What an inviting, guilt-reducing post by Clare about how God yearns for us to come to him with our prayers, as messy as they are. I’m sure you’ll be encouraged as you read.
“Cupboard love!” cried my mum, smiling despite herselfas we told her how wonderful she was. “You’re only saying that because you want another slice of cake.”
At first, I didn’t quite understand the idea of cupboard love – that gush of praise heavily laden with the hope of personal gain. My eyes would always be drawn to the old pantry door in the corner of our Edwardian kitchen, its shelves stashed with baking ingredients and not-so-secret supplies of cheap cooking chocolate.
She was right. Of course we loved her, but this particular declaration was loaded with ulterior motive. And although we were joking, there really can be an expectation in life that you have to butter people up before they give you what you want.
And so, with a similar dose of childhood misunderstanding, it sometimes felt like this was how I was taught to pray. Praise before petition! Make sure you proclaim how wonderful God is before you ask for that second slice of cake.
While I always agreed with the concept – recognising God’s greatness before rushing in with requests – I found myself struggling with the practice. I struggled, still do struggle, to do things in the right order. While my soul spontaneously responded with thanks when good things happened and my heart regularly burst into praise at the beauty of creation, I met with inner resistance when I tried to follow ‘how to pray’ instructions. ‘Praise before petition’ sometimes felt a bit too much like cupboard love, like I had to butter God up before I stood a fighting chance of getting any attention. It became less about a genuine loving conversation and more about the formula, and I longed for deeper authenticity.
The thing is, I’m a messy pray-er. I’m inconsistent. I forget to pray when I’ve planned to. I stumble over my words in spontaneous spoken prayer. I can’t always keep my mind on theme, finding myself planning my next meal when I thought, was absolutely sure, I was earnestly praying for some serious world issue.
But thankfully, my haphazard praying seems to make little difference to God’s omnipotence. It makes little difference to how God hears and responds. I am really not great at this, and yet, God hears me. God knows me – the messy inconsistent me – and wants that me, coming as I am. In real prayer, like in real relationship, we have to be who we are before God. When we are, we can find ourselves full to overflowing with breath-catching peace.
And when I stopped feeling guilty about how messy and inconsistent I was, I realised something else. Something crucial. The structure was not there to catch me out or send me on a guilt trip. It was there to free me and open the path to God. It was there to make my prayer life more authentic, not less.
God asks nothing of us but ourselves, our true selves, our honest presence. We can come to our Creator at any time, and pray in any order. But what I am learning, gradually and perhaps a little reluctantly, is that when we do take the time to thank and praise him, even if it’s not our immediate gut reaction, it opens something up, releases something deep within us.
In Amy’s book, her simple explanation of the Ignatian Examen, which begins with thankfulness, sparked in me a fresh reminder to be grateful. Rather than a duty to tick off, praise and gratitude clear a way within us. When I do it, not from dull routine but out of genuine love, those moments of thankfulness lead me into a wide open space where there is room to be free and talk openly and honestly with my God.
As messily and inconsistently as I like!
Clare O’Driscoll is a language tutor and freelance writer who lives in West Sussex with her family. She loves the sea and whizzes down there at every opportunity, currently feeding this love by embarking on a new writing and art project based on beach cafés.
Order 7 Ways to Prayhere, including in the US, UK, and Australia. You’ll also find lots of resources for small groups – videos and a leader’s guide – here.
I’m grateful to offer this powerful and vulnerable reflection by Sam Richardson, who heads up SPCK, my publisher. You won’t want to miss this, his follow-up from his blog in the autumn.
In my last blog from September, I confessed that my prayer life was at a low ebb, and hoped that Amy would invite me back to report on whether the ideas from 7 Ways To Pray had helped.
I can report that my prayer life is indeed much improved, but not for reasons that I would have liked. I am writing this blog from a hospital room while my wife Sarah has chemotherapy. She first went for tests in October, and that month and the next were a real roller coaster as we feared the worst. We’ve learnt, however, that the prognosis is very positive and Sarah is now going through the long haul of treatment.
