Let My Words be Few

For years now, I have pondered the verse in the New Testament book of Matthew 6:6-8:

"But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.

From there, Jesus goes on to give his famous example prayer, which matches perfectly his own instruction. I specifically think most about verse six that talks about praying with few words and, frankly, I really wonder as I pray and as I hear others pray, if perhaps we say too much. Truly this is not to be cynical, and I'm not about to go into the debate as to whether or not we need to pray at all, but I really consider why we feel the need to use many words.

Am I the only one that has the conception inlaid within my mind that a lengthy, poetic prayer is a "good one"? I tend to hear from my own mouth and the mouth of others a string of impressive phrases imbued with value, such phrases that often cause those in proximity to proclaim "Amen!" in concurrence to said phrase. I scan over the Lord's prayer and every time I realize just how unimpressive it is, save that it came from the Christ himself; Christ's prayer is thorough to be sure, as he covers thankfulness, humbleness, humility, righteous desire, physical need, forgiveness from God and to others, spiritual need, remembrance and perspective - all in, more or less, sixty words depending on translation.

There is nothing I intend in this thought to do anything other than expand and reconsider the mind on prayer; I do not slander any one form of prayer over another in this, for that isn't my plan or purpose; I just wonder if when we sing, "So let my words be few," if we really mean that or not, and if we could be satisfied in faith to speak humbly in few words to our Lord. There is so much more here that could be said, but for now, I'll let my words be few.

Watering a Dry and Thankless Heart

Tonight Jerry brought to Taiwan an idea which he regularly uses in New Jersey, the title of which is "Seven to Wheneva" - wherein people show up around 7:00pm and do for a variable amount of time that which they feel led to do: sing, dance, sit quietly, pray with one another, pray to God, read their Bible, etc... As such events often yield, the results were marvelous and I lost myself in prayer, worship and thinking about God. There reached a point in which I decided to start listening to Ravi, and as usual when listening to him, I started to think tangents off of what he was saying, and conclude with many of my own thoughts, this essay is the product of such thoughts.

I recalled a story which I've so often told: a true story which is more accurately a pair of stories, but with a single point. The first story tells about a plane flying through the upper atmospheres, and all is well until suddenly one engine after another die. The pilot gets on the radio with the tower and as the situation is discussed, the pilot decides he must make an emergency landing on a local runway. The plan comes down and strikes the runway with such force that the landing gear is crushed beneath it and the plane slides in a heap of metal and flame. Emergency vehicles and personal are immediately on the scene, having anticipated it, and began pulling people from the burning aircraft. The pilot is on the forefront of the action, pulling one person after another from the plane and handing them to emergency personnel until finally the personnel won't allow him to return into the flaming inferno for he himself is on fire. The pilot is heartbroken, for there were still some left in the wreckage which he could not save. The question raised thereafter is this: if you had a loved one on that plane and you met the pilot, would you not want to eagerly take his hand, shake it and thank him for his heroism? The second story, meanwhile, tells of another plane in a similar circumstance - flying freely through the air, then one engine, two, three and four all die, the pilot then comes over the sound system, "Folks, ditching is eminent; ditching is eminent." Suddenly, an engine comes to life and the pilot is able to limp the plane safely to a runway. Finally the question is posed: whom do you thank then?

I have heard this story and I have spoken it on numerous occasion, yet I admit now that it is quite possible if not entirely likely that I speak a story which I myself do not fully understand. I, as one might put it, am a recovering realist - that is, one who always makes sense of things by use of typical reason; not an optimist which, classically, considers the glass half-full; nor the pessimist who doesn't particularly even like the glass; nay, the realist which confirms that the glass is indeed leveled at fifty percent. I say recovering because, quite frankly, traditional realism is not quite so real as much as it is dry - the ultimate realist is one who admits to his lover not that he loves her, but that he's having a chemical reaction. The point being: stark realism has a tendency to ultimately leave one with little more than illegitimate security that they're not being "taken in" by any such nonsense. But really, is the lover truly only having a chemical reaction; is love a word merely used for the optimist of heart? No, that's absurd, and if one's honest, they know it.

