Choose Prayer Over Despair

 

Choose Prayer Over Despair

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 and 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 civil 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, please?" How she got past the maître 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 lining the fourth fairway. Ethel also annoyed the judge's wife. She even 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 this time to be confronted by you-know-who. Ethel was in the car, and 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 her 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 and God doesn't delay. He never places you on hold or tells you to call back 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) Now, 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 very 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 find a wife for someone else in a foreign country of all things? Well, 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 any 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, like your anxiety. 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, actually 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, 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

A Contagious Calm

 

A Contagious Calm

A Contagious Calm - Audio/Visual 

Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything. (Phil. 4:5-6)

Disaster was as close as pushing a red button. Four Russian submarines patrolled the Florida coast. US warships had dropped depth charges. The Russian captain was stressed, trigger-happy and ready to destroy a few American cities. Each sub was armed with a nuclear warhead. Each warhead had the potential to inflict Hiroshima-level devastation. Had it not been for the contagious calm of a clear-thinking officer, World War III might have begun in 1962. His name was Vasili Arkhipov. He was the thirty-six-year-old chief of staff for a clandestine fleet of Russian submarines. The crew members assumed that they were being sent on a training mission off the Siberian coast. They came to learn that they had been commissioned to travel five thousand miles to the southwest to set up a spearhead for a base near Havana, Cuba. The subs went south and then, not long thereafter, so did their mission.

In order to move quickly, the submarines traveled on the surface of the water, where they ran head-on into Hurricane Daisy. The fifty-foot waves left the men nauseated and the operating systems compromised. Then came the warm waters. Soviet subs were designed for the polar waters, not the tropical Atlantic. Temperatures inside the vessels exceeded 120 degrees Fahrenheit. The crew battled the heat and claustrophobia for much of the three-week journey. By the time they were near the coast of Cuba, the men were exhausted, on edge and anxious. The situation worsened when the subs received cryptic instructions from Moscow to turn northward and patrol the coastline of Florida. Soon after they entered American waters, their radar picked up the signal of a dozen ships and aircraft. The Americans were following the Russians. The US ships set off depth charges. The Russians assumed they were under attack, and the captain lost his cool. He summoned his staff to his command post and pounded the table with his fists. "We're going to blast them now! We will die, but we will sink them all – we will not disgrace our navy!" But then Vasili Arkhipov asked for a moment with his captain. The two men stepped to the side where he urged his superior to reconsider.

He suggested they talk to the Americans before reacting. The captain listened. His anger cooled. He gave the order for the vessels to surface. The Americans encircled the Russians and kept them under surveillance. What they intended to do is unclear because in a couple of days the Soviets dove, eluded the Americans, and made it back home safely. This incredible brush with death was kept secret for decades. Arkhipov deserved a medal, yet he lived the rest of his life with no recognition. It was not until 2002 that the public learned of the barely avoided catastrophe. As the director of the National Security Archive stated, "The lesson from this [event] is that a guy named Vasili Arkhipov saved the world."

Why does this story matter? You won’t spend three weeks in a sweltering Russian sub, but you may spend a semester carrying a heavy class load, or you may fight the headwinds of a recession. You may spend night after night at the bedside of a sick child or an aging parent. You may fight to keep a family together, or a business afloat. You’ll be tempted to press the button, releasing not nuclear warheads, but angry outbursts, a rash of accusations, a fiery retaliation of hurtful words. How many people have been wounded as a result of unbridled stress? And how many disasters have been averted because one person refused to buckle under the strain?

It’s this kind of composure that Paul is summoning in the first of a trio of proclamations. "Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything." (Phil. 4:5-6) The Greek word translated here as “gentleness,” epieikes, describes a temperament that is seasoned and mature. It envisions an attitude that is fitting to the occasion, levelheaded and tempered. The gentle reaction is one of steadiness, even-handedness and fairness. Its opposite would be an overreaction or a sense of panic. And this kind of gentleness will be "evident to all." Family members will take note. Your friends will sense a difference. Co-workers will benefit from it. Others may freak out or run out, but the gentle person is sober-minded and clear thinking. A contagious calm.

The contagiously calm person is the one who reminds others, "God is in control." It’s the executive who tells the company, "Let's all do our part; we'll be okay." It’s the leader who sees the challenge, acknowledges it, and then observes, "These are tough times, but we'll get through them." But this “gentleness” of which Paul speaks – where do we quarry that particular gem? How can you and I keep our finger off the trigger? How can we keep our heads when everyone else is losing theirs? The answer lies in plumbing the depths of the second phrase. "Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything." (Phil. 4:5-6)

“The Lord is near.” In other words, you’re not alone. You may feel alone. You may even think you’re alone. But there’s never a moment in which you face life without help. God is near. God repeatedly pledges his proverbial presence to his people. To Abram, God said, "Do not be afraid. . . . I am your shield, your exceedingly great reward." (Gen. 15:1) To Hagar, the angel announced, "Do not be afraid; God has heard." (Gen. 21:17) When Isaac was expelled from his land by the Philistines and forced to move from place to place, God appeared to him and reminded him, "Do not be afraid, for I am with you." (Gen. 26:24) After Moses' death God told Joshua, "Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go." (Josh. 1:9) God was with David, in spite of his adultery; with Jacob, in spite of his conniving; and with Elijah, in spite of his lack of faith.

