Tag: Jesus

Clarifying words from Brian Zahnd

On By robertalanrifeIn Christian spirituality, Christianity, faith, life togetherLeave a comment

There are theologian-writers out there who consistently challenge me, inspire and compel me to prayerful change. Brian Zahnd is one of those. Although I’m including his entire post here, first written in October of 2025, I encourage you to support his ministry and click on his original here.

As Jesus came near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, “If you, even you, only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes.”

–Jesus (Luke 19:41)

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Whether or not slavery was the direct cause for the first shots fired upon Fort Sumter in April of 1861 is a matter of scholarly debate. What is undeniable is that the fuel that caused the American Civil War to ignite into a conflagration that resulted in 750,000 deaths was two-and-a-half centuries of slavery. From its Jamestown beginnings, the American colonies—and later the United States—practiced one of the most brutal forms of slavery the world has ever known. The preservation of an institution that systematically dehumanized millions of people for the sake of economic gain was not a thing that made for peace! Inevitably that kind of cruel exploitation would overflow its cup and unleash death and hell, bringing everything that is the opposite of peace. During the horror of the American Civil War, the land of the free became a burning Gehenna. Thirty percent of Southern men of fighting age were slain on battlefields that saw the birth of modern warfare. From then on, war would be totalized and mechanized. The four horseman of the Apocalypse galloped across America leaving a wake of war, disease, famine, and death.

But in tragic irony the spiritual revival of the Second Great Awakening had swept through America during the decade before the Civil War. Americans flocked to churches and evangelistic meetings. This was especially true in the more religious South, where Christianity was embraced with greater fervency than in the less zealous North. Across the country revival was on, churches grew, conversions multiplied. People got saved, praised Jesus, and talked about heaven. Then they went to hell. Or at least the same kind of hell Jesus had warned Jerusalem about during his final days. Despite a great revival, a nation of Christians was thrust into a hell of cannonballs, Gatling guns, field hospitals, and amputation saws. Great cities were set aflame and fields were littered with thousands of rotting corpses. The fires were not quenched and the maggots did not die. What had gone wrong? Millions had accepted Jesus and shouted hosanna, but they did not know the things that make for peace. They prayed a sinner’s prayer, “got right with God,” and kept their slaves. They had a faith that would justify the slave owner while bringing no justice to the slave. They had faith that gave them a ticket to heaven and a highway to hell. The religious fervor in the conservative churches of the South only served to convince them that they were blessed by heaven. They were quite certain God smiled upon their deep devotion to their southern-fried Jesus. If they had to go to war to preserve their freedom, so be it—God was on their side. They were sure of it. But there would be hell to pay.

To help you comprehend how wrong the conservative churches of the Antebellum South were despite flaunting their faith in Jesus and clutching their well-worn Bibles, I’m going to enlist the help of someone who was there and saw it all—Mark Twain. In the chapter entitled “You Can’t Pray a Lie” in Twain’s beloved novel Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Huck Finn has helped hide Miss Watson’s runaway slave, Jim. But Huck thought he was committing a sin in helping a runaway slave. Huck had learned in Sunday school “that people that acts as I’d been acting goes to everlasting fire.” So in an act of repentance in order to save his soul, Huck wrote a note to Miss Watson and told her where she could find her runaway slave. Now Huck was ready to pray his “sinner’s prayer” and “get saved.”

I felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time I had ever felt so in my life, and I knowed I could pray now. But I didn’t do it straight off but laid the paper down and set there thinking—thinking how good it was all this happened so, and how near I come to being lost and going to hell. And went on thinking. And got to thinking over our trip down the river; and I see Jim before me all the time: in the day and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we a-floating along, talking and singing and laughing. But somehow I couldn’t seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind. I’d see him standing my watch on top of his’n, ‘stead of calling me, so I could go on sleeping; and see how glad he was when I come back out of the fog; and when I come to him again in the swamp, up there where the feud was; and such-like times; and would always call me honey and pet me and do everything he could think of for me, and how good he always was; and at last I struck the time I saved him by telling the men we had smallpox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said I was the best friend old Jim ever had in the world and the only he’s got now; and then I happened to look around and see the paper. It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a-trembling, because I’d got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself: “All right, then, I’ll go to hell”—and tore it up. It was awful thoughts and awful words but they was said. And I let them stay said; and never thought no more about reforming.

