The following meditation was written by Dr. Greg Rapier for Dr. Doug Hood’s upcoming book, A Month of Prayer & Gratitude: Five-Minute Meditations for a Deeper Experience of Gratitude.
“Jesus did many other things as well. If all of them were recorded, I imagine the world itself wouldn’t have enough room for the scrolls that would be written.”
John 21:25 (Common English Bible)
In elementary school, I had a friend named Clay who bragged that he had the best backyard in the world. He claimed to have two basketball courts, a soccer field, and a playground—all in his backyard. One day, Clay invited me to his house. We walked there after school, and I remember, upon entering, racing toward his backyard.
I rushed outside, looked around, and felt incredibly disappointed. A couple of trees, a barbeque, a football . . . but not much else. The whole yard was smaller than one basketball court—let alone two. Let alone a soccer field. And a playground? Forget about it.
I told Clay his backyard wasn’t big. And it wasn’t special.
Clay calmly picked his football off the grass and chucked it over the fence. Then he began to climb. “Come on,” he said. But I was afraid. I’d never climbed a fence before, and I was scared. Slowly, I began to climb. Just a step or two, enough to peek over the top. And sure enough, next to his football, on the opposite side of the fence, there were two basketball courts, a soccer field, and a playground.
Turns out Clay shared a fence with our elementary school. And that great big backyard that he often spoke of was right there all along.
John 21:25 reminds us that the Bible—for all its value and beauty—is a limited tool and that the verses of Scripture can’t possibly capture the totality of who God is. This verse, the final of John’s gospel, doesn’t seal God’s story shut but rather allows it to unfurl, to open up and bloom like a flower. It reminds us that God is alive and vibrant, even outside of Scripture. It invites us to see past the fences we construct—the fence of church, the fence of Scripture, the fence of scarcity and limited resources—to see past the small-minded lies we tell ourselves about a limited God in a scarce and Godless world, and to imagine a God of abundance. The Scripture calls us to get rid of a boxed-in God and instead, step across the fence into God’s great big backyard, an open space full of wonder, mystery, and abundance, where God’s story is still being written today. And where every new discovery is a reason for gratitude.
Rev. Dr. Yvonne Martinez Thorne wrote the following meditation to be featured in Dr. Doug Hood’s upcoming book, A Month of Prayer and Gratitude: Five-Minute Meditations for a Deeper Experience of Gratitude.
“But God definitely listened. He heard the sound of my prayer. Bless God! He didn’t reject my prayer; he didn’t withhold his faithful love from me.”
Psalm 66:19, 20 (Common English Bible)
It was the night before my husband and I were to fly back home. We enjoyed our Christmas holidays on the island of Tobago. The sunny days, lush tropical landscapes, the majestic Caribbean Sea, lagoons, tropical birds, and fresh coconut water had done much to restore me from the hustle and bustle of work and ministry. For some unknown reason, I could not fall asleep. After tossing and turning, I quietly got up, went to our patio, and began to pray. I then opened up my Bible. Psalm 66 drew me. I became curious about how verses 11 and 12 might apply to my life: “You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs. You let people ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance,” (Psalm 66:11, 12 NIV) I quietly wondered if something was about to happen. Little did I know that I would soon be encountering such a moment.
We took our final swim before heading back to our cabana. The Caribbean Sea was at its best for swimming through the waves and body surfing. My husband and I swam together as we waited for the perfect waves. As we were nearing our time to get out of the water, my husband made a gesture that I interpreted as: “This wave is a beauty. Let’s body surf it.” What I did not know was that this wave was not one to engage. I began to bodysurf the wave when suddenly and immediately, I became caught up in an undertow. What was I to do? Just as I wondered what to do, I heard the word “Surrender.” And I did. The undertow violently tossed me to and fro. I was thrust up into the air perpendicular to the ground by the force of the waves. At one point, another wave slammed my head into the sand. After what seemed like an eternity, the undertow let me go and I wobbly raised myself up and slowly walked to the shore and into the arms of my husband.
