A Parable on Prayer

Father, we thank you that your love is such that you are long-suffering towards us so that your kindness might lead us towards repentance. We pray that as we study the Bible now, that you will accomplish your plans and purposes. We believe that when your Word is really preached, that your voice is really heard, and so we listen for your voice with expectancy. In Christ’s name. Amen.

Well, I encourage you to take your Bible and open it to Luke 18. And we pick it up at 18:1, because we left it at the thirty-seventh verse some weeks ago.

In studying the Bible together, we’re trying to help one another to learn how to study the Bible so that we don’t fall foul of the idea that we can really make the Bible say whatever we want it to say. The way to stay under control in the study of the Bible is to allow the controls of the Bible itself to exercise jurisdiction over our thinking, so that when we look at a verse in the Bible, the way in which it is controlled is by the surrounding verses; if we look at a paragraph, it is controlled by the chapter or the chapters around it; a chapter within the framework of the book; and the book within the genre of that particular part of the Bible. For example, is it history? Is it a poetical book? Is it Old Testament narrative? Is it a New Testament epistle? And the way in which the Scriptures unfold for us provides the very controls necessary to make sure that we don’t simply take our Bibles and use it as a mechanism for launching off into anything that we design at all.

I think you understand that. I think that we’re getting better at that. And I say that because in coming to 18:1, it would be possible for us to do so in such a way that ignored everything that had gone before. And to do that, of course, would be to create a great error. Because 18:1 wasn’t 18:1 when it was originally written down, because there were no chapter breaks for a start. These have been inserted along the way in order to help us navigate through our Bibles. Therefore, verse 1 follows directly on verse 37 of the previous chapter, and the context, some of you will recall, is set for us back in 17:20, when Jesus was asked by the Pharisees, “When is the kingdom of God going to come?”[1] Jesus had answered that question for the Pharisees, and then, in verse 22, he had turned to his disciples, and he’d said, essentially, “Given that the Pharisees have raised this question about the coming of the kingdom, let me give to you a few more words of explanation.” And he had then taken the time to provide the disciples with certain insights into the nature of the day when the Son of Man is going to be revealed. Having done that, he then, in 18:1, gives to these same disciples an illustration in order to show that they should always pray and not give up.

Now, the context would seem to demand this kind of assessment—namely: “I’m going to go away,” Jesus is saying. “There will be a time lag between my departure and my return. Given what I know about you fellows and your proneness to let your chins drop into your chest, I’m going to tell you a story here in order to help you to be men of prayer rather than men who become downhearted and who falter.” Because in the journey that is going to ensue—and, of course, we know this as we read the Acts of the Apostles—these individuals were going to be buffeted from pillar to post. They were going to face challenges of all different kinds. And, of course, that has remained true throughout all of church history. And even some of us that have arrived here this morning have come out of a week in which there has been a genuine temptation for us to be fainthearted, to be downhearted, to be discouraged, to respond to circumstances in such a way that we faint rather than pray. And therefore, the word to the disciples in the first instance is a relevant word not simply to them, but it is a relevant word to all who follow in their wake. “I’m telling you this parable,” says Jesus, “to show that you should always pray and not give up. Nobody is going to be able to determine in advance when I’m going to come back. Given that there is a significant delay, I want to make sure that you persist in prayer.”

Five Principles of Prayer

Now, I want immediately to take a right-hand turn, as it were, or to go down a side street, on the question of prayer. Because there is tremendous amount of talk in the last two weeks about prayer. I think you would acknowledge that. We’ve had all kinds of prayer services, and we’ve seen prayer in Yankee Stadium, and we’ve seen all kinds of gatherings convened in order that men and women might pray. Nobody, it seems to me, has done a very good job of articulating just what is supposed to be happening in those times of prayer. Nobody feels that it would be politically correct to raise your hand and say, “Excuse me? To whom are we all praying?” And furthermore, if we happen to all be praying in the same direction, I wonder: Are we all praying via the same channel? Because as we’ve noticed along the journey, it is not that the religions of the world disagree simply on the fringes of their convictions, but the religions of the world disagree at the very centrality of their convictions.

