer, one that demanded nothing and therefore profited him not at all. But grace was given to the tax collector who offered nothing other than repentance. This is the model for how we should approach God in prayer: aware that we have everything to lose and everything to gain. This parable cautions us that self-satisfaction in prayer isolates us from God. The only way to approach God is on our knees.

Joy,

“After Jesus went into a house, his disciples asked him privately, ‘Why couldn’t we throw this spirit out?’ Jesus answered, ‘Throwing this kind of spirit out requires prayer.’” Mark 9:28, 29 (Common English Bible)

“Why couldn’t we throw this spirit out?” The disciples ask Jesus an honest and direct question: “Why?” They were asked by a father for help with a son tormented by an evil spirit. The spirit doesn’t allow the son to speak. When the spirit overpowers the son, the spirit throws the boy into a fit that produces foam at the mouth, the grinding of teeth, and a stiffening of the body. So, the boy’s father approaches the disciples and asks for help—asks if they could throw the spirit out. The disciples tried; the Gospel tells us. They may have given the effort everything they had. But they couldn’t do what the father asked. The spirit remained. The energy that was missing in the effort of the disciples was God—more specifically, a confident realization of the presence of God.

Here is a suggestion for a definition of prayer: Prayer is the confident realization of the presence of God. There are two clues in Mark’s Gospel narration of the story that support this definition: First, the disciples question Jesus, asking why “we” were unable to do anything about the spirit. At first glance, the “we” is inconclusive. Perhaps the disciples attempted to help the boy by including prayer in their effort. Perhaps, because they were disciples, one should grant the benefit of the doubt that any effort to help the boy included prayer. Here, it is reasonable to grant the benefit of the doubt. That is, until Jesus answers the inquiry: “Throwing this kind of spirit out requires prayer.” Jesus removes the benefit of the doubt. Jesus’ answer is clear. Prayer wasn’t used. That is our second clue.

Prayer is the expulsive force in this story. The disciples respond to the father’s concern for his son favorably. The disciples want to help. They make the effort to throw the destructive spirit out of the man’s son. But they are unable. The evil spirit remained. And the father’s concern for his son also remained. So, the father approaches Jesus with the same plea he had made to the disciples. And in verse nineteen, Jesus answers, “You faithless generation, how long will I be with you?” Jesus now provides a clue to the definition of “faith”: Faith is the confident realization of an unseen God after Jesus is no longer with us in the flesh. The trouble is that the definition sounds very similar to the definition of prayer. What, then, would be the difference between “faith” and “prayer?”

Jesus finally answers the question for a definition of prayer: if faith is the confident realization of an unseen God, then prayer is an experiment with that God. Prayer is the confident “practice” of the presence of God. Prayer is what knits our life together with God’s presence in such a manner that we become so identified with God that an energy is tapped to cast out devils. Darkness is powerful. Our lives offer much testimony to this truth. The act of prayer demonstrates an even greater power. It is the only power that can confront the powers of this world. Prayer rescues us from facing darkness alone. Our Lord provides—in this vivid story of a demon-possessed boy—the answer to a definition of prayer: Prayer is the confident engagement with an unseen, but very present God.

Joy,

Dr. Michael B. Brown wrote the following meditation.

“Don’t you have eyes Why can’t you see? Don’t you have ears? Why can’t you hear?” Mark 8:18 (Common English Bible)

And in the naked light, I saw ten thousand people, maybe more. 
People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening.1

“People hearing without listening” has always been a phrase that strikes a deep chord within me. Apparently long before those lyrics helped Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel score their very first hit song, the idea also resonated with Isaiah (6:10), Jeremiah (5:21), Ezekiel (12:2), and Jesus, who in the Gospel of Mark asked the poignant questions: “Don’t you have ears? Why can’t you hear?” (8:18)

I heard a man say some time ago: “The world consists of so much jabbering. So, I’ve learned to retreat into my own head space where it bounces off me. I hear the noise, but I’m really selective about when I choose to listen.” I get it. But, what if some of the jabbering (noise) is actually a cry for help? A cry to be noticed? To be seen? To be, for a precious and sacred moment, a little less alone?

My childhood pastor, the late Dr. Harlan Creech, used to talk about “the ministry of being there.” He contended that we rarely possess the power to resolve many (perhaps most) of the pains and problems we observe friends enduring. We have no magic wand to wave that can make all their suffering or sadness disappear. But, what we do have is presence. We can be there with people. For people. And at the heart of healing presence is the act of intentional listening. Tuning in. Taking someone’s words seriously. Because when we take what another person says seriously, we communicate that we take them seriously. It’s part of the ministry of being there, the grace of listening.

When my children were small, if we were seated on the couch with the TV on, and If one of them were trying to tell Daddy something but receiving no indication that I was listening, my children would physically take my face in their hands and turn it toward them. “Look at me,” they were saying. “Listen to me. I need you more than you need that television program.” “Don’t you have ears?,” Jesus asked. In our politically fractured society where we spend so much time shouting at each another, how much stronger could our nation be if we who are polarized would simply listen to one another with respect and a desire to understand? In our homes, how much more connected might we feel if we set aside disciplined time every day simply to listen to one another? How much stronger could our prayer lives become if part of praying for us was to be silent and still, saying to God, “Speak, Lord. Thy servant heareth”? (I Samuel 3:9 KJV) How much deeper could our friendships grow if we learned the beauty of the phrases, “Tell me about it,” or “I’d like to hear more about that”? And, in a culture where 75% of adults claim to feel a certain measure of loneliness, couldn’t the shadows give way to light for at least some of them if you and I would practice the grace of listening? Who is taking your face in their hands even now, crying out to be heard?

And in the naked light, I saw ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening.²

As followers of the one who took all people seriously, failing to listen to others (and, thus, failing to take them seriously) is failing to follow him closely enough.

Joy,

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¹ (Paul Simon, from Sounds of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel, NY: Columbia Records, 1966)

2 Ibid