As we walked back to the cabana, I remembered the verses I had read. With tears welling up in my eyes, I knew that God had prepared me for what unexpectedly happened. I cried out, and he answered me. He brought me through an undertow and showed me an abundance of his love. I am ever so grateful to him.
As I reflected on what happened that morning, I came away with the thought that God sometimes allows undertows in our lives that we may experience our deep need and dependence on God and on his infinite love for us.
Undertows are powerful ocean currents. They form when receding waters from waves that have previously broken onto the shore merge together with incoming waves. Sometimes in our lives, we can experience the pull of undertows created by situations that come over us like waves breaking against our souls. They overwhelm us. Sometimes, we are able to face them and resolve them. At other times, the waves of life seem to break continuously against us and create an undertow, a powerful current that renders us unable to break free. The divine instruction remains the same: Surrender. “You let people ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance.” (Psalm 66:12 NIV). These moments invite us to a deeper experience of God’s love and goodness. With a surrendered heart, we overflow with gratitude.
Dr. Thomas K. Tewell wrote this meditation for Dr. Doug Hood’s upcoming book, A Month of Prayer & Gratitude: Five-Minute Meditations for a Deeper Experience of Gratitude.
“‘When you pray, don’t pour out a flood of empty words, as the Gentiles do. They think that by saying many words they’ll be heard.’”
Matthew 6:7 (Common English Bible)
Have you ever promised someone, “I’ll pray for you” . . . and then forgotten to do it? I have! Sometimes, I say that I’m going to pray for someone . . . but amid the busyness of life and ministry . . . I forget! Then a day later . . . I think of that person for whom I was going to pray . . . and my face turns red! So . . . I decided to adopt three habits that help me keep my promise. Maybe you will consider trying these habits too!
Habit #1. Get Specific. When I ask someone if they would allow me to pray with and for them, I ask them specifically what they’d like me to pray for. The specificity of their request has helped me enormously. Instead of offering “a general prayer” for someone, my prayer is in tune with the desires of their heart. And, when they give me something specific to pray for, I feel commissioned by them to pray . . . and I remember to do it! I also write their request down . . . that helps too!
Habit # 2. “A Prayer Bundle.” One of my spiritual practices is to keep a daily prayer bundle of people for whom I pray. Here is how it works. I pray for some people every day . . . my wife, two sons, two daughters in law and our grandchildren as well as the members of our Macedonian Ministry staff team and other friends. They are in my daily prayer bundle no matter what. And, I sometimes ask one or more of them specifically, “where do you need prayer right now? “They always seem to appreciate my asking. In addition, if I am working with a pastor on their preaching, leading a retreat for a church, or meeting with a cohort of Macedonian Ministry pastors, I put them in my prayer bundle. And . . . I take people in and out of my bundle as circumstances change.
Habit # 3. Checking in. I check in with the person for whom I am praying and I ask them about the specific things for which they asked me to pray. That way, I not only update my prayer bundle, but it reminds me to pray for them. I may send the person a text, an email, or give them a quick phone call to check-in. Checking in means a lot to people . . . and to me!
When I mentioned my “prayer bundle” concept at a retreat recently, two men introduced themselves to me whose lives have been radically changed by prayer. Bob and Jim had been roommates in college. After spending several years in the business world, without keeping in touch, they met again in an MBA program. After getting their business degrees, they both moved to Washington D.C., got married, started families, and have significant careers in our nation’s capital. Although their lives were quite similar, there was several major differences . . . Bob was a person of faith who had admitted the fact that he was an alcoholic and was getting help . . . while Jim was not a person of faith and, to be honest, he had not yet faced his drinking problem.
In a time of crisis, Jim reached out to Bob for help . . . knowing that Bob was a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. As Bob shared the brokenness of his life with Jim, and how he painfully came to the realization that he was powerless over alcohol . . . Jim realized that he had called the right friend. Jim shared his pain with Bob . . . pain that he had not shared with anyone. For the first time in his life Jim said these words . . . and meant them . . . “I am an alcoholic.” That very night, Bob took Jim to his first A.A. meeting. As they talked after the meeting Jim said to Bob, “Now comes the hard part. I have to go home and tell my wife.” Jim had actually tried telling her a few years earlier, but the words wouldn’t come.