So, for example, my Jewish friends do not believe that Jesus Christ is God incarnate. I happen to believe he was. We can’t both be right. Therefore, if we’re going to get together and pray, we’ve got immediate dissonance, don’t we? Unless, of course, we decide that we’ll just neutralize any conviction at all. My friends who are Hindus—and I have Hindu friends—believe that God has been incarnated many times. As a Christian, I believe he’s been incarnated only once. Therefore, we’ve got an immediate problem, because we can’t both be right. We’re either right and they’re wrong, or they’re right and we’re wrong, but when it comes to the issue of prayer, how in the world do we all get together in a big room and determine that whatever we’re doing is all the same thing? Clearly, it’s not.

And when I’ve spoken or listened to Christian people in these days try and articulate to their friends what they believe about prayer, I made a mental note to myself; I said, “I’m not sure that Christians are very good at actually explaining to anybody what they believe about prayer at all.” And I think that that is partly due to the fact that many of us as Christians haven’t got a clue in the world what we’re doing when it comes to the matter of prayer. In fact, some of us don’t spend more than sixty seconds a day praying. Some of us go from one Sunday to another Sunday, and apart from every so often saying grace, there is no notion of prayer in our lives. How do I know that? Because it’s so easy for me to do it. If you happen to find yourself doing the same thing, then you’ll be able to identify. I’ve tried to remind myself this week of five things in relationship to prayer that I want to tell you in case you’ve never thought of these, in case your idea of prayer has missed this. And I believe that these five things will be a terrific help.

Five things in relationship to prayer.

Number one: when you and I engage in prayer, we are offering up our desires to God. We are offering up our desires to God. Psalm 62:8. Psalm 62:8. I want to give you a verse to tie all of these points to so that you could at least go back and research them for yourself. Psalm 62:8:

Trust in him at all times, O people;
 pour out your hearts to him,
 for God is our refuge.

What am I doing when I pray? Well, one of the things that I’m doing is I’m pouring out my heart to God. I am offering up my desires to God. I am telling God how I feel about things and what I long for.

Secondly, not only am I offering up my desires to God, but I am surrendering my will to God. In prayer, I surrender my will to God. We have this in Matthew 6:10, don’t we, in the words of the Lord’s Prayer? “Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” We have an illustration of it in Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane, Matthew 26: “Father, if you are willing, let this cup pass from me. But nevertheless, not my will but your will be done.”[2] Our friends and neighbors may say to us, “Well, what actually happens in prayer? Because it seems to be mysterious.” I say, “Well, yes, there is no question but that there is a mysterious element to prayer. But let me tell you that when I pray—when I engage with God in the dialogue of prayer—number one, I am offering up my desires to God; and number two, I am surrendering my will to God.”

Number three, I am entering into conversation with God. This is a dialogue in prayer. It’s not a monologue. You can’t have a conversation with somebody if you do all the talking. You can give a speech to somebody if you do all the talking, but a conversation involves both speaking and listening. Psalm 27:8: “My heart says of you, ‘Seek his face!’ Your face, Lord, [will I] seek.” My heart says, “Seek his face.” I say, “I’ll seek your face.” You think about it: When you go into a company of people… Perhaps you’re arriving in an airport, and you come out through the barrier, and all of those people—a vast company of people—are there, and there’s only one face for whom you’re looking. And what you’ll find yourself doing is scanning the crowd immediately. It’s always a mystery to me the way the computer of our mind works, isn’t it? That it can process the information so quickly that we can rule out: “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no—yes! You’re the one I’m looking for.” That’s what’s happening in prayer!

In prayer, not only am I offering up my desires to God, but I am surrendering my will to God.