Huck Finn had been shaped by the Christianity he’d found in his Missouri Sunday school—a Christianity focused on heaven in the afterlife while preserving the status quo of the here and now. Huck thought that helping Jim escape from slavery was a sin, because that’s what he had been taught. He knew he couldn’t ask God to forgive him until he was ready to “repent” and betray Jim. Huck didn’t want to go to hell; he wanted to be saved. But Huck loved his friend more, so he was willing to go to hell in order to save his friend from slavery.

Twain did a masterful job of showing us how wrongheaded Christians can be about what constitutes salvation. For Huck to act according to justice, he had to think he was committing a great sin. For Huck to act Christlike, he had to think he was forsaking Christianity. For Huck to love his neighbor as himself, he had to think he was condemning his soul to hell. Think about that a while!

Mark Twain used his skillful pen to skewer the conservative Christianity of the American South. Though Mark Twain wasn’t a believing Christian (and he wasn’t)—he was a prophet to the prevailing Christianity of his day. This was a compromised Christianity in desperate need of a prophetic voice. In seeking to preserve an economy dependent upon slave labor, Southern churches had embraced a fatally distorted faith. Probably without even knowing what they were doing, these Christians had quite effectively used Jesus and the Bible to validate their racist assumptions and protect their vested interests. They went to church on Sunday. They got saved. They loved Jesus. They waved their palms and shouted hosanna on Palm Sunday. But like the crowd in Jerusalem eighteen centuries earlier, they didn’t know the things that made for peace. And Jesus wept over an America headed to hell. The churches were full and slavery continued—until the Civil War, that is. Then 750,000 people died for the sins of America.

This is more than a recitation of history; there’s a lesson to learn here. When we don’t know the things that make for peace, we can barrel down the highway to hell, all the while singing about how much we love Jesus and how wonderful it is to be saved. This should disturb us. How can it be that generations of religiously observant people can say all the right things about Jesus and still be on the wrong road? How can we know the things that make for a good church service but not know the things that make for peace?

Jesus said that something has hidden the peaceful way from our eyes . . . and more often than not, it’s a flag. If patriotism simply means the pride of place that inspires civic responsibility, so be it. But if patriotism means “my country right or wrong,” it’s a kind of groupthink blindness that hides the things that make for peace. Unfurled flags of nationalism have a long history of hiding the things of Christ that make for peace. Whether they are Roman, Byzantine, Spanish, French, English, German, Russian, or American flags, when they hide the things that make for peace, they are no longer the innocent banners of a benign patriotism.

So what are the things that make for peace? What is it we need to perceive if we are to avoid the bloody boomerang of a self-inflicted hell? Jesus told us when he said:

In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets. Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it. –Matthew 7:12-14

The things that make for peace are the two great commandments: love of God and love of neighbor, but especially the second command. (Love of God is only validated by a cosuffering love of neighbor.) The “golden rule” of evaluating our actions through the eyes of our neighbor is the narrow and difficult road that leads to life and peace. The golden rule is the narrow gate. The narrow gate is not a sinner’s prayer; the narrow gate is the practice of the Jesus way. The narrow gate is fulfilling the law and the prophets by empathetic love of neighbor in imitation of Jesus. When we hate and vilify others for ideological reasons, when we demonize and dehumanize others for nationalistic reasons, when we use and exploit others for economic reasons, we are on the highway to hell—we have chosen the well-worn road that leads to war and destruction. The deeply disconcerting thing is that it is entirely possible to cruise down the broad road of impending doom while singing songs of praise to Jesus. It happened on the first Palm Sunday. It happened a hundred and fifty years ago in America. It continues to happen today. If we think Jesus shares and endorses our disdain and enmity for our enemies, we don’t know the things that make for peace, and we are headed for an inevitable destruction, even if it takes a generation or two to arrive at our horrible destination. If we console ourselves with the promise of heaven in the afterlife while creating hell in this present life, we have embraced the tawdry religion of the crusader and forsaken the true faith of our Savior.