Obviously this is not the catalyst for my prayer life that I was hoping for, but it has kickstarted me into praying passionately again (and not just for Sarah and our own family). The fact that a crisis turned me back to prayer got me noticing that the times I’ve prayed the most, and felt the presence of God the most, have been times of difficulty or crisis.
Sometimes these crises can seem relatively mundane, such as one particular example when I was heading to Peru on a mission trip and our team had just missed our flight. At the exact moment as we, gathered in a circle, said ‘amen’, there was an announcement that the flight we thought we had missed was delayed. And sometimes the crises can seem existential, such as Sarah’s illness or the dreadful situation in Ukraine.
From the conversations I’ve had with others, I believe I’m not alone. There’s a significant group out there of crisis pray-ers. Prayer is the first place we turn to when the going gets tough, but it isn’t necessarily as big a part of our lives as when things seem to be going smoothly.
At the same time there also seems to be a second group, that of fair weather pray-ers. People from this group say they are pretty good at getting a consistent rhythm of prayer in their life, but that in crises and difficult times this rhythm can get lost and their confidence can get knocked when they don’t feel their prayers are answered.
Obviously we all want to be constant pray-ers. I am very fortunate to have many of these in my life and to regularly feel very prayed for, which is a wonderful thing. For those who are already constant pray-ers, congratulations and thank you.
For those of us who aren’t, I wonder which of the ideas in 7 Ways To Pray might help us to develop into constant pray-ers?
For us crisis pray-ers, I think the Bible-based prayer is a really good fit. Amy writes in chapter two on lectio divina, and I have been finding the new(ish) Lectio 365 app from 24-7 Prayer a really good way in. While it has a slightly different four-step structure to that outlined by Amy, the ready-made nature and constant availability of it have been very helpful for me.
For those who are fair-weather pray-ers, I think the prayers of lament (described by Amy in chapter five) could be particularly powerful. Claire Musters has blogged movingly about her experience of lament. Tom Wright has written powerfully about it in the context of the pandemic, but the power of lament is equally applicable to the Ukraine situation when it can feel overwhelming to work out how to pray.
So, which kind of pray-er are you?
Sam Richardson is Chief Executive of SPCK, the Christian mission agency working through publishing. He studied Social and Political Sciences at Cambridge and then pursued a career in publishing at HarperCollins and Hodder & Stoughton. Sam is married to Sarah and they have three boys, two cats and a golden retriever. In his spare time he coaches and plays football and he may or may not be retired from running quite fast marathons.
Order 7 Ways to Prayhere, including in the US, UK, and Australia. You’ll also find lots of resources for small groups – videos and a leader’s guide – here.
I’ve long appreciated the Jesus Prayer, although I tend to pray a slightly longer version (“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner”). I’ve found this prayer especially helpful if my mind is whirring around and I want to focus on God – perhaps if I’ve woken in the night. If it’s new to you or an old favorite, I hope you’ll pray it soon.
A person’s name is closely bound up with the person whose name it is. That is why the New Testament uses the name of Jesus to mean Jesus himself. It was in Jesus’ name that the disciples performed miracles and exorcisms – they did so, that is, by means of his power. In his name also they baptised – through their actions done in his name Jesus brought people into relationship with himself.
The great Orthodox Churches of the East have a wonderful prayer centred on Jesus’ name: they call it the “Jesus prayer”. No special training or gift is needed before we can use that prayer. Simply settle yourself into a comfortable position. Don’t hunch yourself forward but set your shoulders well back so that the air can get into your lungs. Then close your eyes: breathe in slowly several times so as to relax yourself and then begin saying Jesus’ name; say it in adoration and love, say his name over and over again, breathing slowly, deeply, and regularly all the time.
The full form of the Jesus prayer is as follows:
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me.
We can, of course, shorten that prayer, to “Lord Jesus Christ”; even just “Lord Jesus”. Countless people down the ages have found the Jesus prayer a wonderful prayer – use it regularly and often, and you will find it a marvellous way of deepening your faith and improving your relationship with Jesus.
“Lord Jesus Christ, Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus”. Set aside time for Jesus every day. Repeat his name slowly, again and again and again, in love and adoration; and more and more will you come to love him without whom our lives are poor and mean but with whom and in whom we find fulfilment.