That’s why you close your eyes in public prayer. The kids say to me, “Why do we have to close our eyes?” You don’t have to close your eyes! But the fact is, if you keep your eyes open, what do you see? You see that tree. You say to yourself, “That’s not a real tree. That’s a fake tree.” Then you say to yourself, “Why don’t they have a real tree?” Then you say, “Well, ’cause there’s no light in here. It would be difficult to have a real tree.” Then you say, “I wonder how that tree got there.” Then you say, “I wonder if anybody wipes the leaves of that tree if it’s really dusty.” Then you say, “I must go up and make a note to have a shake at that tree and see if there are leaves on the tree.” And all of a sudden, the pastor says, “Amen.” And you say, “Amen!” But what has actually happened is you just had a time—you had tree time! Or if you keep your eyes open, you say, “Was her hair blond last week? Or am I sitting in the wrong row?” So this isn’t some legalistic routine. What we’re actually doing in public prayer is we’re seeking to shut out the distractions, which are inevitable distractions, in order that we might, like the psalmist, say, “My heart says to me seek your face, and I say, ‘Your face I seek.’” That’s what we’re doing when we pray.

Offering up my desires to God, surrendering my will to God, conversing with God, and, fourthly, practicing the presence of God. Practicing the presence of God. Again in Psalm 27—Psalm 27 is a wonderful psalm in this respect; I should have kept my Bible open there—

One thing I ask of the Lord,
 this is what I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
 all the days of my life.[3]

“I want to hang with you,” the psalmist says. “I want to be in your company.” For your homework, go to John 14, and listen as Jesus says to his followers, “The man or the woman who obeys me will be loved by me, and my Father and I will come and live with him,”[4] or “live with her.” Now, how does the experience of Almighty God living with you in Solon, or Cleveland Heights, or Garfield Heights, or Berea—how in the wide world do we enter into the experience of the fulfillment of Jesus in John 14: “My father and I will love him, and we will live with him”? How does that happen? In what context does that happen? Prayer! Prayer! So you see, when we don’t pray, when we don’t offer up our desires to God, when we don’t surrender our wills to God, when we don’t engage in conversation with God, we know nothing of the companionship of God. It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?

And this takes it beyond the realm of something that you do, you know, over in a corner—the sort of businessman, Day-Timer approach. You know: “Did it.” Tick. “Did you say your prayers today?” “Yes.” “Did you floss today?” “Yes.” “Did you use the Q-tips today?” “Yes.” “Okay! We’re off to a great day. You know, we’re ready, and we’re steady, and we’re go.” And then the guy launches out into the day. If he managed to pray for three minutes, then he tells you—and they tell me this all the time—“My day didn’t go so well today. I only prayed for three minutes, and it only got me to here, you know. But on last Thursday, I prayed for seven minutes, and it got me all the way over to here.” What are you, a human cannonball or something? What in the wide world are you talking about? What is this prayer you’re doing? What is this? Do you talk to your wife like that? “Oh, I spoke to her for three minutes today. That’s enough.” “Okay, honey, wrap it up. Three minutes. We’re done. Try and keep this brief. I’ll maybe see you this evening—we have another seven minutes this evening—but that’s enough for now. Gotta go. Thank you. Goodbye.” What kind of relationship is that?

Now, you say, “Well, don’t you have special times in private?” Of course. “Do you think it’s a bad idea to have a set time and place?” No. But I’ll tell you something: the idea that prayer is something that takes place in a moment in time, in a special chair, which you then run away from into the rest of the secular day, misses the point. “And he walks with me, and he talks with me, and he tells me [that] I am his own.”[5] How? In prayer. Communing with God. He goes to the gym with you. He closes sales deals with you. He enters into disappointment with you. He goes to the bathroom with you. Say, “Now, steady on there. That’s not nice, saying things like that.” Let me tell you: some of my best times are in the bathroom. It’s peaceful, quiet; if the door goes all the way to the floor, it’s fantastic! “Lord, here we are again. Thank you for this. I was thinking about that. What about him? Help me over here.”