Bob asked, “When are you going to tell her?” Jim said, “I think I’ll tell her after we take the kids to school tomorrow morning. Bob said, “Jim, is there any time that you will be alone between now and then?” Jim said, “The only time that I will be alone between now and telling her is when I get into the shower in the morning.” Bob said, “What time is that?” Jim said, “I can set my watch by it. I get into the shower at ten minutes of seven every morning.” Bob said, “Ok, when you get into the shower and the water pours down on your face, imagine that the water is the healing power of God. I know you have doubts about the God thing . . . I understand that . . . but trust me that whoever God is will be there to give you the words to say to Ann. And, remember . . . I will be praying for you at exactly ten minutes to seven.”
The next morning at ten minutes of seven, the water came down on Jim . . . and nothing special happened. No lightning bolts . . . no voice from God. However, Jim did feel an inner assurance that he was doing the right thing by being honest with his wife. When he stammered out the words that he was an alcoholic . . . Ann got up from the table, came right over to Jim, and hugged him. She said, “Honey . . . I’ve known this for a long time, but I didn’t know whether you knew it.” Ann had been secretly going to Al-Anon meetings for spouses of alcoholics, but now Jim and Ann could face this challenge together. For the first time in his life, Jim thought . . . “there may be a God.”
At the retreat, Jim told me that he believes in God . . . and he has been free of alcohol for over two years. He is starting to feel much better, but he knows that he has to say “no” to alcohol . . . one day at a time! Jim also told me that the key moment for him was when Bob told him that he was going to pray for him at ten minutes of seven! These men have been praying for each other at ten minutes of seven each morning for the past two years. They pray and check in about everything . . . their lives, their marriages . . . their roles as fathers . . . their careers. Everything.
The truth is that they are in each other’s prayer bundles! They did not know what to call their practice . . . and I gave them a name for it . . . prayer bundles! That’s why when I mentioned this at the retreat, they were eager to tell me their story. And, they wanted to tell me why it is so meaningful to them to meet every morning . . . at ten minutes of seven . . . in their hearts! Tell me . . . do you have a prayer bundle? And, do you have someone with whom you could pray at ten minutes of seven?
“My whole being waits for my Lord—more than the night watch waits for morning; yes, more than the night watch waits for the morning!”
Psalm 130:6 (Common English Bible)
I have always heard that life is the great teacher. Now that I am in my sixties, the truth of that axiom presses more clearly than ever before. But I have found increasingly that young children are also a great teacher. Recently I watched a young child, accidently separated from his mother, experience panic when he realized mom was no longer in sight. They were in a major department store and, apparently, one or the other turned a corner and the other did not. It is a familiar story. I kept my eye on the child while he sought his mother—my desire that he not encounter trouble until mother was again in sight. What I observed of the child taught me a powerful biblical principal—though the child was separated, for a time, from his mother, and though he was clearly experiencing distress from this separation, he continued his search, calling out to her. Here was a child who is dependent upon his mother, now separated from her, who never gave up hope that he would again be with her.
That is the same basic drive located here in this teaching from Psalm 130. The palmist, the protagonist of this narrative, feels separated from God. Present is fear, distress, and disillusionment from the separation. Almost everyone comes to this place, a place when God seems absent, and all hope appears gone. Early on, we try to throw ourselves into our work seeking to ignore the anxiety that grows upon us. But that only helps for a while. Eventually, the darkness of grief, heartache, and disappointment overwhelms. Darkness will not be ignored. We consider one option and then another, any option that might be available to ease the persistent turmoil that stirs deep in our soul. But options are hard to see in the dark, hard to see clearly any way. Eventually we come to realize that we cannot find our way out from the darkness. All that remains is that we wait. We wait for the night to scatter with the rising of the morning sun. That is hard work—waiting. It is realizing there is nothing more that we can do.