Edited extract from Don’t fuss, love God, don’t fuss, which Ruth A Bamforth compiled and edited from a selection of the sermons which her late father, Rev’d Stuart Bamforth, left at his death after 52 years as an Anglican priest.
Order 7 Ways to Prayhere, including in the US, UK, and Australia. You’ll also find lots of resources for small groups – videos and a leader’s guide – here.
Michelle and I may be many miles apart, from California to London, but her warmth and encouraging words make her feel close. She shares movingly about the power of prayer in an unlikely place as she and her son experienced it. Her post is a bit longer than some, but I think you’ll want to brew a cuppa or grab an iced tea as she shares her story…
In the last several years, God has helped me to know His presence with me and within me in ways I wouldn’t have imagined as a young girl. I don’t doubt He’s with me – listening, communicating, doing all that He has planned in my life. He’s with me even in the middle of my waiting, in my anger and sorrow, as He takes my hand and tells me He loves me.
Amy Boucher Pye’s 7 Ways to Pray: Time-Tested Practices for Encountering God has taught me new prayer practices and made some practices I didn’t even realize I was doing more intentional and meaningful. For instance, in John 15, through the story of the vine and its branches, Jesus tells us of our connection to Him and the Father. Amy shares it like this:
Consider how the vine needs the branches, and the branches need the vine: without branches, the vine won’t produce fruit, and without the vine, the branches won’t receive the necessary nutrients to live. This image points to one of the amazing truths of the Christian faith: that God through Christ condescends to make His home in us. That is, although He is all-powerful and all-knowing, He restricts Himself to working in and through us with all of our limitations and failings” (p. 48).
This truth has helped me to see that God is with me – in me and in others – encouraging us to yield to His Spirit so we can produce the sweetest of His fruit.
Being the mother of my son, my gift from God (neurodiverse, now 24 years old, and the most awesome person I could ever hope to know), has nurtured practicing the presence of God and the practice of examen in my life. As happened one day at the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles)…
I took in the dingy, crowded space filled with many. Standing. Sitting. Waiting. We were grateful the sun was shining, shedding a little bit of sparkle and warmth on this otherwise somewhat chilly government building. My then 19-year-old son, Jared, was taking his driver’s permit test. And life being the mixed bag of joy and sorrow that it is, this event was an occasion for both. As a parent of child with learning and developmental differences, I’ve experienced a brand of the joy/sorrow blend that is all its own. Joy and sorrow are inextricably linked. They are not only each other’s ally, they are life-long pals. And you just never know when they will show up to the party, even when the party is at the local DMV.
We were both a little twitchy – a frighteningly lovely mix of excitement, trepidation, hope, and fear that accompanies adventures and new endeavors. Having forgotten the umpteenth piece of documentation the DMV requires to verify we really are who we say we are required us to run home. “I’ll save your spot,” the employee said. We thanked him and hoped our doubtful facial expressions didn’t belie our optimistic gratitude. We reentered the building and the stern-faced, kind employee who said he would save our scheduled appointment time was true to his word. With an almost imperceptible, expectant smile he waved us forward as if he had been looking for us to walk through the front door. We thanked him from the bottom of our hearts but didn’t want to make a fuss.
On to the next gentleman employee, proudly clad in a USC t-shirt with the low hum of Earth, Wind and Fire playing in the background. “My cousin went to USC,” Jared offered. “Oh yeah? My son goes there.” My son’s simple words opened the door to a conversation that linked us beyond the impersonal to connection. The employee could see we enjoyed his choice of music and took us under his wing.
Now you may be thinking this is all a bunch of hooey. After all, who gets taken care of so lovingly at the DMV? Well, you don’t know my son. In him resides THE SON, Whose Love covers all and bridges any gap. Even between joy and sorrow. Even between the minutiae and most important. Even at the DMV. And Jared’s heart – a willing and reliable vessel for the Love of Jesus – spilled all over the DMV that day.
With a pointing finger, our friend shuttled us to the unforgiving folding chairs that would be our perch for the better part of the day. Here we sat nervously waiting for Jared’s number to come up. Finally, it was his turn. “Good luck, my love. You’re gonna do great!” I said with a touch of confidence and hesitant hope. “Thank you, Mom,” he delivered with a look of both “Duh” and “Do you really think so?” Life. Mixed bag, indeed.
