John Starke - The Possibility of Prayer: Finding Stillness with God in a Restless World

I WAKE UP WITH some effort at 5:30 a.m. and its still dark. It is quiet, but that wont last long. The kids will be up soon, hustling to pour their Cheerios, comb each others hair, throw their backpacks on, and make it out the door before the 1 Train comes to take us away to our day. But not yet. It is still quiet. Just me with my coffee.

The lists and notes scattered around my desk tempt me to start my day early. Theres a lot to do today: people who need care, a sermon that needs attention, and a few meetings that require some thought. Those tasks call out: Come to me, all who are anxious and want to get stuff done! Dont you want to get stuff done? Yes, my heart says, yes! I want to get stuff done.

But not yet. There will be time for that soon. Not enough time, for sure, but time for it. Since there is never enough time, Im reminded that all I am, all I long for, all my hopes and plans can never be fulfilled and accomplished in time. Time always runs out and leaves me disappointed. My heart doesnt seem to accept the limitations that time offers. It has eternity pumping all the way through to the bottom. I need something more than just enough time.

I remember reading a book on how to best take advantage of all 168 hours of the week. Something in me wants to see each of those as opportunities to accomplish all that I want to get done and satisfy everyone I desperately do not want to disappoint. We crave glory and think we can pack it into 168 hours. No wonder theres never enough time. Man is the creature with a mystery in his heart that is bigger than himself. The mystery within isnt the problem; its the context in which we try to work out the mystery that fails us. The inside is bigger than the outside.

Here is a spiritual peculiarity to explore: that eternity is what we crave, and the first thing our disillusioned brains think to do is cram it into the hours of the working week. I need something more than enough timetime management cant be the answer here. My notes and lists will have to wait.

I move from my desk to my chair in the corner. Psalm 141 helps me pray: Let my prayer be counted as incense before you. Yes, thats a good way to begin: incense before you. Like an aroma that provokes pleasure and satisfactionthats what I want my prayers to be like.

But how can they? I am filled with inner conflicts. I am full of contradictions and mixed motivations. In Psalm 141 the psalmist will get to praying against his enemy, whoever that may be, but surely the psalmist is aware that theres at least a bit of the enemy in him. I know there is in me.

Let my prayer be counted as incense before you. Let it be counted as something it inherently is not: a pleasing aroma. Do you see what the psalmist is doing here? It takes a slow reading sometimes to catch the word counted. David is asking that his prayers be seen as something they are not within themselves.

Break my prayers down to their essential elements, and you will find contradictory longings and desires. You will see cravings I am ashamed of. What are these doing here? If you poke around, you see repentance and hopes of reconciliation, but also cravings to be right in the eyes of others and to have an ease of conscience to just get along with my day without the nagging weight of sin hanging around.

Let me be washedbut is there an express lane?

A few mornings ago I read Psalm 138, which seems to begin with a running start: I give you thanks, O LORD, with my whole heart. Whole heart? I look down at my coffee. What did David have for breakfast that gave him this whole-heart prayer? My prayers often feel at best halfhearted and distracted. Who can deliver me from my enemies, and who can deliver me from my prayers? Sitting in my old chair with fresh sins, let my prayers be counted worthy. Let my halfhearted prayers be counted as full-hearted.

Jesus tells me not to think my many words can beautify my prayers enough to be heard. Babblinggoing on as if I can impress or charm the Almightyis silly talk more than prayer. But my impulse to babble is a sign that my heart knows its shortcomings. My babbling is just my darkness talking, acting as an angel of light again. That wont work. It never works. It merely turns my prayers into court arguments and me into a court jester. But Jesus knows this temptation. He is a sympathetic priest who is acquainted with my weakness. We can go together, he tells me. That way you can enter with confidence to receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. Quit your babbling, he tells me, and talk like a son.

My prayers will have to be reckoned as incense. Beauty will have to be a gift I receive by faith. My prayers will have to begin in the posture of reception, an active welcome. So here I am, in my worn-out chair with fresh grace again.