The road of nonviolent peacemaking is not an easy road, it’s not a popular road, and it’s certainly not a road for cowards. The road of “God is on our side, and he shall surely smite our enemies” is a wide road. A lot of parades have gone down that road. It doesn’t take much courage to travel that road; just fall in step and follow the crowd. A marching band is usually playing. But it’s also the road that leads to burned villages, bombed cities, and solemn processions of flag-draped coffins. Until the self-professed followers of Jesus are willing to forsake the wide road for the narrow way, the popular sentiment for the unpopular conviction, the easy assumptions for the hard alternatives—Jesus will continue to weep while his disciples shout hosanna.

I won’t pretend I have perfected the art of following Jesus on the narrow way that leads to life and peace instead of traipsing down the broad way that leads to death and war. Far from it. I’m a newcomer to the steep and narrow path of peacemaking. If I’m not careful, I can find myself trying to climb the path of peacemaking in a far too unpeaceable way. Which means I am falling on my face—or even tumbling back down the steep path. But still I know it’s the right path. I would not have found, much less chosen to travel, this hard and demanding path unless Jesus had led me on to it. I wasn’t going to be led onto the path of peacemaking by Gandhi or Rumi—as admirable as those men were. If today I’m trying to walk the narrow path of nonviolent peacemaking, its only because its where I find the footsteps of Jesus. It’s an uncrowded path, perhaps at times a lonely path. But it’s worth traveling, because I keep catching glimpses of Jesus farther up the road.

BZ

P.S. I wrote this thirteen years ago. This is an excerpt from A Farewell to Mars.

The Gospel of the Wild Messiah

On By robertalanrifeIn Theology / Spirituality, Words...always wordsLeave a comment

Mark’s gospel reveals an interesting exchange between Jesus and his disciples. This is how he writes it:

“Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi, and on the way he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” 28 And they answered him, “John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” 29 He asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.” (Mark 8:27-29).

“Who do the people say that I am?” It seems a rather benign question on the surface. I mean, it’s not as though Jesus hasn’t explained it, lived it, preached and taught it, performed it. Dig a little deeper though and I think we get to the purpose for his question. Anyone could ask a similar question and receive all manner of different responses.

“Oh, he’s so reliable.”

“She’s the sweetest person we know.”

“He’s not to be trusted.”

Jesus was hip to the notion that we are all deeply kaleidoscopic in our essence. Multi-faceted and gloriously chaotic. He was also deeply aware of how easy it is to build a picture of someone on the basis of preconceived ideas, expectations, hopes and dreams, and, especially, one’s personal-cultural lens.

Perhaps the most coopted, controlled, coordinated, compared, and quieted person in history is Jesus of Nazareth. Hang around social media and almost any news source for very long and it becomes immediately apparent that Jesus is everyone’s mascot, lap-dog, meme; he’s the picture on everyone’s individual flag of identity. “We have the real Jesus. They do not.” All of which fail miserably to actually answer Jesus’ question.

Knowing this and with an interest to dig into Jesus more rigorously, more honestly, St James Scottish Episcopal Church in Leith, where we attend and serve, has adopted as its Lenten theme this year: The Gospel of the Wild Messiah. Our aim is to seek out and walk alongside the Jesus we encounter in scripture, in the marketplace, on the margins, in our lives. A wild and prophetic character perfectly embodying love, truth and power.

The following poem by Reverend Jon Swales is our shared meditation. Will you join us as we pursue the untamed, undomesticated Jesus?

The Gospel of the Wild Messiah

He did not come
robed in safety.

He did not come
crowned in gold.

He came
with dust on his sandals,
blood in his future,
and fire in his bones.

Not to keep the peace—
but to break it open.

The penniless preacher
from Nazareth
walks towards the pain,
kneels
where no king kneels,
calls friends
what the world calls waste.

The mission
of the wild messiah
is
madness to the market
and
mercy to the margins.

Here is a man.
Exiled flesh.
Olive skin
cracked
like parched land.

No one hugs lepers.
But he does.
No ritual.
Just reach.

Let the church be like this—
touching
what others avoid.

Body of Christ,
move your hands.

Here is a man.
Dropped
through a broken roof.

They say
his legs are cursed,
but Jesus says,
“Friend.”

Forgiveness
before healing.
Wholeness
before walking.

Let the church be like this—
tearing open ceilings
so mercy
can get in.

Here is a man.
Sworn to Caesar.
A soldier’s posture,
a servant’s pain.

Faith speaks
from strange lips.
Jesus listens.
Heals.

Let the church be like this—
wide-lunged enough
to breathe in
foreign hope.

