Pray Some More

There is an elusive species I’ve been searching for in the Bible—a chimera we want to believe in, a beautiful, rare cherub. A spiritual missing link.

Now I’m sure you’re all intrigued. Just what am I looking for?

I’m looking for a person who hears the voice of God. A holy fool. That purehearted person who has the answers. You know who I’m talking about. The person we’re all supposed to be, at least those of us who are believers.

But I can’t find that person.

Please don’t tell me about those celebrity pastors. How many of them have to be exposed before we accept that you can’t believe everything you see on tv?

Maybe some of you have spotted this blessed creature in the mirror.

I haven’t.

Like I said. I’ve been looking in the Bible. And I’ve found a few examples, but it’s complicated.

What about David? No, David complained, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” (Ps. 13:1).

Job maybe? No, it was Job who said, “I go forward, but he is not there, and backward, but I do not perceive him; on the left hand when he is working, I do not behold him; he turns to the right hand, but I do not see him” (Job 23:8-9). At the end of the story, God does speak, but he leaves Job with more questions. No answers.

“You’ve forgotten the prophets,” you say. You mean, like, Habakkuk? The prophet who demanded to know, “Why do you idly look at wrong?” (Hab. 1:3). He was a prophet.

“Who’s Habakkuk?” You ask. “Wasn’t he one of the minor prophets? What about one of the big guys?” You mean, like Jeremiah? The prophet who once accused God of lying to him? (Jer. 20:7).

“Abraham! No one can deny he had God’s ear.” It’s true Abraham’s spiritual antennae were tuned to the Lord, but the messages he received confounded him…

“Leave home. Where are you going? I’ll tell you later.”

“You’ll have a son. When? I’ll tell you later.”

“Abraham? You still there? I’ve got that answer you wanted. He’ll be born when you’re 100.”

“That son I gave you? Kill him.”

I’m still looking…

I pray to God. Maybe you do too. I bring him all these problems, matters only he can solve. After all, it’s his idea. He calls himself my Father and invites me to ask, to seek, to knock.

I’m knocking. Why doesn’t it seem like he’s opening the door?

We've all heard the preacher-answer: “God speaks to us through his word. If you want to hear his voice, read the Bible.” Before you dismiss it, consider that that's the answer Abraham gives the rich man when he wanted to send Lazarus from the dead to warn his brothers: “They have Moses and the Prophets; let them hear them” (Luke 16:29). I look for answers in God’s word, and it's helpful. Very helpful. But I have some very specific issues that don't seem to be addressed in the Bible. I'm looking for direction. But I'm hearing nothing. What am I doing wrong?

I’ve had people tell me God speaks to them. Don’t get me wrong. I know they’re sincere, but it’s never worked that way for me, and that kind of “go here, do that” communication from God just doesn’t happen much in the Bible. I’ve followed God all my life. I pray. I'm not perfect, but who is? He's never whispered in my ear. If he speaks to others, why not me? Am I doing something wrong? Am I praying the wrong words, using the wrong posture, praying too long, too short? What have they got that I don't?

I go back to the Bible and read about those heroes of faith who were frustrated by the silence of God. These were no minor characters—Job, David, Habakkuk, Jeremiah, Abraham.

Even Jesus experienced the silence. During his most desperate hour, when his heart was pumping blood out of a thousand holes in his body, and a crowd he never hurt jeered at him, he cried, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Although it was the middle of the day, it got dark. So dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Maybe the darkness was a sign of that forsakenness, the beloved Son unable to hear his Father’s voice.

Is God not there? He has to be. If he wasn't there, where did this world come from? Why do we feel suffering? Why do we demand justice, as if the world should be different than it is? What makes us think it could be any other way? How do we know the difference between right and wrong? If there is no God, there is no good or evil, so what are we so mad about, and who are we mad at?

You can't get mad at God if he doesn't exist, now, can you?

Is he evil, like a kid who catches flies and pulls off their wings? Did he create us to be his playthings? If that were true, where did good come from? Why is there so much love in my world, so much redemption? When I look around there are so many blessings. Looking back, so many answered prayers.

But there's so much distance between my prayers and the answers. And the answers are sometimes so hard to see.

I have noticed something. If I keep praying, my prayers evolve. As I beg God to change, I start changing. When the silence stops me in my tracks, I have nothing more to do but return to his word. Read it and read it again. Go back to see if I was missing something. Every time I return, I find something new, something I missed. I realize I didn't know God as well as I thought I did. I keep praying, and I reconsider my petitions. Maybe I'm asking for something that will harm me. I think it was Oscar Wilde who said God often punishes us by granting our prayers.

I wait. And after a while I find he has used his silence to draw me nearer to him.

God used all that silence on Golgotha to draw his Son to himself. “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Jesus trusted that even in the silence, God would draw him in.

And as he was drawn to the Father in that terrible peace, he drew us in as well. “When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself.”

Don't quit praying. Silence is part of the process. Get used to the quiet, however awful it is, and wait. And like Beethoven with his ear on his piano, you will find the vibrations of heaven are more felt than heard. By that I mean, there is something in our souls that drives us closer to God in the silence that falls around us after we say amen. Don't fear that silence. Sit in it. Embrace it. Wait.

And then pray some more.