As he settled in front of the computer, Jared asked questions and sought assurance from the employees who offered answers and comfort without reservation. Being neurodiverse, Jared processes information in his own timing, which can sometimes be perceived by others as slow. But this just gave him time to make more friends with the employees. They had already formed an informal rooting section and he hadn’t even started the test. By the end of several hours, complete with a malfunctioning computer, he had a cheering section who sent him smiles, prayers, and good vibes. The patience, kindness, gentleness, and encouragement of these employees was palpable.
As I waited for my son to complete the test, our USC t-shirt-wearing friend left his post to see if Jared was doing okay. He asked me “if he could comprehend, because he seems like he can comprehend.” I was taken aback because we’d established a connection with him, and his words left me feeling oddly betrayed. Comments like that still sting – and I’ve been fielding them now for 24 years. I viewed this gentleman from my lens of frustration, impatience, sorrow, and yes, my own bias. But he was genuinely interested and cared. It wasn’t him. It was lifelong pals, Joy and Sorrow being themselves; doing their thing; working in my corner of the world.
After I blinked back the tears and refocused, I could see it for what it was – an opportunity for the fruit of the Spirit to enter in. Aah yes, so nice to see you, Joy. Thank you for rejoining your friend, Sorrow. Who just blindsided me, by the way. Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like she’s always doing that, though she means no harm. These two gave me yet another chance to share the truth humbly and gently about neurodiversity and cognitive processing skills. Slower processing doesn’t mean nonexistent. And an individual’s seemingly halting verbal skills often don’t match his limitless capacity for understanding and expression. Jared is the poster boy for these truths.
As joy and sorrow work together, they always manage to give way to the ultimate – the joy of Jesus through His Holy Spirit that shines through my son. The Holy Spirit and my son conspire regularly and manage to bring out the best in darn near everyone. My son invites each person he encounters to be a better version of themselves. He engages with others expecting the best and I’ve witnessed over and over how people rise to this loving expectation. Jesus, through my son, transforms people right before my eyes and I get to be a part of the miracle – God’s lifesaving, limitless, all-inclusive Love that produces in each of us the fruit of His Spirit – “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” (Galatians 5:22–23). Our DMV experience was no exception.
After a long day, Jared and I walked back into the sunlight, a mom with her permit-wielding son, proud and relieved. On this day, in the DMV, God created for me yet another opportunity to know joy and sadness a little more intimately. Yes, I mourn at how my son (and others with special needs) is seen and not fully understood and appreciated by much of the world. But I delight in the way, without fail, he, through the love of Jesus, brings a smile to the people with whom he interacts. I lament at how much harder he works than his neurotypical peers, but I rejoice in how his efforts gather a cheering section and unite people in encouragement, kindness, patience, gentleness, and support. And most of all, I weep with joy in the great undeserved blessing our Holy Father has given me at being able to share this side of heaven with my Spirit filled, joy-generating Jared!
Michelle Vergara gratefully shares life with Derek, her husband of 30 years, and Jared, her son of 24 years, both of whom make her laugh and help her daily to be who God intends her to be. She also enjoys the fun and sometimes loud company of her 6 Italian brothers and sisters, nieces, and nephews. Michelle has worked for 35 years in education with children ages birth through college who are neurodiverse with developmental and learning differences. She currently works at Stowell Learning Center, a private cognitive educational program in Southern California. The children and families she has the privilege of working with always inspire her. Michelle enjoys her time with Jesus; spending time with her husband, son, and extended family; singing; reading (especially about health, wellness, nutrition, and the brain); writing; and spending as much time as possible at the beach.
Order 7 Ways to Prayhere, including in the US, UK, and Australia. You’ll also find lots of resources for small groups – videos and a leader’s guide – here.
I’m currently praying so much for a friend going through a devastating time. You may be too. I’ve found such help in Ros’ gentle description of a way of praying for others that helps us release them fully to Jesus and his love. I hope you too will try out this way to pray.