Here is a woman.
Tears on feet,
perfume in air,
shame in the room.

They call her sinner.
He calls her forgiven.

Let the church be like this—
welcoming the shamed.
Less pointing.
More tears.
Less tally.

Here is a man.
Naked in tombs.
Self-harm
scrawled across skin.

Unclean,
unkempt,
unloved.

Jesus asks one thing:
What’s your name?

And the demons
tremble.

Let the church be like this—
naming the silenced,
holding the haunted.

Here is a woman.
Twelve years of blood.
Invisible
in a crowd.

She dares a touch—
and it stops him.

He says:
“Daughter.”

A word that heals
more
than wounds.

Let the church be like this—
interruptible.
Alive to power
in the unnoticed.

Here is a man.
Short in stature,
tall in corruption.

Collaboration money
stacked
in a crooked house.

Jesus invites himself in.
No lecture.
Just presence.

And something
changes.

Let the church be like this—
hosting grace
before repentance,
feasting
with the fallen.

Here is a man.
Blind
and begging.

Shouting louder
than the crowd’s comfort.

Jesus halts.
Sees
what others pass by.
And lets light in.

Let the church be like this—
attentive
to inconvenient cries.

This is not
a clean gospel.

It smells
of spit and soil,
rupture
and resistance.

It weeps
in alleyways
and whispers
beside beds.

It eats
with the wrong people
and sings
in the dark.

The kingdom
is not far.

It is falling
like a tear
from the face of God.

And still
he walks.

Still
he calls.

Still
he touches
the untouchable
and invites
the forgotten home.

Let the church
be like this.

Let us be
wounded,
wild,
and faithful.

Amen.
And amen again.

Notable Quotables – Richard Rohr

On By robertalanrifeIn Christian spirituality, Christianity, faithLeave a comment

Death’s death

On By robertalanrifeIn Sanctus, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

Death’s death

Live! Live! Not one minute

more to solemnize the squaring truths

of the dark, exasperating. Exsanguinating.

The probing luminant, juggernaut

of dawn brought down as a quickening

shade of brilliance over the tar-black,

songless night – now gasping out

its own greying reminiscence.

Kicking against the goads, a denouement

of despair, decay’s quietus comes to mock.

But its voice is too dry now for anything more

than the androgynous whisper of a skeleton.

The bones rattle and try in vain to spark, to scare,

to survive the day, already here.

Death, this needy after-thought, this choking

wheeze of duskish, tight-lipp’d groaning –

it can no longer hunt, its legs are

broken, a dislocated shoulder no longer

suited to hefting hopelessness.

Spring! Spring! O antediluvian Spring! How

many are your salted children, lined up

outside your garden wall. Someone

has unchink’d the tangled gate and trodden new

footprints – fresh, ancient and deep – in the Virgin soil.

We come too, having hid ourselves in

the wisp of your blood-colour’d sleeves.

Droughted, now, a tomb and the perfect surprise:

breaths in lungs once shut, re-sighted eyes,

and in the first of all new hours,

Someone has made light work of death.

–

After the tomb

When blood, still damp, soaked through

the sleeves of shrug-shoulder’d men,

did you cry for their laughter?

Were your accusers held in sleep

when Mary’s shaking hands

held fast your plundered feet?

How long before bewildered men

and doting women find again

their reasons for remonstrance?

Will a miracle suffice

to fill the gaps in minds too young

not to lust for proof?

Were the angels surprised

to find their silenced songs

reignited for their fittest subject?

Did you know these walls would

only remind you of this one, unending breath?

This one effortless act for one so bored of death?

Triduum Words – Saturday

On By robertalanrifeIn Sanctus, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

saturday

a day, laid out to flay and scandalize,

reserved for a more macabre affair

some spikes, some wood,

some dereliction of hope, one cosmic corpse

and in these longest of all hours

lay light itself

without so much as a yawn

–

the skies, now silent and spent

the skies, now silent and spent

review their own sorry past

for all hope has fled

replaced by the wordless song

of a dead friend

Painting by Wayne Haag

Triduum Words – Good Friday

On By robertalanrifeIn Sanctus, Theology / Spirituality, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

Before God’s last laugh of resurrection, in order to lean more deeply into the narrative of these three days (tri-duum) of promises, communion, mandates of love, betrayal, miscarriage of justice, ignoble death, hollow silence, and dashed hopes, I’ll be posting poetry for each day: Maundy Thursday, “Good” Friday, and Holy Saturday.

