Daddy
And when you come before God, don’t turn that into a
theatrical production either. All these people making a regular show out of
their prayers, hoping for stardom! Do you think God sits in a box seat? Here’s
what I want you to do: Find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to
role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage.
The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace. The
world is full of so-called prayer warriors who are prayer-ignorant. They’re
full of formulas and programs and advice, peddling techniques for getting what
you want from God. Don’t fall for that nonsense. This is your Father you’re dealing
with, and he knows better than you what you need. With a God like this loving
you, you can pray very simply. (Matt. 6:5-8; MSG)
When my oldest daughter
was eight years old, she flubbed a wide-open goal on the pitch. She went on to
become a terrific high school soccer player – was even offered a scholarship to
play at a Southern California college. But everyone has an off day. She just
happened to have hers in front of family, friends and onlookers – at a soccer
tournament. Her performance started well; she dribbled and deked up the field
like Mia Hamm. But just prior to taking her shot on goal, her efforts took a
header and she missed right at what was, essentially, a wide-open goal. I can
still see her staring straight ahead, eyes betrayed by what a right foot that
had trained for thousands of hours knew how to do.
The silence in
the stadium was broken only by the pounding of my heart. “That’s alright, Punkin’;
it can happen to anyone,” I said to myself. But the damage had been done. She looked
at her coach, chin quivering and eyes tearing. The audience offered compassionate
applause. She stayed in the game, but her heart just wasn’t in it. By the end
of the game, I’d left my seat and met her on the sidelines. She threw her arms
around me and buried her face in my shirt. "Oh, Dad." I picked her up
and bear-hugged her with affection. If a hug could have extracted
embarrassment, that one would have. At that moment I would have given her the
moon. And all she said was, "Oh, Dad." Prayer starts there.
Prayer begins
with an honest, heartfelt "Oh, Daddy." Jesus taught us to begin our
prayers by saying, "Our Father in heaven." (Matt. 6:9) More
specifically, to begin with our "Abba in heaven." Abba is an intimate, tender, folksy term
and is the warmest of Aramaic words for "father." It is formality
stripped away, and proximity promised. Jesus invites us to approach God the way
a child approaches his or her daddy. And how do children approach their
daddies? Well, I went to a local school playground recently to find out. And when
I arrived, I found a spot on the bench under a tree and took a few notes.
Most of the kids
were picked up by their moms that day, but there were enough dads who had carpool
duty for me to complete my research. When a five-year-old boy with a Superman
backpack spotted his father in the parking lot, he shouted "Yippee!"
"Ice creeeeaaaam!" said another, apparently referring to a promise
made by the dad to his red-headed daughter. "Pops! Over here! Push
me!" yelled a boy wearing a Padres cap. I heard requests, like
"Daddy, can Tommy come home with me? His mom is on a trip, and he doesn't
want to hang out with his big sister because she won't let him watch TV and
makes him eat . . . ." His mouth was like a busted fire hydrant – the words
just didn’t stop. I also heard questions like, "Are we going home?" And
I heard excitement, too, "Dad! Look at what I did!"
Here's what I
didn't hear: "Father, it is most gracious of thee to drive thy car to my
place of education and provide me with domestic transportation. Please accept my
deepest gratitude for your benevolence. For thou art splendid in thy attentive
care and diligent in thy dedication." I didn’t hear that. I didn't hear
formality or impressive vocabulary. I heard kids who were happy to see their
dads and eager to talk. God invites us to approach him in the same way. And that’s
a big relief, because I think a lot of us fear “mis-praying.”
For instance, what
is the expected etiquette and dress code of prayer? What if I kneel instead of
stand? What if I say the wrong words, or use the wrong tone? Am I apostate if I
say "prostate" instead of "prostrate"? Jesus' answer?
"Unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no
means enter the kingdom of heaven." (Matt. 18:3) We are to become like
little children – carefree; joy-filled; playful; trusting; curious, and excited.
Forget greatness; seek littleness. Trust more, and strut less. Make lots of
requests, and accept all the gifts. Come to God the way a child comes to his or
her dad.
Daddy. The very word takes aim at our
pride. Other salutations permit an air of sophistication. You know, deepen the
tone of voice, and pause for dramatic effect. "O holy Lord . . . ." I
allow the words to reverberate throughout the universe as I, the pontiff of
petition, pontificate my prayer. "God, you are my King, and I am your
prince." “You are the Maestro, and I am your minstrel." "You are
the President, and I am your ambassador." But God prefers this greeting:
"God, you’re my Daddy, and I’m your child." And here's why: it's hard
to call God “Daddy” and show off all at
the same time. In fact, it’s impossible.