There are moments in life in which something simply fantastic happens and we remark, "That worked out", "That was close" or some other phrase which admits something unexpected and, often, unlikely just happened. At times I pray for something to happen, and when it does I thank God for His kindness to me, but honestly, I rarely pray so specifically that I notice it happen; the best of my gratitude is often the product of retrospective thought. But otherwise I tend to justify my situation into circumstance and chance, appreciating nothing but luck - who doesn't care in the slightest. I fear if I were in the second plane whose engine miraculously started, I would have spent the length of my time considering the physics behind what had just happened, and what it would take for a turbine engine to start back up again - "Perhaps the turbine got jammed," I'd wonder, "so no air could get in and the combustion choked, then as the plane began to fall the turbine got unstuck and, still hot, was able to ignite when oxygen reached the fuel line." Makes perfect sense, but true or not, I've effectively managed to suffocate a remarkable situation of all magnificence; I've sacrificed magnificence on the calculated alter of realism, and am not the better person for it, indeed I've lost all means for gratitude.

So what is the problem? Is there something wrong with realism, and some necessity for thankfulness? Oh indeed, for the realist is reduced to chemical reactions and calculated circumstance, substituting such out love and wonder. Please understand I am dealing with realism to extremity, but only for the sake of admitting just how much we so often reason the glory out of circumstance.

One time I was in New Orleans fixing and gutting homes for folks after the disaster of Hurricane Katrina. There was one fellow on the trip which, if you get the chance, you should like to meet and know - his name is Alejandro Rodriguez, or Alex as we called him. The man was the most thankful chap you ever met, daily thankful for the very air he breathed. During our stay in New Orleans we were informed of a dreadfully large spider called the Brown Recluse, which is terribly large and poisonous. At one point in the trip everyone was gutting homes, and Alex was doing just that; a hammer in hand and on top of a ladder, he was slamming away at one of the rotten ceilings. Suddenly the ceiling he was striking gave way and opened in front of him, and right there in front of him were three of the disgustingly huge spiders, Alex was rightfully startled by this and began to lean himself back away from the creatures - this, unfortunately, put him off balance and sent him falling backwards off the ladder, but, remarkably, as he fell he managed to yell out four words with all his desperation, "I love you Jesus!" This is one of those few stories that I have a difficult time telling, because I myself have a difficult time believing that such a person as Alex actually exists.

What is it in us realists which so often causes us to scoff at Alex? For Alex yet has a joy which your average realist will admit he has not. For realism is indeed a two edged sword, wherein gratitude is a joy to be shared; realism cuts, a thankful heart appreciates and adds value unto - for the lover informing another of a chemical reaction yet cleaves the moment, while the admittance of love imbues the relationship with something mystical that, while the average realist is suspicious of, he does not deny the desire for. Mysticism, in such as love, is not dismissible on any other account than it is often not predictable or calculative. I fear however, that to truly understand love it is first required that one understands gratitude or, at least, is capable of being truly thankful. How can I love Jesus for dying on the cross for me, if I'm too busy calculating the circumstance? How could I love a wife, if I wasn't thankful to her for who she was? But what is the point of being thankful to her for such things? She simply is who she is, so why be thankful of it as though it were a favor to me? Such thinking is so dry and yields a crop equally as dry and will only prove to dry my mouth upon consumption; it should by my own dryness which dehydrates and kills me. Indeed, why not be thankful to God for everything down to the peculiar circumstances of life? Would not a gratitude of life to God only give me a greater love for life and God? Is that not what we're really looking for? I should much like to be alive and joyful than dead and cunning.

Thoughts on Global Ministry

        Traveling to Taiwan has, in many ways, been a remarkably beneficial trip; it has brought to light many tentative subjects within my mind, a list of which would be extremely difficult to produce by shear volume. But more than theoretical pondering, my mind works fervently to take all of this and turn it into a way by which to live my life. I’ll share but one element which has been scratching at my mind in the length of this trip:

        While being here, Jerry and I have appreciated the opportunity to join the local ministry in, what they call, “Individual Evangelism” – wherein we go to a public location and find random people, hopefully by the Spirit’s prompting, and share the gospel with them. This, to say the least, was quite the opportunity for Jerry and me to grow. The first instance of Individual Evangelism began with Jerry, me and a few others walking into the local university, from there our Taiwanese hosts went and, unbeknownst to us, began rallying a group of students because “some Americans had something they wanted to say to them.” By the time this news had arrived to Jerry and me a group of fifteen or so students had already formed and were staring at us with uncertain anticipation. We simply stared back for a moment like two barnyard animals, then Jerry began to stammer out and introduction and, before we knew it, we were talking about Jesus to the students. Needless to say, that, at the very least, inspired some rather interesting conversation between Jerry and me that night.