It’s the same way when you drive in the car with your spouse. You can drive for miles if you’re in love and never say a word, and it’s wonderful! Comfortable silence. You can’t drive 150 yards if you’re arguing, because it’s an uncomfortable silence. We all know the difference between “silence” and “silence.” Some of us are here today, and the reason we are where we are in our walk with God is because it’s “silence”; it’s not “silence.” And it’s the same issue… Usually, for me, I open my fat mouth when I shouldn’t, so it’s “silence.” The only way back is to say, “Sorry I opened my fat mouth. I do apologize. Let’s talk.” But as long as I want to live with my pride, as long as I want to live with my ego, then I can probably drive in silence for a good long time. And the same is true in our communion with God. Do you have communion with God?

And lastly, it is in prayer that not only do we offer up our desires to God, and surrender our wills to God, and converse with God, and practice the presence of God, but it is in prayer that we experience the peace of God. Philippians 4, in the Living Bible: “Tell God your needs, and don’t forget to thank him for his answers.” Which is preceded by “Don’t worry about anything; [but] pray about everything.”[6] “Tell God your needs, and don’t forget to thank him for his answers.”

Why don’t I know the peace of God? ’Cause I don’t live in the presence of God. Why don’t I live in the presence of God? Because I never talk to God. Why don’t I surrender my will to God? Because I’ve never met God. Why don’t I offer my desires up to God? Because it never once occurred to me. So now, all of a sudden, when the towers fall down, the people go in search of peace: “We’d better go pray!” I understand that. To whom? Through whom? Is there “one mediator between God and [man], the man Christ Jesus”?[7] Apparently so. Then if we’re going to have a conversation with God, we have to speak to Jesus, for Jesus is God. And Jesus said, “When you pray, say, ‘Our Father [who] art in heaven, hallowed be [your] name.’”[8]

We flew home yesterday in the company of some lovely ladies on Northwest Airlines. And as I came out of the restroom, one of them had her Bible open. She was doing Bible Study Fellowship. I started a big, long conversation with this lady, and then the next lady, and before long we had four ladies, all of them stewardesses, all taking about God, talking about the Bible, talking about Jesus, talking about prayer, and talking about peace. And here’s the interesting thing that came out: the second lady to whom we spoke, when asked, “Did you go back to fly immediately?” said she took one day off and then went back immediately to fly. As a result of her willingness to fly, she has flown virtually every single day since, because most of her friends and colleagues are scared to death to fly—seasoned stewardesses unprepared to get on the plane. Why? Because when the towers fell down, they realized, “I can’t explain where I came from, and I haven’t got a clue where I’m going, and I’d better get it sorted out where I came from and where I’m going in case I go on one of these things.” And so these Christian girls, without any sense of arrogance, without any bombastic element to their nature, they said, “Yeah, we’ll be there.” And people say, “Well, how can you be so peaceful in the midst of this? Aren’t you afraid?” “Yeah, I’m a little afraid. But I’m peaceful.” “Why?” “Because in prayer I offer up my desires to God: ‘I’d like to come home this evening.’ I give to God the expressions of the surrender of my will. I enter into conversation with God. I practice the presence of God. And as a result, I experience the peace of God.”

Now, if you’ll turn to one other place, I want just to give you another point here so that you can be helped in relationship to this. At least, I hope you find it helpful. In Hebrews chapter 4, the writer to the Hebrews gives encouragement to his readers, and he says, “[Listen:] since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens”—Hebrews 4:14—namely, “Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do[n’t] have a high priest who[’s] unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are, yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.”

Now, you’ll notice that there are two imperatives there: one at the end of verse 14 (“Let us hold firmly to the faith we profess”), and then verse 16 (“Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence”). I want to suggest to you that the order is essential. We must “hold firmly to the faith we profess.” We’re not simply closing our eyes and thinking deep thoughts. We’re not simply engaging with a higher power, with the notion that there must be somebody up there somewhere who’s benevolently interested in what’s going on.