I was brought up to pray wordy prayers. There was a lot of repetition, stock phrases that everyone used. “If it be Thy will” was one, along with “In Jesus’ name, Amen.” When I joined a Brethren assembly at the age of sixteen, they added another: “If our Lord tarry.” I got quite excited the first time I heard that one. Were they really expecting Jesus to come back before the event that we were praying for? I remember feeling a thrill of excitement that these people really thought Jesus might return in the course of the next week. Sadly, I came to realise it was just a formula of words, not something that anyone really expected or was preparing for.
This pattern of prayer continued into my adulthood, but over time I found myself facing situations that no amount of words, still less formulaic ones, could adequately express. How to pray for the young friend whose wife of two years was dying of cancer? Or my own severely disabled child as she faced yet another operation? Or the childless friend who would have given her eye teeth to parent a severely disabled child, or indeed any child?
Reading Proverbs one day I had a moment of revelation. Proverbs 18.10 says, “The name of the Lord is a strong tower. The righteous run into it and are safe.” It was a verse I already knew – we sang a song based on it at church. But reading it that day, it suddenly dawned on me that the name of Jesus is not something we append to our prayers. It is a place, a strong tower, a place of safety from inside which we can pray effective prayers. Did Jesus not tell us to ask “in my name”? “Whatever you ask in my name, I will do.” (John 14.13)
I began to pray differently, using my imagination under the Holy Spirit’s direction. I would visualise a strong, impregnable tower, to which I was granted admission. I would enter the tower, close the door and sit in silence. As I pictured this, I would focus on Jesus whose name this tower was. I would stay in silence and stillness, occasionally interrupted by an expression of praise or love to Him.
When I had a complete sense of being in that place of safety, of His presence there with me, I would picture whoever I wanted to pray for. I would see myself leading them into the strong tower and holding them there with me inside it. It was as if, in that place of safety, I was silently presenting them to the One who knew far better than I did what they needed. No words were necessary. I was asking on behalf of that person within the name of Jesus, and I knew I was heard and answered. No formula, just a place where God hears and answers prayer. It has been my preferred way of praying for people ever since.
Ros Bayes is a writer, a former teacher and mother of three daughters. In June of last year, 9 months after her marriage to Keith Dakin, she retired from her work as Training Resources Developer at Christian disability charity Through the Roof. Ros has written A level textbooks on Philosophy and Ethics, publications for churches on disability, devotional books and a novel, The Well is Deep, based on the story in John 4 of Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well.
Order 7 Ways to Prayhere, including in the US, UK, and Australia. You’ll also find lots of resources for small groups – videos and a leader’s guide – here.
Prayer with movement – I so appreciate how Anna shares different ways for us to engage with God through our bodies. After all, as she notes, we might well be using certain physical motions to pray anyway, such as folding our hands or closing our eyes. I’m looking forward to trying out her ideas, and hope you will too.
Connecting prayer and movement together can seem out of the box, but we already always use movement in our prayers. Do you close your eyes? Bow your head? Clasp your hands? They are all intentional movements that you do as you come into the presence of God for a conversation.
I love sharing with others how they can encounter more of God through adding movement to their prayers and relationship with God. At UC Grace, a Christian Dance Company that I run, we define prayer movement as…
Your body’s reaction to drawing closer to God. The external display of an internal feeling and preparation for a conversation. Its nuances that only you and God know. Fleeting moments when you choose to acknowledge your connection and conversation with God. The reality of moving through life sometimes 100 miles an hour but still always doing the same thing when you choose to pray. To have that conversation and allow intention into the time of response with God.
Put simply, prayer movement allows us the chance to pray without words, letting movement tell the story instead. Sometimes this can be influenced with music, while other times music isn’t necessary to capture and share what God is speaking through the movement.
Here are two ways that I have found useful to develop my practice of prayer movement. It can take a while to get into the rhythm of doing it, so give it time and allow God to move and work bit by bit.
Write it, learn it, move it
Think about one thing that you would like to pray for currently. Write it down into a simple written prayer. It’s important to use key words that describe what the issue is, any emotions involved, and any encouraging words. Don’t make it complicated.
Next, take the time to learn that prayer off by heart. This helps it to become ingrained so you can anticipate what is coming next. When you speak, you naturally emphasise certain words, so start to recognise the words that you are emphasising. These are your movement starting points.
