Opening Prayer:
Dear Lord Jesus, I am still so divided. I truly want to follow you, but I also want
to follow my own desires and lend an ear to the voices that speak about
prestige, success, popularity, pleasure, power, and influence. Help me to become deaf to those voices and
more attentive to your voice, which calls me to choose the narrow road to life. I know this will be a very hard road for
me. The choice for your way has to be
made every moment of my life. I have to
choose thoughts that are your thoughts, words that are your words, and actions
that are your actions. There are no times
and places without choices. And I know
how deeply I resist choosing you. Please, Lord, be with me at every moment and
in every place. Give me the strength and
courage to live my life faithfully, so that I will be able to taste with joy
the new life which you have prepared for me.
Amen. (The Road to Daybreak by Henri J.M. Nouwen)
Scripture: John 21:18
Journal: How and where is God leading you these days? What is he calling/inviting you to?
Reflection:
For each of us the way lies straight
ahead. There is, immediately in front of
us, an assigned task, a call: some difficult, clear, utterly simple thing the
Lord is asking us to do. It is not a
general admonition to whoever might happen to be standing about. It is instead an utterly private request
whispered, as it were, into each one’s ear.
What the Lord is asking me, He is asking no one else. More than likely, it is a request with no
particular glamour or notoriety attached to it.
And if I pay attention, the Lord leaves me in no doubt about it. Especially if I ask in prayer, He tells me
very clearly. (Which is why, sometimes, I don’t hurry to find out.)
And I cannot accomplish this
thing God asks without grace. The call,
this request is completely beyond my grasp, quite impossible—without His help. Yet even as He asks it, He makes it clear
that His grace will be poured out. He
will not leave me abandoned or alone. He
does not ask the impossible. Our God
does not play tricks. Or, to put it
another way, when He asks the impossible, we remember that nothing is
impossible with God.
But why are we surprised by
this? We knew from the beginning that
prayer would bring us closer to the mind of God, more able to know His thoughts
and do His will. We knew that, yet when
by a kind of radar we sense it, when we feel ourselves being moved and led in a
given direction, we feel awe, we are afraid.
Afraid perhaps that we are acting, actors in a drama we did not
design. Somehow the story has been set
in motion and the characters are mainly two: God and I. It is a dance! It is a suspense story. It is leading to an unknown destination. It is once-upon-a-time, and now, and
what-is-yet-to-be, all at once. It is
now and forever, and yet it is not a dream.
It is happening and it is real.
And now there is no turning
back. The commitment has already been
made: The escalator is ascending, the elevator door is closing, the plane is
moving down the runway. Something very
definite has been set in motion, is gathering momentum, is picking up speed. It seems we can hardly stop now, especially
when the journey is starting to get interesting! Even so, we are fearful. Now that the cabin door is closed and the
motors are revving, the shudder and the trembling are perhaps not so
exhilarating as we had thought.
Yet, we have signed on for
this. We are here by our own
consent. Even if there should be pain
interwoven with this commitment, some intimation of suffering to come, there
is, at the very same time, a knowing—we know Who it is that’s asking and this
intimate sense of a God who loves us is present even when He is leading us into
the furnace or the deep. Our God will
not betray us. He is just and fair and
tender. He does not forget us in the
time of trouble, He that keeps Israel does not slumber or sleep.
So we go on, straight ahead,
with no more sense of direction than just to make the next step and the
next. We are not out to make high jumps,
to take the next three steps at a time.
There is no longer much question of spiritual ambition or advancing in
prayer. We have no sense of height. We can’t tell whether or not we are
ascending. If we are climbing (and we
are), we sense that only in our muscles and bones. The climb is costly. But it does not feel upward. It is not high. It is neither consolation nor desolation.
It is ascent, but not
ecstasy. In a sense, it is deeper than
ecstasy, or perhaps one could call it the ecstasy of every day, a union that
continues while everything else is also happening, existing within whatever
activities are necessary, an abandonment known only to us and God, ecstatic
only in that it is so very complete.
This abandonment is the very
heart and essence of Christian prayer, and it has nothing in common with
strategy and second-guessing. It is the
pray-to-win mentality turned inside out, and yet it is not s pray-to-lose
mentality. It is the prayer that has
moved beyond intending, directing, steering, second-guessing God. It is the dancer moving completely in the
rhythm of the partner, prayer that is utterly freeing because it is completely
at one. Utterly beyond asking, beyond
the anger that rattles heaven’s gate. Prayer
that does not plead, wants nothing for itself but what God wants, it is the
will-not-to-will, rooted in grace, that makes it possible to be abandoned,
free, and then (by some further miracle) able to act with a semblance of coherence
and freedom even when completely surrendered to and possessed by the loving
will of God. (Clinging by Emilie Griffin)
Prayer
Closing
Prayer: God of Fire and Grace, you offer love that
knows no bounds, forgiveness that pardons the lost. Pour your presence into me, fill me with
passion, then consume me with your Spirit’s hungry flame. Take me wherever you want, change me as you
wish, mold me into the shape of your dreams.
Break through the comforting illusions of my life and bring me something
terribly wigglingly, writhingly real.
Amen. (A Heart Exposed by Steven James)