And so we can all hold hands as an expression of our deep abnegation. We can all hold hands in the acknowledgment of our deep sense of solitude and awe. We can hold hands on a number of levels. We can comfort one another across every racial and religious divide. But when it comes to praying together, we are immediately divided. For the writer says, “Let us hold firmly to the faith we profess.” What is “the faith we profess”? That Jesus Christ is the person that he claimed to be. That there is salvation in no other name given under heaven among men by which they must be saved.[9] That he is God and Savior to us. That he is the second member of the Trinity. That he’s not a buddy of Muhammad. That he’s not another religious leader on the smorgasbord of life. Therefore, I cannot go and simply engage in “prayer” with all of these well-meaning people. Why? Because I have to hold firmly to the faith I profess. Then I come boldly to the throne of grace. And it is only in Christ that we can come boldly, because he is the only one who is able to intercede on our behalf.

The Unjust Judge and the Patient God

Now, that was a very long detour, and we’ll go back to Luke 18, although not for long. Lunch awaits. Take courage.

The reason for our approaching the throne of grace with confidence is because, to return to the illustration that Jesus uses here, God is not remotely like this unjust judge. He tells this story. Remember, he’s explaining to his disciples, “Just in case you don’t know why I’m telling you this story, let me tell you in advance: I’m telling you this story in order that you would pray and not give up. Now let me tell you,” he says, “there was a judge in a certain town, and he neither feared God nor cared about men.”

Terrific, eh? Just the kind of guy you’d like to be brought before. He’s prepared to exercise judgments but is unprepared to live under the judgment of God. He doesn’t fear God, and he doesn’t care about you. When I read this, my mind went immediately to What’s Up, Doc?, which tells you something about my mind, and also about how old I am. But one of my favorite scenes in What’s Up, Doc?, with Ryan O’Neal and Barbra Streisand, is the scene where, after the crash, and they flew through the glass and smashed everything up, and it was mayhem par excellence, they all end up in custody, and they’re brought before the judge. And so you’ve got a great crowd of people before the judge, and the judge comes out, and he’s a little man; he has a robe. And he looks at the group, and he immediately goes under the thing, and he gets pills, and he shakes them out; then he takes them with a big drink of water. And then he’s using these steel balls that are supposed to make you peaceful, you know? And he’s rubbing them in his hands as he looks at the group. And he essentially says, “Okay,” and his bailiff brings it, and he says, “Okay.”

And then, straight out of the chute, one of the guys goes, “I deserve to be heard!” And he says—the judge says to him, “Who are you?” And he says, “I’m Hugh.” And he says, “You’re me?” He said, “No, I’m Hugh.” He said, “You’re me?” He said, “No, I’m Hugh.” He said, “Stop saying that!” And then he turned to the bailiff, and he said, “Tell him to stop saying that!” And the bailiff said, “Stop saying that!” And then somebody shouted out, “I want my bike back!” And he looked over, and he said, “I’ll give you a broken back!” He neither feared God nor cared about men! He wanted it over with as fast as he could. The whole scene was over in a matter of minutes. He had a job to do. He did it. He was just doing his business.

That’s this man here. Couldn’t care less, either about the widow that was before him, and had no concern about God who was above him. And the widow in the town—a picture of helplessness and hopelessness—she’s concerned about justice. She has an adversary. She keeps coming. She has only one string to her bow, and she plucks it with persistence—namely, “I will keep coming again and again.” Initially, verse 4, he refuses to hear her, to grant her the response she requires. Finally, he says to himself—and notice—“Even though I don’t fear God and I don’t care about men, yet, for no higher motive than the fact that I want to get this woman out of my hair, I will see that she gets justice, because if she keeps coming in here, she’s going to be the death of me.” And so this troublesome stranger eventually receives justice.

Jesus in verse 6 says, “Listen to what the unjust judge says.” Well, what had the unjust judge said? “I will see that she gets justice.” Now, his motives were impure, but he was finally getting to what he needed to do. Now Jesus argues, “If the unjust judge is prepared to grant the request of this troublesome stranger, how much more will the heavenly judge, who is perfect in righteousness, see to it that his chosen ones are vindicated.” The end of verse 7, he says, “When the chosen ones of God cry out to him day and night, will he keep putting them off?”[10] That’s the best the NIV can do with a torturous little bit of Greek. The Authorized Version has the phrase “though he bear long with them.”