Begin to put specific movements to the words that stand out to you in your prayer and practice them one after the other. The movements can be a literal interpretation of the word or something abstract. Only you know it’s meaning; it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks it is.
For example, a prayer I regularly pray is about patience, energy and joy. Three things I can struggle with daily. ‘Father God, equip me with patience to withstand the day, energy to sustain all that I need to do and joy to flow in conversations and relationships.’ I emphasise those three words I mentioned previously doing the following movements –
Patience: Standing feet in neutral (hip width apart), inhaling a deep breath and opening my hands out to receive.
Energy: Bringing my hands together and rolling them over each other, taking them above my head and then opening them out into a high V shape.
Joy: Swinging my arms down from high into a figure of 8 and doing some hops.
This is my movement prayer. That’s how simply you can build yours. I can spend some time doing this slowly, fast, big, small, anyway I want. Sometimes I will speak the words, other times I won’t. but I treat it as an offering and invitation for a conversation with God.
Let a song be your prayer dance
Words in songs can be very powerful. Often you might find yourself either picking up on one or two key phrases or becoming enveloped in the song completely. Worship songs bring a different layer to our prayers. Many are written as heartfelt prayers, words directly from scriptures or specific words from God. This can be a natural way move your prayer.
Think about some of the songs that you love – what parts of them are your prayer right now. Take some time to respond to those words, and, just like I mentioned above, learn them. Then in those moments when you need to remember that prayer you can simply move it – without the need for music.
As I’ve journeyed with prayer movement, I’ve experienced a closeness with God that’s hard to describe. Praying can sometimes be hard work. But when I choose to use movement instead, I feel freedom, a change in the atmosphere, and a joy that sparks a desire to keep seeking Jesus.
I hope you enjoy have the chance to experience this too.
Anna is dancer, teacher, choreographer and writer. She has two crazy children and a husband in the military. Anna is the author for Jesus for Kids: Teaching Dance and Sharing Faith, and Movement, Prayer and Scripture is due for release at Easter. Anna’s passion is to teach and share her knowledge about the interaction between dance and movement and how that exploration helps us to have a deeper conversation with God. She runs regular trainings, workshops and dance weekends and blogs at www.ucgrace.co.uk/Blog. She loves the outdoors, growing her own food and sewing clothes. You can find her on Instagram, Facebook and at her website.
Order 7 Ways to Prayhere, including in the US, UK, and Australia. You’ll also find lots of resources for small groups – videos and a leader’s guide – here.
How can we hear God? Jo Acharya shares helpfully how she’s been making space for God through silence, minute by minute at first. I especially appreciate her explanation of how she’s been learning to discern when it she’s hearing God and when it’s ‘just her’.
In prayer, as in life, I’m a talker. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had conversations with God – by which I mostly mean one-way monologues from my lips into his endlessly patient ear. There’s some value in this. It’s helpful to process my thoughts in God’s presence. But no relationship can thrive when one person does all the talking. A sheep needs to stop bleating in order to hear her shepherd’s voice.
God has all kinds of ways to get through to me, of course. But lately I’ve started bringing short times of silence into my time with him, to create intentional space and invite him to speak.
Silence is hard. In the beginning I only managed two or three minutes. Pitiful, I know, but I found I didn’t know what to do with it. Think about God or not think at all? Accept the thoughts that come to mind or push them out? As I’ve practised it’s become easier, and the time has stretched a little longer. The quiet is like a bath for my mind. A sweet pause, a ‘save and close’ for all the tabs I have open on the computer in my head. I think silence is something I’ve craved without knowing it.
As I sit, the clutter gradually moves to the sidelines and makes way for something else. For someone else. And the truth is that when I give God my focused attention, just for those few minutes, he usually does speak. Into my mind will come a line from a song, or a snippet of scripture. These are like clues from a treasure hunt. When I read the full passage or lyrics they come from, relevant themes often emerge which guide or answer my prayers.
