Make me content, O Lord

Make me content, O Lord, for I come to you.
I seek your joy in the trials that come today,
For surely true contentment is in you,
not in the unlikely chance of attaining my "if only ..." list.

On contentment

The standard view of contentment is it comes from circumstances. If you have more good things in your life than bad things, you can be content. If you have more bad things in your life, you are not content.

But I think Scripture teaches something else entirely. Contentment comes when we put our trust in God's presence and his promises. Knowing that God is with us and is working for good in all circumstances gives us contentment even in the midst of really hard circumstances. Now I know I'm not really good at being content in hard circumstances yet, but the possibility does exist.

Earlier posts about contentment

Dealing with emotions

When I'm feeling something you know isn't right, what do I do?

1) Pretending I don't feel it because "I'm above that," is self deception.
2) Telling myself what I feel is wrong is a start. But expecting the feelings to go away when I finish telling myself it is wrong isn't realistic.
3) Telling myself I'm a bad person for feeling it is perhaps a good start, yet doesn't help me change either. And if I tell myself I'm a bad person, worse than other people for it, that becomes dangerous self-condemnation. Am I fallible, prone to selfishness and needing help? Yes. But that's not the end of the story.
4) Telling God what I feel and asking for his help is the best option. His ability and willingness to help is greater than my need.

An earlier post on dealing with emotions

Lord, I come

God, you said I should come to you, you said you want me in your world, you say you have a place for me, a job for me, and gifts to give me. I don't get it, I'm a pretty mediocre guy. Most days I really just want to be entertained. I want to be both the center of attention and the guy who doesn't have to do anything. I want what I can't have, that wouldn't do me good if I had it. But you say to come, so I come. Do what you want to do with me.

The uncertainties of faith

The Bible says the greatest and most powerful being in the universe loves us and is on our side. Yet it adds that this great, powerful and loving being is not always greatly concerned about our ease and comfort.

The great lover of our souls sometimes is disturbingly slow in giving us what we want. Worse, sometimes he refuses and brings the exact opposite of what we want. But these disappointments have their compensations. The most deserving soul that ever lived had his life cut short by a wicked and barbaric execution. Yet then he came out of the grave.

In our lives God can demonstrate great power and intricate planning to suddenly lift us safely out of an impending disaster, or cut short a major or minor trial. Other times he leaves us in the disaster with only a promise that it will be better in the end, and a surprising calmness that as bad as this gets, the promises are still precious. Why make promises when he could just deliver us?

What then is prayer? Going to him with all the messiness of our lives, acknowledging that the messiness is greater than our ability to distract ourselves or keep going in our own willpower, to celebrate the certainty of the promises while embracing the uncertainty of how those promises will be implemented in our here and now. And thankfulness for the unique and unpredictable path he's led us on up to now. And worship, that his greatness and love and perfection can never be celebrated enough, even as we remain uncertain what he will do next.

Something new in Scripture

Scripture startles us when words we've read dozens of times before take on new meaning. Sometimes its "I never realized it said THAT before!". Other times it is "wait, THAT'S really what it says? I've misunderstood all these years."

I've had one of these experiences this week. It began on Saturday, when several different people wrote about the truism that God won't call us to something we cannot handle. The conclusion was this is wrong, God calls people to things they cannot handle all the time. He wants to show us he can handle things we cannot handle on our own. After all, doesn't Scripture say we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us?

But Monday morning, I thought again about that idea. Does that really mean I could become a missionary pilot or a brain surgeon because Christ empowers me? No, I thought, the scope of the promise probably is not that large. Yes God could supernaturally give me the ability of a pilot or a brain surgeon, but he probably won't, and it is not a lack of faith on my part to expect that he won't.

Then I thought of looking up that verse. Where does it say I can do all things through Christ? I found it in Philippians 4:13. But when I looked at the passage, I wondered if I'd been taking it out of context. In verse 11 and 12 Paul is talking about contentment. "I have learned the secret of being content in every and any situation."  I thought it would have been more coherent for Paul to have said in verse 13 "I can endure all things" rather than "I can do all things."  Then I noticed the Good News Translation says something like this: "I have the strength to face all conditions." This fits the context better.

Then I looked at the Greek. I am not much of a Greek scholar, but I have a Greek version on my computer that lets me look up words in a lexicon. It turns out that the Greek behind "I can do all things" has only one verb, and the lexicons define it mostly as "to be able." You cannot say in English, "I am able all things" but that seems like what Paul actually said in Greek. I also noticed this morning as I wrote this up that the latest NIV version (the 2011 revision) says "I can do all this," not "I can do everything." So I'm concluding the version I've known all these years, "I can do all things" is inaccurate. Paul actually means "whatever happens to me, I can be content."

Does this mean I should go back to believing God won't call me to something I cannot handle? I don't think so. There are lots of stories about God doing surprising things when people ask for help. Jesus fed multitudes from a few loaves and a few fishes. God gave a victory in battle to a king who sent the praise choir ahead of the army. But God also gives surprising contentment in hard circumstances that are not instantly removed. Joseph did not despair in the Egyptian prison, Jeremiah and Ezekiel faithfully proclaimed God's word, and never saw a significant response from most of their audience.

Praying honestly like a child

Last month I read a good book on prayer, A Praying Life by Paul Miller. One of the things he said is we should come to God like a little child, and say exactly what is on our minds. Often we don't do that because we think we need to pray "correctly." He also says prayer is often the last bastion of legalism. But if we don't pray what is really on our hearts, then the real us does not meet the real God.

If Paul Miller is right that prayer is relating to God like a child, telling him exactly what we feel and think, where then is the place for public prayer? How can we present to God the secrets of our hearts in the same room with several others, some of whom may be good friends, but some are merely acquaintances? Are fellow Christians mere acquaintances? Are we not brothers and sisters? Yet in our present condition, where it is hard enough to tell God honestly what is on our hearts, when it is hard to tell our spouses and dearest friends absolutely everything, is it not realistic to feel that adding the presence of brothers and sisters that we do not know well is going to increase the difficulty of being honest before God? I’d say that group prayer with people we have not yet learned to be close with is the last bastion of the last bastion of legalism, the last place to keep saying what people expect us to say instead of what’s really on our hearts.

But public prayers and praises obviously have their place. The Psalms were written to be performed in the Temple. Psalm 22 is a personal heart cry to God, but it was written as a choral piece. “To the Choirmaster” the beginning says, “according to the Dove of the Dawn”. How many times do you think the choir had to rehearse David’s heart cry to God before they got it right? Maybe Dove of the Dawn was one of those hard tunes with lots of sharps and flats and key changes in the middle.

What could happen if we in groups bared our hearts before God, as David did? One wouldn’t have to reveal confidential details. We know little of why David felt abandoned when he wrote Psalm 22, he just says he felt abandoned.

Maybe we think we ought to model “proper” prayer, prayer that is positive and uplifting, not negative. But what is more proper and more uplifting than the confidence of knowing we can lay our hearts bare before God, telling him exactly what we feel, for he already knows it anyway even when we don’t tell him. If “Proper” prayer becomes laying the hearts we think we should have before God, rather than the hearts we have, it is a deception.