“No.”

I once heard theologian David Ashton speak on the topic, “Reasons Why God Says No to Prayers.” May I share from my notes?

Sometimes God answers with a “No”...

1. Although He’d rather say yes, but there’s sin in my life. (Ps. 66:18).
2. Because God is God. He has a mind and a game plan of His own. He knows what is best.
3. Because I do not persist in praying. In Mt. 8:7, the Greek actually means, “Ask and keep on asking... seek and keep on seeking... knock and keep on knocking... Why might He want me to persist?
.....my greatest need is for fellowship with God Himself
.....my desire for the answer will be increased and I’ll appreciate it more
.....my patience and frustration tolerance will be developed
4. God says no because my prayers collide with each other. In these cases, God wants to say yes to my greatest prayers. Ex: “Help me start attending Bible Study each Sunday night” and “Help me be picked for the skydiving team” (that practices Sunday evenings).
5. He may say no because I haven’t prayed about it with other people. Why might He want me to pray with others?
.....sometimes it’s hard to pray alone. When I’m dry or discouraged, I need the prayers of my own life primed by the prayer of others.
.....sometimes I can see the problem more objectively when I share it with another
.....they might be part of the answer to those prayers
.....I might learn how to pray better. “I love to eavesdrop to learn how saints pray,” says Ashton.
.....I am part of the Body of Christ, not a Lone Ranger
.....God is there in a special way when two or more agree (Mt. 18:19,20). Prayer unites us at the subterranean levels of our lives.
6. God only answers real prayers – prayers that are meant, not my lips saying one thing, my heart another.
7. God may say no to my prayers because they interfere with the freedom of my neighbor (their free will). Still, I should intercede because God wants me to be a participant in the salvation of the world.
8. God may say no because I have not prayed in the right way. There is a healthy way to pray [desiring His will alone], and an unhealthy way [my way].

My notes are incomplete, but one more point catches my eye:

It is not bad, Ashton asserted, to live with mystery. Many times I just don’t know what God is doing, or why He is saying “No” or “Not now.” I’m thinking that those are the times when it’s important, as Pastor Rick reminded us Sunday, to bank on God’s character or, as the Babbie Mason song says, “When you can’t trace his hand, trust His heart.” And His Word:

This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. And if we know that he hears us – whatever we ask – we know that we have what we asked of him. – 1 John 5:14,15 NIV, emphasis mine.

The Complete Works of Harry L. Girts

Following my stepfather’s funeral two years ago, my mom gave me a box containing an assortment of files and packets of sermon notes. The Reverend Harry L. Girts had served as pastor and traveling evangelist for over 60 years. In his painstaking style he’d carefully and prayerfully prepared and typed uncounted messages, delivering them at camp meetings, pastorates, revival meetings, interim pastoral assignments, Bible studies, and wherever else he had opportunity to preach.

As I stood looking down at The Complete Works of Harry L. Girts (give or take any missing files and folders), I could have thought, “So a lifetime of preaching, from age 20 to age 86, boils down to this - a relatively small pile of notes stored away in someone’s basement.” But it seemed, instead, something far more than that. Something that should be handled with reverence. An almost holy body of work. That box represented years of study, decades of prayer, repeated listenings for the still small voice of the Spirit, and then hours and hours behind, as he called it, “the sacred desk,” expounding what he’d heard in secret to anyone who would listen.

I was reminded of all this after reading something written by Franky Schaeffer in Addicted to Mediocrity. It applies to all of us who are carrying out Christ’s call – as pastor or Sunday School teacher or musician or discipler or daycare worker or whatever we are doing for Him. It especially applies to those who file away last week’s teaching notes with a tinge of disappointment in the lack of results. Who mail yet another seemingly insignificant card of encouragement, or explain a vital truth – again – to one who is struggling, or contribute a mere drop in the bucket toward a financial need. To such, Franky’s words are heartening:

“You cannot expect too much too soon. It is the lifelong body of work that counts. It is that body of work whose expression means something and changes cultures in which we live in terms of bearing fruit. One individual work cannot say everything.”

One individual work... like a single sheet of type-written paper in Harry’s files. It’s incomplete. It’s a part of something larger – a body of work. And so is the lesson and the song and the sermon and the little piece of ministry that we do this very day. For in the end, what we’ll present to God won’t just be our best effort, our finest moment, our most productive event, but the whole of all we did for Him.

That prospect encourages me to heed Franky’s conclusion: “Produce, produce, produce. Create, create, create. Work, work, work. That is what we must do as Christians... exercise our God-given talent, praise him through it, enjoy it, bear fruit in the age in which we live.”

And I think that in the age to come, when the veil is lifted to reveal our body of work, God will have added all the ripple effect, every speck of difference it made to someone else, and every way He used us when we had no clue it was happening... and we will stand amazed at all He accomplished through us.