Occasionally everyone comes to a place in life when continuing forward seems futile and, overwhelmed by the darkness, considers quitting and surrendering to the night. Events and situations appear to be without hope. The road of despair seems to have no clear destination in sight. But notice what is the same between the lost child in a department store and the psalmist here—both appear to have a small, inextinguishable flame of hope. They both keep going. Giving up and giving in to the darkness is not an option. Perhaps they each experience what seems to be overwhelming forces, or circumstance, that demand surrender. Yet, each one continues to put on foot in front of the other. The psalmist waits for God as the night watch waits for the morning. The lost child turns one corner and then another, calling out to his mother. They both realize that if they keep going, keep hoping, what seems like the end will, eventually, be nothing more than a unpleasant stretch along the longer journey of life.
I never learned the thoughts of the child looking for his mother. There was no way of knowing how he was processing this unfortunate separation. I suppose that his continued seeking, his continued calling to his mother, is enough. But the psalmist does give us more. A final word of the psalm is an expression of absolute trust in the Lord, “Israel, wait for the Lord! Because faithful love is with the Lord; because great redemption is with our God!” (verse 7) The cry that began the psalmist prayer is transformed into hope, a confidence that the very nature of God is one that is trustworthy. Faithful love is love that keeps on loving, no matter what. When we are exhausted from the heavy weight of difficulty, crushed from the disappointment of life, and discouraged that we can see no destination, what this psalm teaches is that waiting is the most hopeful thing we can do. Waiting is hard work. But that is why the church has been given this psalm—to encourage us to remain on the job of waiting. For only God brings the morning. And in the light of morning, we find our way back home to God.
“My Father’s house has room to spare. If that weren’t the case, would I have told you that I’m going to prepare a place for you? When I go to prepare a place for you, I will return and take you to be with me so that where I am you will be too.”
John 14: 2, 3 (Common English Bible)
Immediately following the closing ceremony for Vacation Bible School, one child squealed with considerable delight: “I’m going to stay in this church forever!” Why was this? Was she taking delight in the beautiful architecture of the sanctuary? Perhaps the abundant natural light pouring through all the stained-glass windows. Often, I hear from those well-traveled that our windows are equal to anything they have seen in European churches. Or it may be the striking beauty of the bright red carpet as it contrasts to the bright white interior and the spaciousness of the church furniture. Another possibility, of course, may the majesty of the pipe-organ, gold pipes of every size glistening under bright spotlights. In my thirty-seven years of ministry, First Presbyterian Church of Delray Beach remains among the most beautiful churches I have seen. It may be, simply, that this eight-year-old girl was responding to the overall beauty of the church: “I’m going to stay in this church forever!”
Naturally, each of these features strikes a positive impression and every adult who worships see the intentional planning from the initial design to the first service—every adult, not eight-year-old children. Which returns us to the original question, what was that little girl’s exclamation all about, “I’m going to stay in this church forever!” Five days of Vacation Bible School had just concluded. Each of those days were filled with imaginative teaching of the story of Jesus in his hometown of Nazareth. Sprinkled throughout the teaching was engaging singing, craft-making, snacks, and experiencing the delight and love of the other children and adult teachers. Not one feature of the sanctuary, with its remarkable beauty, touched the thirty-one children that week. The experience of an extended family of love, and embrace, and encouragement is what positively impacted the children. It was the silliness, and laughter, and singing together, woven together into a beautiful tapestry, that created a longing to remain there forever. Together, they had created a home away from home.
There is no place like home—a sentiment that resonates with every heart that has lived in one place for a meaningful period. Families grew by the birth of children, and possibly, declined with the death of a loved one. Homework was completed, music lessons endured, and birthdays and anniversaries celebrated. Dinner tables welcomed special guests, particularly during the holidays, and the seasons of the year were marked by decorations and family traditions that go way, way back. Home was more than a place where you happened to be living for a time. Home became a special place, distinguishable from other places, from the rich stories that were woven into the fabric of a special and unique family. Except home, that unique story that is so sweet, that is unlike any other place, is not the actual residence. Any other family could have lived in the same place and created an entirely different story, a different home. Like a church sanctuary, a residence is simply where stories of love, laughter, and meaning are woven together into a home.