And it is in this process that there is a concern for the disciples: “What is going to happen? It seems so long between the cries of people and the response of God.” Well, the fact of the matter is that the delays of God, we learn from the Bible, are in order that men and women may come to repentance.[11] And the delays of God may serve to strengthen his chosen ones as they endure hardship. Why doesn’t God answer your prayers? Why is it that you’re still praying for the same thing after all this time? Well, in the mystery, we must continue to do what we said prayer means: offering up my desire to God, surrendering my will to God, entering into conversation with God, living in communion with God, and discovering the peace of God. And the peace of God is not to be found, in our instant generation, by getting messages, as it were, delivered by a red telephone or dropped by a string down onto our breakfast table. Few things happen like that. Most of the things we’re dealing with in life demand the long slog, the long continuance, the same unanswered questions.

Why does God do that? He does it in part because if he brought justice as of midnight tonight, it would answer the deep question of your heart, but it would remove every possibility for your brother-in-law to become a Christian. It would be the end of the world. It would be the end of opportunity. It would mean that the books were finally opened and settled and it was gone. And God is patient, waiting for husbands and for wives to come to him, waiting for children to finally give up their rebellion, waiting for the proud businessman to lay down his arrogance and trust in Christ. That’s part of the reason for his delay.

Most of the things we’re dealing with in life demand the long slog, the long continuance, the same unanswered questions.

And the other reason for his delay is so that his believers, so that his chosen ones, through the dark days, and the deep questions, and the uncertainties, and the hard business days, and the crash of the stock market, and the interference with your pension fund, and all of these things—so that he may strengthen us and fashion us. And he said, “Since it’s going to be so tough, I’m telling you this story so that you won’t chuck it but so that you’ll pray; so you’ll talk with me when you wake in the night; so that you will approach me when you rise in the morning; so that you will include me in your conversation in the car; so that as you exercise and as you play and as you negotiate and as you operate, you will do so in my company.

One of the songs that was playing in the background when we were at Providence Baptist Church the other night, when we had the lovely banquet, has been on my mind ever since. I probably mentioned it last Sunday, because it was in the forefront of my mind. I just remind you of it as I draw this to a close. I’m not sure where this song emerged from, but it’s been a comfort and a help to countless through the years. The words are, you know,

Tempted and tried, we’re oft led to wonder
Why it should be like this all the day long.

It’s the question of Psalm 73: “Why do ungodly people do so well, and I’m gettin’ a hammering?”

Tempted and tried, … oft led to wonder
Why it should be like this all the day long…

“Why is this happening to me?” “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen.”

When there are others living around me,
Never molested though in the wrong.

“Here I am, trying to be a good guy. Here I am, trying to keep my nose clean. Here I am, Lord Jesus, seeking to follow you, and it’s like the whole thing opened up and is apparently going to swallow me. But the guy who lives two doors up, he just drives his car around, and he’s like, ‘Hey, hey!’ you know? And he had fun, fun, fun, you know, till his wife takes the T-Bird away.[12] I mean, he hasn’t got a care in the world!” And then the answer comes in the chorus:

Further along we’ll know all about it,
And further along we’ll understand why;
And cheer up, my brother, sister, live in the sunshine,
’Cause we’ll understand it all by and by.[13]

We say that to our kids, don’t we? “Honey, I can’t tell you now. But when I tell you, it will make perfect sense. Trust me.” “I can’t answer that now, but when I answer it—even though it may seem like a hundred years till I answer it—when I answer it, it will seem like I answered it immediately.” And for the chosen of God, even though it seems that his return is long delayed, when he returns, it will become apparent that a day with the Lord was as a thousand years, and a thousand years was as one day.