Today is called, ironically, “Good” Friday. Obviously, a name given well after-the-fact since no one alive during those days would likely have called it such. Even a quick Google search produced this: “The earliest known use of the term “Good Friday” is found in the South English Legendary, a text from around 1290, where it is written as “guode friday”. While the exact origin is debated, the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) cites this as the earliest evidence.”

However, we have the benefit now of two thousand years of hindsight and written accounts from which to backwards engineer the stunning events of that day. What was macabre became for us something much, much more. Something…good. 

What sounds are these…?

What sounds are these I hear

of sobs and sighing, seering pain of doubt.

If leaves could talk what might they say

of a crying God, a hopeful hopelessness wrapped in trust?

* * *

Raked across an endless heart,

the bursting bastions of familial love

come couched in terms of unsteady prayers, yearning, yet wavering.

One, two, three faltering steps toward full submission to…what?

* * *

“Must it be this way? Must this broken sentence require my full stop?

Let it be but a misstep, a simple error in divine judgment, and a world

hurled into disarray is called back again.

Must you kiss away their pain with my blood on your lips?”

* * *

Daylight friends become nighttime strangers.

Eyelids, heavy with grief, fear and confusion

flutter and fail. Closed and unseeing they become

when sharp and sure is needed most.

* * *

Gruff and groping they march,

crashing through grass, garden and grove,

sniffing and snorting with dark and heavy purpose.

A poisoned kiss stops cold their treading, hateful boots.

* * *

Two cold lips meet two warm cheeks.

Foe, one time friend, greets friend of all foes

and the world holds its breath –

pausing hell’s raucous revelry and heaven’s sonorous singing.

* * *

Ponderous parade of an army and shackled lamb

whisks down backroads to audience with puppets and clowns,

whose dirty, back-room deals deal out kangaroo justice,

promising the untimely sham of caustic, casual connivances.

* * *

Spewing, spitting, spluttering out lies,

the venom of their dalliance denies all place for truth.

And a king receives a pauper’s sentence.

And a pauper refuses a king’s ransom.

* * *

The dam of reason well collapsed

and the hammer of hate posing as justice

falls as teeth, claws and fangs bite deep

tearing open his back. Men flay the skin of God.

* * *

He is dressed in the accoutrements of power

the punch-line of sparring, jousting jokes

fit for fools, bullies and frightened little boys

with big fists and a caged bird.

* * *

His walk of shame, will soon regale his fame

and repeal the petty finagling of men, insane with lust

for blood, and bone and sating their angry palettes

on the sight of sorry sacrifice.

* * *

Bones meant for healing and holding faces in tender embrace

part for fiercer spikes, a government’s answer

to the unanswerable questions posed by a hated God,

whose broken feet stay secured to the place of their forgiveness.

* * *

Now begins, indeed, a most sinister work.

An only child, spurned by a doting Father scorns

the unsearchable pain of eternal loneliness that supercedes

a lesser pain: political torture by tiny men.

* * *

The uncertain winter sky belches forth

her mystifying darkness and the once joyous birdsong

succumbs to a silence, infinitely louder,

dripping with the shame of what shouldn’t have needed to happen.

* * *

Time’s bullseye is set in its fitting of that heaving breast,

gasping for breath, groping for a sorry excuse for waning life.

But oh, what shines forth from such battered spirit:

the alchemy of grace, a gavel strikes with love.

* * *

“It is finished” – such words, by heaven hitherto unspoken,

hang in the air like molecules of exhaled proclamation:

a deed done means another can begin,

and in 3 words, the world is forever changed.

* * *

Carrion collective circles high above,

the smell of death and forbidden dinner ripe in the air.

They, whoring, hope for bits of flesh, hair and bone,

meal of mangy wing-ed mongrels bent on the efforts of others.

* * *

Not so for this diamond, bloodied, limp and alone.

A poor man’s corpse blesses a rich man’s tomb

and scented linens shroud the face of passion

that, for now at least, lie pristine and still.

* * *

Why should such a tale, so swift, so sorrowful

twist itself into our earthly fabric?

How could such shameful chaos perpetrated by pawns

undo the fickle fate of cowards and kings?