Homes are never sold. Homes are never damaged by weather. Homes are never foreclosed by a lending institution. Each of those scenarios belong to physical dwellings, a residence. Homes move from one residence to another. Homes grow by births and contract by deaths. Homes are always in a continued state of birth and rebirth. Stories are crafted, relationships are deepened, scars occasionally appear from misunderstandings, poorly spoken words, and simple human frailty, and made whole again by extravagant forgiveness. Home is a feeling of belonging. Occasionally, a residence will change due to a change in employment, a retirement, or changes in health. A home remains a home from one residence to another. Changes in residences provide an opportunity to expand the tapestry of home—new stories, new experiences, new opportunities such as that experienced by an eight-year-old girl during Vacation Bible School. Leaving a residence is difficult when the dwelling is confused with home. Only one response is healthy as a residence is left—gratitude, gratitude for the home that was built there. The home that now moves to another place.
“To one he gave five valuable coins, and to another he gave two, and to another he gave one.”
Matthew 25:15 (Common English Bible)
It is natural to strive for greatness, for recognition, and for making a large contribution. Each one of us is endowed with some talent, some gift, and ability and the business of life is to discover what it is. Once discovered, that talent is developed and polished much like a rough, natural diamond that is placed in the hands of a jeweler. No one really wants to be common. Every normal young person has dreams and aspirations and strives to get on with life, climb the success ladder and, pass others in their walk of life.
This is admirable, of course, if the motivation is wholesome and the desire is directed toward worthy ends. But our Lord’s parable of the valuable coins is a reminder that there is a limit on each one of us. Some may be endowed with greater ability but everyone has some limit on their capacity for achievement. Five-star generals do not win battles by themselves. Without apology, Jesus teaches that talent and ability are unevenly distributed. Some people will be exceptionally talented and have the potential for greater accomplishment than others. Some are uncommonly gifted and many of us are simply common.
The question then becomes, will we do our best with what we have? Will we focus our efforts on maximum contribution, to the welfare of others, or will we begin to whine and recline because we cannot shine? Unreasonable expectations and demands upon ourselves result in chronic unhappiness and diminish not only our lives but also the lives of those who love us. There are far more ordinary doctors, lawyers, and persons in the service sector and administrative roles than exceptional ones. Yet, each has the capacity to make an important contribution each day to their families, friends, and community.
The simple and practical course to follow is to make a realistic appraisal of our capacity and gifts. This may mean for many the discarding of delusions of grandeur, acknowledging and accepting that in the Lord’s distribution of gifts we may have received only one or two talents and that God’s expectation of us is the same as those who received five talents. The acid test of character is whether we have discovered what talent we have and then, having discovered it, placed it to maximum use. That is when the common life is lived uncommonly.
“Love is patient, love is kind, it isn’t jealous, it doesn’t brag, it isn’t arrogant.”
1 Corinthians 13:4 (Common English Bible)
It is reported that Abraham Lincoln once made a speech before a huge audience and was greeted with loud and long applause. As he was leaving the podium, a man said, “That was a great speech Mr. President; listen to how they enjoyed what you said!” Lincoln, in his usual self-deprecating manner, responded, “I am kept humble by the fact that the crowd would be twice as large if I were to be hanged.”[1] Always modest, never vaulting himself or puffed up, Abraham Lincoln cared little for his own reputation. He did not need to. His love for his country and his desire for useful service characterized by empathy, humility, and respect for opposing opinions made him as large as the monument erected in his honor in Washington, D.C.
“Love,” the apostle Paul writes, doesn’t brag, nor is it arrogant. These two qualities of love are closely related to each other. “Doesn’t brag” refers to outward conduct and behavior; “isn’t arrogant” refers to an inward disposition. Together they characterize someone who is modest, ready to stoop to serve. We think again of Jesus on that dark night that he was betrayed. On their way to the Upper Room, the disciples disputed as to whom of them was the greatest. Each of them presented arguments for their own claim to the highest honor. The result was that when they arrived in the Upper Room and took their seats, not one of them would stoop to the humble service of foot washing. So, Jesus rose from the table, took a towel and a basin, and began to wash the disciple’s feet.