The First Prayer

Do you pray? Have you ever prayed? You ever prayed the first prayer? Do you know the first prayer? It’s actually the next prayer, but our time is gone. We’re going home now. We’ll come back to it, God willing. It’s the prayer that the man prays in the next few verses. It’s essentially this: “Lord, I’m a stinking mess. Forgive me and save me.”[14] You may not like the word stinking, so we’ll take that out: “Lord, I’m a complete mess. Forgive me and save me.” That’s where it all starts. Of course, if you’re arrogant, you won’t pray that prayer. You’ll be like the rich young ruler.[15] You won’t be like a child and enter the kingdom.[16] You’ll be like an adult and walk out and say, “I never heard so much bunk in all my life.” You will instead be like the rich young ruler, rather than like blind Bartimaeus, who cried out, “Lord, have mercy on me! There’s nothing I can do for myself. Unless you come and help me, I’m done.”[17]

I mentioned Chuck Colson earlier. What an amazing thing he said when, in front of the folks in the Pentagon, at one point he talks about praying in the driveway of his friend’s house after he had read C. S. Lewis’s chapter on arrogance, and how he gets out—if you’ve read Born Again; if not, go get it and read it again—he gets out into his car, and his friend has explained to him, “Chuck, you are a mess, and you need Christ.” And he said, “You know, I don’t need anybody. I can fix this myself.” And he goes to put the keys in the ignition, and as he tries to put the keys in the ignition, he just floods with tears. And he can’t get the keys in the ignition, and he sits in the driveway of his friend’s house. And he looked out on the folks in the Pentagon, and he said this: “I would have suffocated. I would have suffocated in the stench of my own sin had I not come to realize that Jesus Christ died on the cross to be my Savior. And there in the driveway of my friend’s house, I admitted, ‘Lord Jesus, I am a mess. Save me.’”[18]

That’s where it starts. And if you will pray that prayer, I can guarantee you: the Bible says he always, always answers that prayer—without delay. And then from there we’ll learn to pray rather than to give up.

Father God, out of an abundance of words we pray that your Word may take root in our hearts. We pray that we might learn to offer our desires to you, to surrender our wills to you, to enter into conversation with you, to live in your presence, to discover your peace. Thank you that you’re not like some unjust judge who doesn’t care about you and doesn’t care about people but that you are a heavenly Father; that your chosen ones cry to you, and although your intervention may seem long delayed, that still, further along, we’ll understand, and we’ll know all about it.

For those of us who are really struggling with stuff to which there is no immediate resolution, we pray that that kind of idea will not just be some arm’s-length theology but that it may come and just grab our hearts today, that it may come and squeeze us, may come and enfold us in your love, may assure us the way a father would a child: “Honey, I can’t tell you now, but if you trust me, it will become apparent in time.” God, grant that we might give to you our futures and our fears—our fears of illness, our concerns about our kids, the nature of our business, all of our scramblings, and all of our mumblings and our bumblings. We bring them to you, Lord. We lay them down. We cast all our cares upon you.[19] We lay all of our burdens down at your feet. And anytime that we don’t know what to do, we cast all our cares upon you.

May the grace and mercy and peace of God the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit be the abiding portion of all who believe, today and forevermore. Amen.

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[1] Luke 17:20 (paraphrased).

[2] Matthew 26:39 (paraphrased).

[3] Psalm 27:4 (NIV 1984).

[4] John 14:23 (paraphrased).

[5] C. Austin Miles, “In the Garden” (1913).

[6] Philippians 4:6 (TLB).

[7] 1 Timothy 2:5 (KJV).

[8] Matthew 6:9 (KJV).

[9] See Acts 4:12.

[10] Luke 18:7 (paraphrased from the NIV 1984).

[11] See 2 Peter 3:9.

[12] Brian Wilson, “Fun, Fun, Fun,” (1964).

[13] W. B. Stevens, “Farther Along” (1911). Lyrics lightly altered.

[14] Luke 18:13 (paraphrased).

[15] See Luke 18:18–30.

[16] See Luke 18:17.

[17] Luke 18:38, 39 (paraphrased).

[18] Charles W. Colson, Born Again (Lincoln, VA: Chosen Books, 1976), 117. Paraphrased.

[19] See 1 Peter 5:7.