And maybe that’s
the point. Elsewhere, Jesus gives this instruction: "And when you come before God, don’t
turn that into a theatrical production either. All these people making a regular
show out of their prayers, hoping for stardom! Do you think God sits in a box
seat?" (Matt. 6:5) Religious leaders loved (and still love)
to make theater out of their prayers. They perched themselves at intersections
and practiced public piety. Their show nauseated Jesus. "Find a quiet, secluded place so you
won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly
as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to
sense his grace." (Matt. 6:6)
These words probably
stunned Jesus' audience. Prayer, they likely assumed, was reserved for special
people in a special place. God met with the priest in the temple, behind the
curtain in the Holy of Holies. The people, on the other hand, were simple
farmers and craftsmen. Folks of the land and the earth. They couldn't enter the
temple. But they could enter their closets – “But you,
when you pray, enter your closet, and when you have shut
your door, pray to your Father who is in secret.” (Vs. 6; MEV)
In the Palestinian
culture of Jesus’ time, the room most likely to have a door was the storage
closet. It held tools, seed and farming supplies. A chicken might even wander
in occasionally. There was nothing holy about the closet. It was the day-to-day
workroom of its time. For instance, my closet doesn’t have any fancy fixtures
or impressive furniture. It has a cubby for my shoes (used on a hit-or-miss
basis), a dirty-clothes hamper (more hit than miss), and shirts, pants, suits and
ties. But I don't entertain guests in my closet. You'll never hear me tell
visitors after dinner, "Hey, why don't we step into my closet for a
chat?" I prefer the living room or family room, instead. But God
apparently likes to chat in the closet. Why? Because he's low on fancy, and high
on accessibility.
To pray at the
Vatican can be very meaningful. But prayers offered at home carry just as much
weight as prayers offered in Rome. Or, you could travel to the Wailing Wall in
Jerusalem if you wanted to. But a prayer at your backyard fence is just as
effective. The One who hears your prayers is your Daddy. You don’t have to woo
him with your location, or wow him with your eloquence. But Jesus wasn’t
finished there. "The world is full of so-called prayer warriors who are
prayer-ignorant. They’re full of formulas and programs and advice, peddling
techniques for getting what you want from God. Don’t fall for that nonsense.
This is your Father you’re dealing with, and he knows better than you what you
need. With a God like this loving you, you can pray very simply."
(Matt. 6:7-8)
Jesus downplayed
the importance of words in prayers. Unfortunately, we tend to do the opposite.
The more words the better. The better
the words the better, for that matter. For instance, Muslim prayers, however
impressive, must be properly recited at each of the five appointed times during
the day. Hindu and Buddhist prayers, however profound, depend upon the
repetition of mantras, words and syllables. Even branches of the Christian
faith emphasize the appropriate prayer language, the latest prayer trend, and the
holiest prayer terminology. Against all this emphasis on syllables and rituals,
Jesus says, "Don't fall for that nonsense." (Matt. 6:7) Vocabulary
and geography might impress people, but it doesn’t impress God.
The truth is
that there’s no panel of angelic judges with numbered cards saying, "Wow,
that prayer was a ten. God will definitely hear that one!" Or, "Wow, that
was pretty bad. Couldn’t you have done just a little bit better? You only scored
a two on that one this morning; you’d better go home and practice."
Prayers aren't given style points, and prayer isn’t a competition. Just as a
happy child cannot mis-hug a parent, the sincere heart cannot mis-pray. Heaven
knows, life has enough burdens without the burden of having to pray correctly. Frankly,
if prayer depended on how I pray, then I'm sunk. But if the power of prayer
depends on the One who hears it, and if the One who hears the prayer is my
Daddy, then I have hope. And so do you.
Prayer really is
that simple. So, resist the urge to complicate it. Don't take undue pride in
well-crafted prayers, and don't apologize for incoherent ones, either. No
games. No cover-ups. Just be honest – honest to God. Climb into his lap. Tell
him everything that’s on your heart, or tell him nothing at all. Just lift your
heart to heaven and declare, “Daddy,” because sometimes "Daddy" is
all we can muster. Stress. Fear. Guilt. Grief. Demands on all sides. Sometimes
all we can summon is a plaintive, "Oh, Daddy." If so, that's enough.
It was for my
daughter; she uttered only two words, and I wrapped her in my arms because I
hurt for her breaking heart. And your heavenly Father will do the same; all you
have to do is call His name.
Grace,
Randy
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