The church in Corinth is experiencing quarrelsome behavior that is dividing the faith community. Various members are elevating themselves, declaring possession of the greater spiritual gifts. The one who has the gift of tongues believed they exercised a gift beyond compare, especially over the more plain and practical gift of prophecy. The same manner of boasting and argument infused the discourse over any number of spiritual gifts. Rather than placing each gift at the disposal of the community, to bless and build, competitiveness became the order of the day. The result of all the boasting was friction and strife. The cure for all that, writes the apostle Paul, is love—a love that has no mark of brag, or swank, or swagger. Genuine love, love that builds the community of faith is modest.
Love never seeks to assert its superiority. The love that Paul desires for the Corinthian Church is one that serves, seeking the welfare of others. That love takes no notice of the worthiness of another. Nor does it seek acknowledgment. Only one concern is present—to serve another in a manner that eases the strain and burden of life. It is a love that is captured by the belief that God continues to be at work in the lives of individuals, reconciling them to God and changing them into something so much more than they presently are. As this demonstration of love takes possession of our souls, what is ugly, bitter, and broken in our lives is diminished. What increases in our hearts is patience and love that knows no jealousy and celebrates the gladness of another.
Rev. Susan Sparks wrote the following meditation to be featured in Dr. Doug Hood’s upcoming book, A Month of Prayer and Gratitude: Five Minute Meditations for a Deeper Experience of Gratitude.
“And serve each other according to the gift each person has received, as good managers of God’s diverse gifts.”
1 Peter 4:10 (Common English Bible)
As a minister, you love everyone in your congregation. However, if you’re honest, you have to admit that there are certain people you are especially happy to see. For me, that was Sarah Goodson. Raised during the Depression on a share-cropper’s farm in the South Carolina low country, Sarah loved two things in this life more than anything: her family and taking care of people. She moved to New York City in the 1940s to give her family a better life and became a nurse to care for others. She made those two things a priority in every part of her life—down to what she carried in her purse.
I always loved to see Sarah coming into church with her big ole pocketbook because I knew what was in it. After each service during coffee hour, she would open her overstuffed bag and pull out the newest photos of her grandkids (not individual photos, but the old school kind where you flip open the book and the photos unfold in zig-zag plastic holders all the way to the floor). Then, as the picture albums were being passed around, little Ziploc bags and Tupperware containers would magically emerge from that purse—bags full of fried chicken, collard greens, shrimp and okra gumbo, oxtail stew, hot corn muffins with blueberries, and, of course, peanut butter pie. One time I asked Sarah how she got all that stuff in her purse, and she told me about a gratitude ritual she performed every Saturday night. She would sit at her kitchen table, remove all the extra, heavy junk in her bag that she had collected during the week, then fill it back up with the important things for which she was grateful: photos of her grandkids and food to feed her church. It was a simple thing: cleaning out her purse. Yet it had such an impact, including the smiles on people’s faces as they looked at the photos of the grandchildren and the comfort felt by all who ate that delicious food.
Perhaps we follow Sarah’s lead and do a little Saturday night purse cleaning of our own hearts. Let’s start with this question: What emotional baggage are you carrying today that you should unload? Everyone’s answer is probably different. I’m going to pick one that I bet most of us carry: worry. Easy to do, fixes nothing. Rev. Joyce Myers once said, “Worry is like a rocking chair—it’s always in motion, but it never gets you anywhere.” Worry can take over our lives, crowd out all things that matter, even make us sick. But we have an alternative. We can clean out the purse of our heart and hand our worries over to a greater power. Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are struggling hard and carrying heavy leads, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). Bottom line: worry or believe. You can’t do both. Which leads to my next question: What will you put in the place of worry? What is important to you? For what purpose are you here? I suggest that we follow Sarah’s lead in this, too. When I had the great honor of performing Sarah’s funeral after she passed away, the message that people shared over and over was that she had brought them joy and made them feel loved. Is there any greater legacy?
