When The Rubber Hits The Road March 17, 2008

So, Jesus is marching into Jerusalem and the crowds are going mad. They’re praising him, hopping up and down and expecting a revolution. Just days later, he’s hung on a cross – the same crowds are mocking and spitting and enjoying the execution show. I have always been intrigued by the Easter story. Even as a teenager I enjoyed reading through the events, considering the interactions between the characters involved, imagining the emotions and thought processes that are hinted at in the gospels.

I think the thing that struck me most a few years ago, and still challenges me today, is that Jesus didn’t bail out when the going got tough. He could have, but he submitted to the whole thing. He struggled and questioned and sweat blood in the garden, but he carried it through. Right to the bitter end. Right to the extreme of loss and betrayal and rejection and injustice.

This weekend I have been thinking a lot about my love for prayer. I believe in it passionately and completely. I believe that God hears our smallest, most incoherent whisperings. I know that even these are powerful and make a huge difference in our lives and situations. I teach the stuff, I lead prayer stuff in church, I read countless books about it, I am an all-singing, all-dancing prayer administrator.

So what happens when the rubber hits the road? When much of the earthly infrastructure of my life is earthquake damaged? When I’ve lost people I held dear? When grief and confusion and pain crowd in and threaten to block out the sun? How do I cope then?

Do I put my prayer books back on the shelf and decide I have been misguided all this time, that prayer is clearly a waste of time and I would be better throwing my time and attention into a more worthy cause, for example collecting thimbles or collecting train numbers?

Do I sink into despair because God has clearly forsaken me on this one. Maybe I didn’t pray the right things, or for long enough, or using the right techniques. Maybe I am being punished for some long-forgotten sin I neglected to repent for?

Do I decide to try harder, to don sackcloth and ashes and hope that if I just ‘do’ more then God will lift the burdens that weigh me down and restore me to my usual twinkly self. Maybe if I commit to praying harder, then he will be inclined to answer my consistent ‘please get me through this’ prayers?

The truth is, I am not afforded the luxury of any of these options. Giving up and moping, deciding that prayer doesn’t work, or worrying that I’m not doing it right will not change my circumstances. When the rubber hits the road it is time to really live out the things I have been teaching, the theories I have studied, and expounded on, and pointed others towards.

And the great thing is, as I do this, I find that they work. He has not been silent at any stage in this journey, he has not failed to answer my prayers (even though his answers may look different to those I had anticipated). When I have asked for his reassurance it has come – in the form of a word of encouragement, a card through the post or a hug from a friend. When I have cried out for him to sustain me he has – whispering to me that he is my rock, reminding me of the words of one of our songs, speaking quiet promises to me that make all the difference. When it has looked like humanly speaking I am about to hit a brick wall, he has consistently revealed the way over it, through it, round it. I have not been forsaken.

I am learning that prayer works. It really does. And it isn’t about what I say, or how I say it. It’s about communicating with the heart of my Father God, growing in intimacy with Him through situations that would otherwise be unbearable, listening to his guiding, sustaining voice, something inside me swelling with joy as I do, because he keeps talking, keeps sharing his truth, keeps giving me glimpses of hope and a future that is bright in him.

So I will follow this through. Even in the pain of the Gethsemane moments when I want so desperately for Him to take this cup from me. Even in the moments of utter human rejection and betrayal. Even as I am incredulous at each new phase of this journey. He never changes, His plans for good have not been compromised. He is with me even in the darkest places.

 “Weeping may last through the night,
      but joy comes with the morning”. (Psalm 30:5)

 ”He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the LORD was my support. He brought me out into a spacious place; He rescued me because he delighted in me.” (Psalm 18:17-19)

“Bestow on them a crown of beauty
       instead of ashes,
       the oil of gladness
       instead of mourning,
       and a garment of praise
       instead of a spirit of despair.” (Isaiah 61:3)