* * *

What sounds are these I hear?

They are the mournful sobs of a Mother,

the shameful cries of deserters,

the longing sighs of the dead…

Triduum Words – Maundy Thursday

On By robertalanrifeIn RobsLitBits, Sanctus, Theology / SpiritualityLeave a comment

Before God’s last laugh of resurrection, in order to lean more deeply into the narrative of these three days (tri-duum) of promises, communion, mandates of love, betrayal, miscarriage of justice, ignoble death, hollow silence, and dashed hopes, I’ll be posting poetry for each day: Maundy Thursday, “Good” Friday, and Holy Saturday.

Today is, of course, Maundy (or “mandate”) Thursday and we find ourselves hidden among the twelve with Jesus at table with freshly-washed feet, the command of love still thick in the air, and imminent threat of betrayal.

Hints in a meal of trouble come

Hints in a meal of trouble come,

while bread, still warm, newly broken

abides, hidden securely between teeth

in mouths hungry for more.

Hunger assuaged, 24 clean feet and a single, haunted table.

–

Only crumbs remain,

mixed up and jumbled in pools of spilled wine.

A rumpled table top, tussled

with detritus of a meal, but laughing, flaunting its revelry

through unknowing smiles and the heavy eyelids of sleepy friends.

–

They restfully recline, sashes loosened,

bits of meat trapped in beards,

but not without gnawing whispers of

“what now?” “What next?” “When?” And in their shared memory

of goodness sense not the coming bad; the storm clouds of betrayal.

–

An ominous, stealthy breeze sneaks through the room,

slithering past befuddled hearts

and blows its dark breath from one

whose riskless love cannot match he whose riskily painted love,

soon full-flayed and dying, cannot be matched.

Doors

On By robertalanrifeIn celtic spirituality, Christian spirituality, Christianity, faith, life together, sacramental living, spiritual formationLeave a comment

“A picture is worth a thousand words,” once proclaimed advertising executive, Fred R. Barnard.

Like so many of you, I love picture. Metaphor. Symbol. Illustrations as it were of the lives we lead that, themselves, mirror the confluence of flesh and fire, body and spirit, life and eternity. Occasionally, I post something that is a tip of the hat to such metaphors.

Door is a favourite such metaphor. They are something we must open ourselves but which, at times, are opened for us. Often, I open doors just for me, but most doors are communal, allowing others to go through with me, before me, instead of me, or even in spite of me. Once open, we’re faced with a decision: stand and gaze, or walk through and take an existential risk of faith mixed with trust. Once through, we gain the elation of having taken that risk and our view opens to be exponentially more expansive than it was before.

Speaking about prayer, Jesus made a remarkable promise to his disciples, “Knock, and the door will be opened for you.” He also said, “I am the door. If anyone enters through me, he will be saved, and will come in and go out, and find pasture.”

Such a profound, but mysterious, invitation!

Whatever the circumstance, in Christ, all such doors lead inward to friendship with God and outward to the riches of a universe being restored, renewed in God’s image. All of it an act of grace.

Come, let’s dare to walk through together.

Once upon a time – becoming the story

On By robertalanrifeIn Christian spiritualityLeave a comment

Sunday, September 5, 2021. Rosebud Church, Rosebud, Alberta.

Begin with Prayer

On By robertalanrifeIn Christian spirituality, Christianity, faith, life together, sacramental living, spiritual formation3 Comments

What follows is excerpted and morphed from a sermon I delivered recently on Prayer as the foundation for Evangelism.

________________________________

The time has never been greater for Christians to live as Christ Ones. Our world, our neighbourhoods, our families all need a freshly invigorated, Spirit-filled kiss from God through lives made whole and real in the Gospel.

As with everything else, Jesus is our example, our inspiration, and our guide. Because the topic of prayer is so vast, I’m paring it down to three episodes in the life of Jesus in order to see how he goes about this business of prayer.

Episode I – Jesus Prays for Enlightenment

Luke 6:12-13

12 Now during those days he went out to the mountain to pray; and he spent the night in prayer to God. 13And when day came, he called his disciples and chose twelve of them, whom he also named apostles:

Jesus prays for Enlightenment, for help in decision-making. At a key moment early in his ministry, Jesus prays all night to hone his spiritual spidey-senses to hear clearly from his Father. The time had come for him to choose his team. His apprentices. Those who would represent the Kingdom of God. We know them of course as the Apostles.

