Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication,
with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. (Phil. 4:6)
The judge owned
a gated mansion in Beverly Hills. He smoked Cuban cigars, wore Armani suits and
drove a Bentley with a personalized
license plate that read, Res Ipsa, which
is Latin shorthand for “the thing speaks for itself.” He was on the payroll of
every cartel and drug dealer on the west coast. They kept him in office; he
kept them out of jail. They gave him votes; he gave them a pass. He was a
crook. His mother knew it. His priest knew it. His kids knew it. God knew it.
The judge couldn't care less. He never gave God a second thought, or an honest
person a second chance. According to Jesus the judge was a scoundrel.
He certainly
didn't care about the widow. "A widow of that city came to him repeatedly,
saying, ‘Give me justice in this legal dispute with the plaintiff.'" (Luke
18:3) Let’s call her Ethel. She had a simple look to her: hair tied in a bun,
plaid dress, old jogging shoes that appeared to have been rescued from a yard
sale. If the judge were his Bentley, then Ethel was a clunker. But for an old
clunker she had a lot of horsepower. She was determined to escape a certain litigant.
A bill collector? An angry landlord? An oppressive neighbor? We don’t know, but
someone had turned against her and was suing her. Someone had resolved to take
her to the cleaners. She pleaded her case and begged for justice. No luck. She
exhausted every possible solution. Finally, in a burst of chutzpah, she sought
the assistance of the judge.
Every morning
when he stepped out of his limo, there Ethel stood on the courthouse sidewalk.
"Can I have a minute, Your Honor?" When he exited his chambers, Ethel
was waiting in the hallway. "Judge, I need your help." At Giovanni's, where the judge ate lunch,
she approached his table. "Just a few minutes of your time." How she
got past the maitre d', the judge didn’t
know. But there she was. Ethel even sat in the front row of the courtroom
during trials, holding up a cardboard sign that read, "Can you help
me?" During his Saturday-morning golf game, she walked out of the bushes
near the fourth fairway. Ethel also annoyed the judge's wife. She hounded the
judge's secretary. "Do something about Ethel," they demanded.
"She's a pest!" "For a while the judge refused to help her."
(v. 4)
One day, when
the coast was clear, the judge dashed from his office to his limo and jumped in
the backseat, only to be confronted by you-know-who. Ethel was in the car. He
was stuck. He took one look at her and sighed, "Lady, you don't get it, do
you? I don't like people. I don't believe in God. There’s nothing good in me.
Yet you keep asking me to help you." "Just a small favor," Ethel
asked, holding her thumb a quarter inch from her forefinger. He growled through
clenched teeth, "Anything to be rid of you. What do you want?" She
spilled out a story that included the words widow,
broke and the phrase eviction notice. The judge stared out
the car window as she pleaded for his intervention. "He thought to
himself, 'Even though I don't respect God or care about people, I will see that
she gets her rights. Otherwise she will continue to bother me until I am worn
out.'" (vv. 4-5)
When she finally
paused to take a breath, he waved her silent. "Okay, okay. I'll give you a
break." "You will?" "Yes, but on one condition."
"Anything." "That you get out of my life!" "Yes, I
promise." Ethel beamed. "Can I give you a hug?" He told her “No,”
but she hugged the judge anyway. She jumped out of the car and danced a jig on
the sidewalk. The dishonest judge rode away, grumbling. And we, the readers,
look up from Luke's gospel and wonder, What’s
this story doing in the Bible?
A corrupt
official. A persistent gadfly. Reluctant benevolence. No compassion or concern.
Is there a message in this account? Is God a reluctant judge? Are we the
marginalized widow? Is prayer a matter of pestering God until he breaks down
and gives us what we want? No, this is a parable of contrast, not comparison.
The judge groused, complained and murmured. Yet "even he rendered a just
decision in the end. So don't you think God will surely give justice to his
chosen people who cry out to him day and night? . . . I tell you, he will grant
justice to them quickly!" (Luke 18:7-8)
God is not the
reluctant judge in this story, and we are not the widow. The widow in the story
was at the bottom of the pecking order. She had nowhere to turn. But as a child
of the King, you’re at the front of the line. You, at any moment, can turn to
God. God doesn't delay. He never places you on hold, or tells you to call again
later. God loves the sound of your voice. He doesn't hide when you call. He
hears your prayers. And for that reason we can "be anxious for nothing,
but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let (our)
requests be made known to God." (Phil. 4:6) With this verse the apostle
calls us to take action against anxiety. Until this point he has been assuring
us of God's character: his sovereignty, mercy and presence. Now it’s our turn
to act on this belief. We choose prayer over despair. Peace happens when people
pray, and God calls us to pray about everything.
The terms prayer, supplication and requests used
in Philippians 4:6 are similar, but not identical. Prayer is a general
devotion; the word includes worship and adoration. Supplication suggests
humility. We are the supplicants in the sense that we make no demands; we
simply offer humble requests. A request is exactly that – a specific petition.