        Now don’t get me wrong, Jerry and I did not return home but to grouse about the experience; I’m the sort of chap which prefers to grouse right away at the proper opportunity, lest I should lose enthusiasm. This however, was nothing to complain about, but was something to be considered: Is the method of “Individual Evangelism” really the most effective method of sharing the gospel? Is it perhaps what real evangelists do, in that by being the boldest, most direct and quickest it’s obviously the best and most spirited? What sort of Christians would such a method produce? The questions, I assure you, can go on, and if they don’t mean much to you they would if you’d just finished with said circumstances. One troubling thought to me is that the method had a tendency of creating “spiritual orphans” – folks who listen, and perhaps even dropped on a knee right there and gave their lives to Jesus, had no immediate and effective means of follow-up; more troubling, however, was the simple fact that this method forces me to tell you about fifteen students; from beginning to end, I didn’t know their names or anything about them; I simply approached them with the presupposition that they had a terminal problem in their lives that they perhaps weren’t aware of, and I was going to offer them the cure. I cannot help but feel that this is a bit presumptuous on my behalf, and it turns people from lives in need of understanding and salvation, into projects in need of fixing. I am not under the notion that I will know the name and history of every person to which I speak, nor will I be able to, but under circumstances of a classroom or speaking engagement, I at least can make the fair assumption that those listening knew who I was and what they were going to hear before hearing it, allowing them the opportunity to consider beforehand if they really wanted to here it and, perhaps more importantly, if they really cared at all.

        Jerry and I, after consideration, began using a phrase to describe an alternative solution: “Relational Evangelism” – in which we would go up to people with nothing more than the idea that we would get to know this person. Even this has some presumption to it, but is rather less offensive in nature and has thus far not yielded poor results. I won’t deny that we should much like to talk about God in the conversation, but I think the major difference in this is that we don’t preload the meeting that it must go in this direction (though it often does), and God, when he does come up, is a friendly discussion, rather than an unanticipated sermon. This method, I will admit, doesn’t quite have the quantity which the former methodology offers but, in my heart and mind, yields much more loving results; in truth, I should much more like to have the opportunity to tell someone just how much I care about them and why (which first demands that I actually know them, somewhat), than en masse inform a group of people whom I don’t know that they have a problem and I know the answer, nice to meet you.

        I am afraid, however, that my mind has actually taken this a step further, which is actually my real purpose of writing this silliness. Let us consider an individual or business with missionary purposes – they’ve concluded that they like God, and would like others to know about Him, on a global basis. Is it possible to move to a new area, especially as a large ministry or business, and not ultimately lead to this form of evangelism (Individual Evangelism, that is)? Come to think of it, that’s not quite my thought so please allow to try again: the secular crowd boasts (and at times fairly so) of their entrepreneurial purposes: global warming, war against aids, disaster relief efforts, etc… to name a few, and whether or not one agrees with the cause, one ought to appreciate the heart behind it to actively do something against what’s considered a problem – the intention behind it, I will not get into, but I do believe there’s a distinction between when a Believer efforts such a cause, and when a secular individual does so – not in effect, but in reason. So does one go to Indonesia in order to provide disaster relief for the troubled, or inform them that if they accept Christ, he will come into their lives and promise them eternal life? I do not ask this mockingly but solemnly, for while the predicament does not usually come up in such an obvious way, many missionaries do in fact set out for the simple purpose of salvation. My point then, I suppose, is that I believe we (or at least I) ought to do both.