This week, do a Saturday night purse cleaning in your life. Identify the things that are weighing you down emotionally, physically, or spiritually and clean them out. Then, refocus on the things that matter. Spend time with your family. Share photographs that make people smile. Stuff a Ziploc bag of yummy food in your purse or pocket and share it with others. Bring a little love and joy to this hungry world. And do it today. As Sarah would say, “Life is too hard and too short to carry things that just don’t matter.”
The following meditation was written by Dr. Doug Hood’s son, Nathanael Hood, M.Div.
“At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ Then he called a little child over to sit among the disciples, and said, ‘I assure you that if you don’t turn your lives around and become like this little child, you will definitely not enter the kingdom of heaven. Those who humble themselves like this little child will be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.’”
Matthew 18:1-5 (Common English Bible)
Once in a priory in Paris, there lived a monk. A clumsy but well-meaning fellow, he’d left behind the secular world in his twenties to join the Carmelites, a Catholic order devoted to poverty and prayer. His life before the order had been a difficult one—born an impoverished peasant, he’d fought as a soldier in the cataclysmic Thirty Years’ War which decimated central Europe in the early seventeenth century. He saw much fighting, was once almost hanged by enemy troops, and was left lame by his injuries. Unable to remain a soldier, he began his new life of prayer and contemplation in 1640, taking the religious name “Lawrence of the Resurrection.” Brother Lawrence’s first ten years as a monk were difficult ones which saw him battling feelings of guilt and unworthiness. But as the years crept by, he eventually surrendered himself to God’s mercy and became a model monk. He spent most of his life quietly toiling away in the priory’s kitchen, a job he initially disliked, only switching to a less strenuous one after one of his lame legs became ulcerated.1
Brother Lawrence died at the age of 80 in 1691 after a lifetime of service, but unlike most monks and nuns who live and die in historical anonymity, we remember his name and deeds over three centuries later. A collection of his letters and sayings were gathered together after his death by a cleric named Abbé Joseph de Beaufort and published as The Practice of the Presence of God,a remarkable little book that’s been published in countless editions in several languages. The book is suffused with the insight and wisdom of a man whose “principle endeavor [was] to stay as close as possible to God, doing, saying, and thinking nothing that might displease Him.”2 Indeed, it could be said he was a man who loved, worshiped, and prayed as a child.
But what does this mean, to love, pray, and worship as a child? For an answer we turn to the eighteenth chapter of the Gospel of Matthew where Jesus’ disciples come to Jesus with a question: who among them would be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? Jesus’ answer took everyone by surprise, explaining that the greatest among them would be those who were most like a child. Part of the shock of Jesus’ answer came from the lowly status children had in ancient Israel, but much of it came from the idea that adults should mimic children! Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Children are loud, emotional, demanding, and often smelly! How could children possibly be a model of faith and piety? For that, I would answer that anyone who has spent a good amount of time among children know that they don’t do things by half-measures. They love mightily, hate bitterly, feel deeply. To be like a child is to surrender oneself entirely and wholeheartedly.
The great preacher and writer Harry Emerson Fosdick once wrote that “to pray to God as though he were Santa Claus is childish; but a man may still be childlike in his faith and range up into another sort of praying.”3 Put simply, to pray selflessly is childlike; to pray selfishly is childish. God wants us to offer up our earnest needs and desires in prayer, yes, but it should be accompanied by our total surrender to the Almighty. Just as a child rushes into a parent’s arms, so must we rush into our Heavenly Father’s arms when we pray. Consider Brother Lawrence. He could have done nothing but pray for healing in his legs or a better job outside the hustle and bustle of the kitchen—but that would have been praying selfishly. Instead, he prayed to know God in his every waking moment, both at rest and at work, in his strength and in his weakness. May it be so for all of us every day.
Joy,
1Miller, Patricia. “Introduction.” Introduction. In Walking with the Father: Wisdom from Brother Lawrence. Ijamsville, MD: The Word Among Us Press, 1999, 7-11.
2Brother Lawrence. The Practice of the Presence of God. New Kensington, PA: Whitaker House, 1982, 28.
Rev. Susan Sparks wrote the following meditation to be featured in Dr. Doug Hood’s upcoming 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.
Nurture Faith with Dr. Doug Hood 