To Dance in a Cave

It’s amazing what can be done to spruce up a cave, isn’t it?

For instance, in the Luray Caverns of Virginia you will find the world’s largest musical instrument – the Great Stalacpipe Organ, invented by Mr. LeIand Sprinkle, a mathematician and electronic scientist at the Pentagon. Stalactites covering 3 1/2 acres strike up a symphony when electronically tapped by rubber-tipped mallets.

Kentucky’s Mammoth Cave website advertises Diamond Caverns, where you’ll enjoy a “state-of-the-art lighting system with modern concrete trails and safety hand railings throughout.” Or you can take an underground boat tour of Lost River Cave, where a subterranean Nite Club operated until the 1960’s (the dance floor has been restored!). Or visit Outlaw Cave where, legend has it, famous outlaw Jesse James hid out. Join his memory for a “35-minute non-strenuous, guided tour filled with beautiful stalactites, stalagmites, flowstones and other breath taking formations.”

Or perhaps you would prefer Onyx Cave, billed as “a colorful cave... a cool, comfortable 60 degree temperature, year-round. Beautiful onyx formations can be seen throughout. Tours of Onyx Cave are not strenuous and may be enjoyed by young and old alike.”

I am ready to go. Seriously, sign me up for those cave experiences... they sound like great adventure.

But having already visited a few, I’ve noticed that people enter a cave in groups, with a leader and plenty of lighting and “modern trails and safety hand railings throughout.” Someone has already been hard at work to change the former look of the place. Take away the group and the guide and the light and the safety measures and the music, and where am I? Lost and alone in a claustrophobic maze, petrified by the blackness, praying for rescue.

When Pastor Rick spoke of the spiritual cave-dweller’s experience Sunday, he wasn’t talking about "something that can be enjoyed by young and old alike." No one calls ahead to book seasons in the cave of cancer or divorce or emotional illness or financial reversal, and there’s precious little inherent beauty in those circumstances...

And yet, thankfully, Somebody did brave the darkness and danger to bring music and lighting and safety and joy and, yes, even dancing into the lonely silence of those caves. Into my cave, and yours. Jesus went through death and hell to become Light in those places. He gave His Spirit to be a constant Guide. He makes His childrens’ steps firm (Ps. 37:23) and turns mourning to dancing (Ps. 30:11) -simply by bringing His Presence into it.

So sometimes, when all goes black, I have to sit down in the silence and let my eyes adjust to the Light... maybe you’ve found it so, too. Only then can I see that I’m not alone. Only then do I hear a faint melody of joy coming from deeper places...

Only then do I discover that His Presence has changed the look of the place forever.

Grape Arbor Theology

While visiting relatives a couple years ago, I fell in love with their grape arbor. Sturdy vines, like little tree trunks, grew up each side of the wooden structure, massed at the top, and spilled down over the sides in leafy abandon. Under this shady cave, a swing hung from a rustic log frame - clearly an invitation to while away a fall afternoon with a good book and a cup of tea...

My ooohs and aaahs were heard; my son came home and built me an arbor of my own. I immediately planted grapevines and began the slow quest for that shady cave. If leaf growth stays ahead of Japanese Beetle intake, in a couple years I hope to have my own hidden getaway!

Maybe that’s one reason I’ve been thinking a lot this summer about Jesus’ words: “I am the vine; you are the branches” (John 15:5). About what it means to be a branch – a good branch that produces the fruit He’s looking for. And I’ve come to this conclusion: The only thing I’m supposed to do is stay in connection with the Vine. Jesus’ exact words were “Abide in Me.” Remain. Stay. (v. 4). That’s where my time and my energy and my passion need to focus.

I’ve logged a fair amount of time on my arbor swing this summer, and I’ve witnessed what it means to "abide.” Without exception the branches have been rather low-key. They haven’t raised a sweat about anything. No whining if their clusters of grapes compared poorly with other’s, no fussing for a better place in the sun, no moaning or groaning in an effort to produce the yellow seedless grapes prophesied by the white plastic tag at planting time.

All they’ve done – ALL they’ve done – is hang onto that vine. Whatever happened as a result, happened. It was not their business. Frankly, some were pulled away from neighboring branches (tendrils ripping despite my care) and tied alone along bare beams. Some were bent at new angles as I trained them in different directions. Some lost their first precious clusters of grapes as they withered and fell off during the dry spell. And yes, the leaves of many were riddled by destructive beetles.

But they’re all still clinging to that vine, every last branch. And I’m tempted to write a lot more but I’ll resist. Instead, I’ll invite you to find a hidden getaway, open the good Book to John 15, and think about the Vine, the branch, and the only thing we need to do.