        One often hears that the most effective way to do anything in anyone’s life is to form trust in the one being helped – they first must want help, then they must allow themselves to be helped, and finally trust us to be the ones to do it. This is rightfully so, and I’ve heard this from the mouths and pens of activists and missionaries alike. Missionaries especially, I’ve noticed, appear to have a more difficult time with this one, and I’ve heard stories thereafter of people suddenly opening up in light of a missionary’s attempt to do something for the people as a whole that is not, in the cause, religiously purposed. There is indeed something in the true actions of a loving cause which speaks volumes to the human heart; for some reason we far more understand the genuineness of another’s love in the particular, if we first see its presence in the general. In short, love for a people through acts of grace opens doors for relational evangelism. In truth though, a part of me fears laying out such a formula, in the realization that if done dryly, it is only a long-term means of treating people as projects – I must therefore, though I hesitate, reflect on the human heart.

        It has been said that “the problem at the heart of humanity is the problem with the human heart.” Elsewhere in Proverbs it mentions that Man looks at the ways of men, but the Lord considers the heart. Regardless of what some publicists proclaim, the intentions of men do in fact make a difference and does in fact matter. If a man were to return a lost pet to a family, it would make a difference as to whether or not he did it for the reward money posted on fliers – but the pet was returned, was it not? Is not the effect therefore the same? To say yes, I believe, would prove a level of shortsightedness, for it would be to deny that humans affect one another ontologically; the children would see this, and understand the difference between a kind motive and a selfish one. The phrase “you are what you do” is absolute nonsense, but it would be true to say “you do because of who you are”, and the disposition of our character is constantly communicated within our words and actions, but that does not mean who we are is contained within words and actions; one can get an idea of who I am because I wrote this, but one would be greatly mislead if they attempted to define me by this. This point is perhaps overstressed for the purpose of lending weight to my thought: intentions are the manifestation of our character in what we do and say, and our intentions, therefore, are more important than our immediate cause; intentions, in fact, is our cause for our causes. This, if you know the story, is why it was so much more meaningful for the woman of poverty to give to the temple in Jesus’ time than the Pharisees.

        Intentions, furthermore, cannot be in and of themselves their own reason any more than I can actually lift myself off the ground by grabbing my feet and pulling. The giving of gifts at Christmas is a good secular example of this and is the purpose for so many films which preach the goodness of “Christmas Spirit” – the idea that it is better to give than to receive, and that one must give of something truly meaningful to a loved one; give the gift for the purpose of implicitly telling that person how much you care about them, not because you wanted to give a gift. The arts heard first the cry (as they always do) of meaningless intention, and thus coined and preached of a new, invisible intention called “The Christmas Spirit” – which, quite frankly, is but another intentioned based off itself in a cyclical form. Even, and especially, we Christians ought not to find ourselves creating such self-defining causes; do not be a missionary because it is good to be a missionary, do not worship because it is good to worship, do not even pray because it is good to pray. Please understand, I cry with hurting people, preach the gospel, love my parents, and keep from cheating on my taxes for the same reason: to worship and therefore love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength. He gives unity in diversity in all areas of life; there is not one cause or intention that need be for its own purpose. Let us not forget, however, that God is not a mere vessel of infinity, but a character, and He does not tolerate evil causes to be proclaimed in His name. I will cease qualifying my thoughts on intention here, for it is such an argument as has been argued between humans for ages, and I shall perhaps write about at a later time, but that is not my purpose here.

        Lest it be forgotten, the subject is global ministry, and my conclusion for such ministry is that, for the cause and intention of loving and worshipping God, the minister ought consider first expressing his love for God’s people by feeding the poor, aiding the disabled, uplifting the widows, etc… as the Lord prescribes. What of spreading The Gospel? Personally, I consider The Gospel to be among the more incredible manifestations of God within the world, and feel shame when I doubt its capability or (what’s perhaps worse) take it upon myself to be that which upon the gospel relies. If we live our lives righteously, lovingly, in worship and in truth, yet not for the sake of any of these, it will raise questions and we will be called to give an account for the hope that we have (1 Peter); love people without expecting love in return, and people will wonder; feed a hungry people and they will ponder your purpose; visit a lonely widow or widower and they will consider the God which sends you. The Gospel is true, and truth cannot be long covered; live in His Truth and a dead world will ponder your life, and opportunity will present itself for Relational Evangelism.