Then, in the ultimate declaration of communion, God called himself Immanuel, which means "God with us." He became flesh. He became sin. He defeated the grave. He is still with us. In the form of his Spirit, he comforts, teaches and convicts. Don’t assume that God is watching from a distance. Avoid the quicksand that bears the marker, "God has left you!" Don’t indulge that lie. If you do, your problem will be amplified by a sense of loneliness. It's one thing to face a challenge, but to face it all alone? Isolation creates a downward cycle of fret. Choose, instead, to be the person who clutches to God’s presence with both hands. "The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?" (Ps. 118:6) Because the Lord is near, we can be anxious for nothing. And that’s Paul's point.

Remember, Paul was writing a letter. He didn’t write to the Philippian church using chapter and verse numbers. That system was created by scholars in the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries. The structure helps us, but it can also hinder us. The apostle intended the words of verses 5 and 6 to be read in one fell swoop. "The Lord is near, so don’t be anxious about anything." We can calmly take our concerns to God because he’s as near as our next breath. This was the reassuring lesson from the miracle of the bread and fish. In an event crafted to speak to the anxious heart, Jesus told his disciples to do the impossible: feed five thousand people. "Jesus lifted up his eyes, and seeing a great multitude coming toward him, he said to Philip, 'Where shall we buy bread, that these may eat?' But he said this to test him, for he himself knew what he would do." (John 6:5-6)

When John described this gathering as a "great multitude," he wasn’t kidding. There were five thousand men, plus women and children. (Matt. 14:21) Imagine a capacity crowd at a sports arena, and you've got the picture. Jesus was willing to feed the entire crowd. The disciples, on the other hand, wanted to get rid of everyone. "Send the multitudes away, so that they may go into the villages and buy themselves food." (Matt. 14:15) It has a tone of anxiety, aggravation, or maybe frustration. They don't call Jesus "Master." They don't come to him with a suggestion. They march as a group to Christ and tell him what to do. The disciples see a valley full of people. Growling stomachs will soon become scowling faces, and the disciples could have a riot on their hands. They had every reason to feel unsettled.

But then again, didn’t they have equal reason to feel at peace? By this point in their experience with Jesus they had seen him heal leprosy (Matt. 8:3), heal the centurion's servant without even going to the servant's bedside (Matt. 8:13), heal Peter's mother-in-law (Matt. 8:15), calm a violent sea (Matt. 8:26), heal a woman who’d been sick for twelve years (Matt. 9:22), raise a girl from the dead (Matt. 9:25), heal a demon-possessed man in a cemetery (Mark 5:15), change water into wine (John 2:9), and heal a man who’d been an invalid for thirty-eight years. (John 5:9) Did any of the disciples pause long enough to think, Well, hmmm. Jesus healed the sick people, raised the dead girl, and calmed the angry waves. I wonder, does he have a solution we haven’t seen? After all, he is standing right here in front of us. Let's ask him. Did it occur to anyone to ask Jesus for help? The stunning answer is no. They acted as if Jesus wasn’t even there. Rather than count on Christ, they had the audacity to tell the Creator of the universe that nothing could be done because there wasn't enough money. I wonder sometimes how Jesus kept his composure. How could he not keep from looking at the disciples and say, "Really?"

Finally, a boy offered his lunch basket to Andrew, who tentatively mentioned the offer to Jesus. Jesus said, “’Have the people sit down.’ There was plenty of grass in that place, and they sat down (about five thousand men were there). Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish. When they had all had enough to eat, he said to his disciples, ‘Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted.’ So, they gathered them and filled twelve baskets with the pieces of the five barley loaves left over by those who had eaten.” (John 6:10-13) Not one red cent was spent. They started the day with two hundred coins. They ended the day with two hundred coins. In addition, they filled twelve baskets with leftovers. Maybe souvenirs for each apostle. The people were fed, the bank account was intact, and we have a lesson to learn: anxiety is needless because Jesus is near.

You aren't facing five thousand hungry stomachs, but you’re facing a deadline in a couple of days . . . a loved one in need of a cure . . . a child who’s being bullied at school. Typically, you'd get anxious. You'd tell God to send the problem packing: "You've given me too much to handle, Jesus!" Next time, instead of starting with what you have, start with Jesus. Start with his wealth, his resources and his strength. Before you open the ledger, open your heart. Before you count coins or count heads, count the number of times Jesus has helped you face the impossible. Before you lash out in fear, look up in faith and experience the contagious calm that comes to those who simply turn to him.

Grace,

Randy