He didn’t consult his notes, or do background checks, or call references. He didn’t consult his Purpose Driven Life book or call up Joel Osteen. He didn’t check his horoscope.

He prayed.

He stopped everything he was doing, turned off his cell phone, and talked to God all night. And, upon his return, chooses twelve of the most influential people in human history.

As we live the Christian Way among our neighbours, we will need a spiritual sensitivity, honed and heightened by prayer. “Lord, where are those most hungry for a touch from you today? Lord, how do I know to whom you may be calling me to offer a word of hope? To help share a burden? To be a willing listener?”

The same way Jesus did. By prayer. In prayer we learn to trust the “holy hunch.”

Rae and I learned this lesson again a few weeks ago while on our way back from Seattle. We’d stopped to eat at Salty’s Restaurant on Alki Beach, a favourite haunt of ours. Our waitress was a young, intelligent, and gregarious young woman. She was quite chatty really. A Psychology student who is trying to make it in real estate. 

Before long we found ourselves buried in conversation with her. Then, the conversation moved very naturally into discussing matters of soul. She is feeling distanced from the faith of her parents who worshipped in a fundamentalist fashion. Her relationship with her parents was a bit strained to say the least.

In fact, she asked if she could stay after her shift was over. She longed to speak with us longer about her distant faith and of her disillusionment with the present state of Christianity in this country. She stayed for two hours! We enjoyed a very intense and moving conversation that was wonderfully beneficial to all of us.

We’re now good friends with her and her fiancée, a young man from Yakima, actually. And last weekend we were in Seattle again and ended up with an extra ticket to see Ed Sheeran in concert. We took him with us.

Why do we Begin with Prayer? Because we cannot see the way forward to just the right conversations with just the right people at just the right time in any other way.

Episode II – Jesus Prays for Empowerment

Mark 1:35-39 In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. 36And Simon and his companions hunted for him. 37When they found him, they said to him, ‘Everyone is searching for you.’ 38He answered, ‘Let us go on to the neighbouring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.’ 39And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

Prior to this Jesus had been engaging in a flurry of teaching engagements, healing and helping and listening and dealing with the religious leaders. Apparently, healing people, casting out demons, raising people from the dead, losing friends, gaining enemies, and engaging in constant conflict with the religious brass was exhausting. Who knew?

The life to which we are called is a demanding one. Not just because of our own survival. But, because there will always be those around us who need God’s love. There will always be one more child to adopt. One more disease to cure. One more demon to cast out. One more lonely person to befriend. One more lost soul who needs the companionship of Jesus.

Kingdom work tired Jesus. It will tire us, too.  Prayer is to the soul what sleep is to the body; what sex is to a relationship. It nourishes and restores and sustains. Jesus needed prayer. So will we.

Why do we Begin with Prayer? Because relationships are beautiful but tiring.

Episode III – Jesus Prays for Encouragement

Matthew 26:36-44 Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, ‘Sit here while I go over there and pray.’ 37He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee and began to be grieved and agitated. 38Then he said to them, ‘I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.’ 39And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, ‘My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.’ 40Then he came to the disciples and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter, ‘So, could you not stay awake with me one hour? 41Stay awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.’ 42Again he went away for the second time and prayed, ‘My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.’ 43Again he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were heavy. 44So leaving them again, he went away and prayed for the third time, saying the same words.

Life at times puts the squeeze on us. All of us at some point must carry the burden of the cross. We will confront fear, disappointment, pain, doubt, failure. We will face our own fox-hole faith moment when all our waning energies rally to a single point of bursting emotion: “Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me…”

Life lived as Good News is challenging. It will ask of us everything. Our time, our trust, our energy, our finances, our faith, our doubts…all of it. We will often be taxed well beyond what we can manage on our own.

Prayer is the place we are given enlightenment – seeing what we most need to see. Prayer wakes us up to what’s happening all around us.

Prayer is where we are empowered to do the work set before us. It is the oatmeal of our faith journey – where we are enlivened and sustained in Kingdom work.

And, prayer is where we will find encouragement to persist when all around seems bleak and impossible.

Why do we begin with prayer? Because Jesus did. And he’s the reason we’re doing any of this anyway.

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