We tell God exactly what we want. We pray the particulars of our problem. What
Jesus said to the blind man, he says to us: "What do you want me to do for
you?" (Luke 18:41) One would think that the answer would have been obvious;
self-evident. When a sightless man requests Jesus' help, isn't it apparent what
he needs? Yet Jesus wanted to hear the man articulate his specific requests. He
wants the same from us. "Let your requests be made known to God."
When the wedding
ran low on wine, Mary wasn't content to say, "Help us, Jesus." She
was specific: "They have no more wine." (John 2:3) The needy man in another
of Jesus' parables said, "Friend, lend me three loaves" (Luke 11:5) not,
"Hey, can you help a brother out?" He made a specific request. Even
Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane prayed specifically: "Take this cup from
me." (Luke 22:42) Why does it matter? Well first, a specific prayer is a
serious prayer. If I say to you, "Do you mind if I come by your house
sometime?" you may not take me seriously. But suppose I say, "Can I
come over this Friday night? I have a problem at work and I really need your
advice. I can be there at seven, and I promise I’ll leave in an hour."
Then you know my petition is sincere. When we offer specific requests, God
knows the same.
Second, specific
prayer is an opportunity for us to see God at work. When we see him respond in
specific ways to specific requests, our faith grows. The book of Genesis
relates the wonderful prayer of Abraham's servant. He was sent to Mesopotamia,
Abraham's homeland, to find a wife for Abraham's son. Now, just how does a
servant select a wife for someone else in a foreign country? This servant
prayed about it. "Please give me success today, and show unfailing love to
my master, Abraham. See, I am standing here beside this spring, and the young
women of the town are coming out to draw water. This is my request. I will ask
one of them, 'Please give me a drink from your jug.' If she says, 'Yes, have a
drink, and I will water your camels, too!' – let her be the one you have
selected as Isaac's wife. This is how I will know that you have shown unfailing
love to my master." (Gen. 24:12-14)
Could the
servant have been more detailed? He asked for success in his endeavor. He
envisioned an exact dialogue, and then he stepped forth in faith. Scripture
says, "Before he had finished speaking, Rebekah appeared." (Gen. 24:15)
She said the words, and the servant had an answered prayer. He saw God at work.
Third, specific
prayer creates a lighter load. Many of our anxieties are threatening because
they are ill-defined and vague. If we can distill the challenge into a phrase,
we bring it down to size. It’s one thing to pray, Lord, please bless my meeting tomorrow. It’s another thing altogether
to pray, Lord, I have a conference with
my supervisor at 2:00 p.m., tomorrow. She intimidates me. Would you please
grant me a spirit of peace so I can sleep well tonight? Grant me wisdom so I
can enter the meeting prepared. And would you soften her heart toward me and
give her a generous spirit? Help us have a gracious conversation in which both
of us benefit and your name is honored. There. You have reduced the problem
into a prayer-sized challenge. This isn’t an endorsement of a demanding,
conditional prayer that presumes to tell God what to do, and when. Nor am I
suggesting that the power of prayer resides in chanting the right formula, or
quoting some secret code. Don’t think for a moment that the power of prayer
resides in the way we present it. God isn’t manipulated or impressed by our
formulas, or eloquence.
But he is moved
by a sincere request. After all, isn’t he our Father? As his children we honor
him when we tell him exactly what we need. "Cast all your anxiety on him
because he cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7) Casting is an intentional act for
purposes of relocating an object. When the disciples prepared Jesus to ride
into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, they "cast their garments upon the colt."
(Luke 19:35) The crowd removed the garments off their backs and spread them in
the path of Christ. Let this kind of "throwing," or casting action be
your first response to bad news. As you sense anxiety welling up inside you,
cast it in the direction of Jesus. Do so specifically and immediately. Take
your problem to Christ and tell him, "You said you would help me. Would
you?"
The Old
Testament prophet Isaiah said, "Put the Lord in remembrance [of His
promises], keep not silence." (Isa. 62:6) God told Isaiah, "Put Me in
remembrance; let us contend together." (Isa. 43:26) God invites you, no, commands
you to remind him of his promises. Populate your prayer with "God, you
said …." "You said you would walk me through the waters." (Isa.
43:2) "You said you would lead me through the valley." (Ps. 23:4)
"You said that you would never leave or forsake me." (Heb. 13:5) Find
a promise that fits your problem and build your prayer around it. These prayers
of faith touch the heart of God and activate the angels of heaven. Miracles are
set into motion. Your answer may not come overnight, but it will come. And you
will overcome. "Prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and
long. Pray for your brothers and sisters." (Eph. 6:18) The path to peace is
paved with prayer. Less consternation, more supplication; fewer anxious
thoughts, more prayer-filled thoughts. And as you pray, the peace of God will
guard your heart and mind.
So go ahead,
COVID – call out victory in despair and see the mighty things that God will do.
“The LORD replied, “Look around at the nations; look and be amazed! For I am
doing something in your own day, something you wouldn’t believe even if someone
told you about it.” (Habakkuk 1:5)
Grace,
Randy
[1] Call
Out Victory In Despair
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