In all my recent reading and study on the topic of prayer (specifically the Christian variety) I have not yet seen a good answer to a question that was recently posed to me. I preached a few weeks ago and I used some of the material I've gathered on the subject of prayer, including some of the responses to the age old question of why pray if God knows our thoughts and knows the future? One of the men at church, Illya, told me he had often wondered just that, and liked some of the responses I quoted. But he also had another question for which I do not have a ready answer: why does the bible tell us that it is important to offer up the same request repeatedly?
Indeed, it seems like just about every other time Jesus takes up the topic of prayer it is to hammer on this point--pray frequently and pray persistently. But doesn't that seem somewhat untrusting? If I really trust God I should be content to offer my request or concern and leave it at that; but there we have Jesus telling parables of widows petitioning an unjust judge, of people hammering on the neighbors door at night, all telling us it is important to be persistent with our requests to God.
What is going on here--is God forgetful, does he have divine amnesia and needs tapped on the shoulder so to speak? And what is with those parables in which God comes off looking rather shabby, likened to an unjust judge or a grumpy neighbor?
I do not have any ready answer to this question, and in fact I am glad that my sermon got people asking more questions and not simply nodding at my answers. I've pondered Illya's question, why are we called to pray for things repeatedly and not just trust God that he heard us the first time? A few thoughts come to mind. First, in my own practice of prayer a lack of repetition and persistence more often reveals my apathy than my faith that God has heard me. Jesus seems to instruct us to go to God persistently as a display of faith. Secondly, if we understand prayer more as an ongoing and vibrant relationship with a personally engaged God then the persistence makes relational sense. If my wife and I decide we need to adjust our budget it is not enough to have one conversation about that and then be done with it; the nature of our lives requires that it become a part of an ongoing conversation.
Mar 28, 2011
Mar 4, 2011
C.S. Lewis and others on prayer
Another text that I have been working through on the topic of Christian prayer is a collection of letters that C.S. Lewis wrote to a friend, Malcolm, clustered around the topic of prayer. They were published in a book, Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer, initially recommended to me by a thoughtful friend (thanks, Steve).
One of the things I have found interesting while contemplating this subject is how nearly every writer or thinker I have encountered takes up, at some point, the question of God's foreknowledge and prayer. Origen is pithy on this point, noting that one might well object to prayer, seeing as how it is an awful lot like beseeching God that the sun might rise in the morning. If God has perfect foreknowledge and if God is providential, what happens is inevitable, and what purpose then do our prayers serve?
A more existential way of putting this paradox was summed up in the lyrics to an old Caedmon's Call song, "The Close of Autumn" I believe was the title:
My dad has often quoted that last line, "what would I ask you," wondering why we pray.
There are a couple of layers to this. First, when we pray we often already know the answer God will give. Which of you if his son asks him for bread would give a stone? And yet, which of you if his son asks for poison would grant his request? Secondly, why do I ask when God presumably already knows not only just what he'd say to me, but also just what I'd ask of him?
It is almost a given that Christian writers taking up the subject of prayer will address this question at some point, yet it is fascinating that they often come at the question from different angles. Origen takes a number of angles, but starts with a philosophical argument: while God might have perfect knowledge of the future, that does not mean that his knowledge is itself the cause of any particular future event. For us then, it is important that we pray because our will is the cause of such events and God simply knows if we will chose to pray or not.
This is an interesting enough argument, but fairly abstract. Augustine takes a different angle:
From this angle, the effect of prayer on God is not the primary issue but rather the effect of prayer on the one offering it up. This is classic Augustine and a beautiful twist in addressing an age old question. God is always already answering us, but we are not always ready to receive.
Lewis' take gets a little closer to answering the question as posed by the Caedmon's Call lyric, taking a more relational and existential approach. Borrowing a page from Martin Buber Lewis suggests that regardless of whether or not God has perfect foreknowledge or determines all things, God desires us to pray to him because it places us in a dialogical relationship with God. Without prayer, Lewis writes that God's knowledge of us is like his knowledge of any other object: "We are, like earthworms, cabbages, and nebulae, objects of Divine knowledge" (Lewis, p. 33). It is only when we pray to God that we become something other than mere objects of knowledge, like those cabbages and nebulae. In Buber's words, when we pray the relationship God has with us switches from merely an I-it relationship to an I-Thou relationship. Through prayer we offer God our subjectivity.
Once again this has me thinking about parent and child, or two lovers or any other persons locked in a relationship for that mater. In our most intimate human relationships it is still important to speak words, ask questions, vent at the end of a long week, even when (and perhaps most crucially when) we already know what will be said or what will be answered.
Take the words "I love you." When spoken truthfully and without guile these words are often anticipated, expected, foreknown even; just as much as the reply, "I love you too."
One of the things I have found interesting while contemplating this subject is how nearly every writer or thinker I have encountered takes up, at some point, the question of God's foreknowledge and prayer. Origen is pithy on this point, noting that one might well object to prayer, seeing as how it is an awful lot like beseeching God that the sun might rise in the morning. If God has perfect foreknowledge and if God is providential, what happens is inevitable, and what purpose then do our prayers serve?
A more existential way of putting this paradox was summed up in the lyrics to an old Caedmon's Call song, "The Close of Autumn" I believe was the title:
All this time I've been thinking, wondering how would it be
To breathe in deep
Guess I need to be careful when I ask for a drink
Just might get what I ask for
And I know just what you'd say to me
That's why I don't ask you
What would I ask you
My dad has often quoted that last line, "what would I ask you," wondering why we pray.
There are a couple of layers to this. First, when we pray we often already know the answer God will give. Which of you if his son asks him for bread would give a stone? And yet, which of you if his son asks for poison would grant his request? Secondly, why do I ask when God presumably already knows not only just what he'd say to me, but also just what I'd ask of him?
It is almost a given that Christian writers taking up the subject of prayer will address this question at some point, yet it is fascinating that they often come at the question from different angles. Origen takes a number of angles, but starts with a philosophical argument: while God might have perfect knowledge of the future, that does not mean that his knowledge is itself the cause of any particular future event. For us then, it is important that we pray because our will is the cause of such events and God simply knows if we will chose to pray or not.
This is an interesting enough argument, but fairly abstract. Augustine takes a different angle:
But it is because the act of prayer clarifies and purges our heart and makes it more capable of receiving the divine gifts that are poured out for us in the spirit. God does not give heed to the ambitiousness of our prayers, because he is always ready to give to us his light, not a visible light but an intellectual and spiritual one: but we are not always read to receive it.
From this angle, the effect of prayer on God is not the primary issue but rather the effect of prayer on the one offering it up. This is classic Augustine and a beautiful twist in addressing an age old question. God is always already answering us, but we are not always ready to receive.
Lewis' take gets a little closer to answering the question as posed by the Caedmon's Call lyric, taking a more relational and existential approach. Borrowing a page from Martin Buber Lewis suggests that regardless of whether or not God has perfect foreknowledge or determines all things, God desires us to pray to him because it places us in a dialogical relationship with God. Without prayer, Lewis writes that God's knowledge of us is like his knowledge of any other object: "We are, like earthworms, cabbages, and nebulae, objects of Divine knowledge" (Lewis, p. 33). It is only when we pray to God that we become something other than mere objects of knowledge, like those cabbages and nebulae. In Buber's words, when we pray the relationship God has with us switches from merely an I-it relationship to an I-Thou relationship. Through prayer we offer God our subjectivity.
Once again this has me thinking about parent and child, or two lovers or any other persons locked in a relationship for that mater. In our most intimate human relationships it is still important to speak words, ask questions, vent at the end of a long week, even when (and perhaps most crucially when) we already know what will be said or what will be answered.
Take the words "I love you." When spoken truthfully and without guile these words are often anticipated, expected, foreknown even; just as much as the reply, "I love you too."
Mar 2, 2011
Reflections on Augustine
I've been pondering the quote I put up from Augustine for a few days now.
I particularly like that last bit about God seeking us out because we have lost ourselves. I am reminded of Christ's words in Matthew 16:
There are a few levels to this. On one level, I believe it is true that we find life when we are focused more on the needs of others than on our own. When we indulge our in born narcissism we ironically starve ourselves of the things that bring richness to life--love, friendship, family, and the like.
On another level it is impossible to escape the implication in Jesus' words: following him will not be comfortable. It's not just a message about "true happiness is found in helping others" but also a statement about the difficult, counter-cultural path Jesus calls his followers on, one that will lead to conflict with the powers that be and which is at times incompatible with worldly popularity.
Returning to the quote from Augustine, I wonder how skewed my appreciation of these words is given my position in history and my cultural background. In this late-modern, consumer capitalist culture of ours we are drawn to the repetition of the word "yourself" like moths to light. I am predisposed to get a warm fuzzy feeling by this quote in large part because of my conditioning. How hard it is to take these words deeply to heart, not because they are hard words but because our hearts respond to different meanings within those words than the ones most likely originally intended.
All of which returns me to prayer. One of the biggest problems I am encountering is the tendency to render prayer primarily a journey of self-discovery and self-improvement (as if we needed any more of such dreck in this culture so richly supplied with it). There is an undeniable focus on the individual in prayer. Our cultural bias towards individualism makes this entire subject dangerous stuff, puts us at increased risk of misinterpreting and misconstruing the subject because it deals in an area we have real trouble with.
"You ask what you should offer: offer yourself. For what else does the Lord seek of you but you? Because of all earthly creatures he has made nothing better than you, he seeks yourself from yourself, because you have lost yourself."
I particularly like that last bit about God seeking us out because we have lost ourselves. I am reminded of Christ's words in Matthew 16:
Then Jesus said to his disciples, "Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul? For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father’s glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what they have done.
There are a few levels to this. On one level, I believe it is true that we find life when we are focused more on the needs of others than on our own. When we indulge our in born narcissism we ironically starve ourselves of the things that bring richness to life--love, friendship, family, and the like.
On another level it is impossible to escape the implication in Jesus' words: following him will not be comfortable. It's not just a message about "true happiness is found in helping others" but also a statement about the difficult, counter-cultural path Jesus calls his followers on, one that will lead to conflict with the powers that be and which is at times incompatible with worldly popularity.
Returning to the quote from Augustine, I wonder how skewed my appreciation of these words is given my position in history and my cultural background. In this late-modern, consumer capitalist culture of ours we are drawn to the repetition of the word "yourself" like moths to light. I am predisposed to get a warm fuzzy feeling by this quote in large part because of my conditioning. How hard it is to take these words deeply to heart, not because they are hard words but because our hearts respond to different meanings within those words than the ones most likely originally intended.
All of which returns me to prayer. One of the biggest problems I am encountering is the tendency to render prayer primarily a journey of self-discovery and self-improvement (as if we needed any more of such dreck in this culture so richly supplied with it). There is an undeniable focus on the individual in prayer. Our cultural bias towards individualism makes this entire subject dangerous stuff, puts us at increased risk of misinterpreting and misconstruing the subject because it deals in an area we have real trouble with.
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