Sometimes words or sentences come into my head. These I find difficult to distinguish from my own thoughts, which used to bother me. Are they really from him, or from me? But Paul says in 1 Corinthians 2:16, ‘We have the mind of Christ’. I suppose the longer we walk faithfully with God, the more intertwined our thoughts become. Perhaps in these moments, things I have already learned and absorbed are simply brought to mind by the Holy Spirit at work in me. In his book, How to Pray, Pete Greig suggests evaluating what we hear from God with two questions: ‘Is this like Jesus?’ and ‘What’s the worst that could happen if I got this wrong?’ I find that reassuringly sensible advice.
But there’s still something unnerving about this process. Dallas Willard observes in his book Hearing God that that many of us ‘fully intend to run our lives on our own… The voice of God would therefore be an unwelcome intrusion into our plans.’ I know that one part of me is nervous of what God might say, and another part is afraid he might not say anything at all. Those twin fears: What if I hear something? What if I don’t? unsettle me each time I sit down to listen, and sometimes they get the better of me.
And yet I keep going. Because I do want his guidance and his encouragement, his correction and help. So I continue these faltering steps to make space in my busy day and my even busier mind. And I listen for the still, small voice of the one who knows me better than I know myself.
Jo Acharya is a writer and music therapist who is passionate about inviting God into every part of our everyday lives. She lives with her husband Dan and posts regularly on Facebook and Instagram. You can read more of Jo’s writing at ValleyOfSprings.com, where you can also buy signed copies of her new book, Refresh: a wellness devotional for the whole Christian life, an interactive weekly journal with beautiful photography by Dan.
Order 7 Ways to Prayhere, including in the US, UK, and Australia. You’ll also find many resources for small groups – videos and a leader’s guide – here.
Looking for resources for Lent? Last year we released an interactive small-group resource called The Prayers of Jesus, published by Waverley Abbey Resources, in which we explore 6 of the 7 prayers of Jesus in the gospels. It gives you the tools for leading the session, such as prayers, activities, background on the particular prayer of Jesus, discussion questions, and a prayer activity for the group.
And this year we’ve put together an online resource for you! Here’s an introductory video.
You can’t tell from the photo above, but I was shivering as we taped a lot of the course at the 1400 year old ruins of Waverley Abbey. It’s a gorgeous thin space, and made an amazing setting. But chilly and drizzly!
The six sessions include:
Session introduction
Exploration of the prayer with Micha Jazz (these discussion are AMAZING and a huge added bonus!)
Prayer exercise
Closing comments
You can use this course with your small group or on your own. You can register your interest here with Waverley Abbey; it should be available next week. I pray it will help you meet with Jesus!
If you’d like to get copies of the small-group guide from me, here’s my discount plan:
1-6 copies, 16% discount, £5 each plus postage 7-9 copies, 21% discount £4.75 each plus postage 10 or more, 25% discount, £4.50 each plus postage
If you’re not in the UK, I’m happy to send it to you, but postage might be prohibitive.
May praying the words Jesus prayed enrich your faith in him and love for others.
Watching Liz Carter during the pandemic via social media moved me as I wondered how she coped with shielding even from her own family over so many months. How did she not lose hope? One way was praying through worshiping, as she outlines in her powerful post. I’m grateful she shares with us the wisdom gained in the trenches.
The last couple of years have hurt, haven’t they?
For some of us, it’s been a time when we’ve felt like God hasn’t been around much. We might have suffered loss: bereavement or poor mental health; sickness or simply sadness at what has been happening around us; the polarised response around us.
Many of us have found prayer more difficult, with gatherings restricted and the effects of the pandemic on us as individuals. I had to shield for many months, living with long-term lung disease, and I struggled. I knew that prayer upheld me, but it was just hard.
I’d like to share today one particular way to pray I have found helpful – and transformative. I want to especially commend Amy’s book 7 Ways to Pray, which spoke into my life at a time I was finding prayer more difficult than ever, with some extremely challenging things happening in my own life. If you haven’t read it yet, do!
Praying through worship
We often separate worship and prayer. In church services, we have times of worship and times of intercession. But I’ve discovered something incredibly powerful about worship: it can be intercession. Last year, I was trying to pray about a certain situation, but I couldn’t find the words. I simply didn’t have the strength. But one morning, some of the lyrics in a particular worship song spoke clearly into my life:
‘I raise a hallelujah, with everything inside of me I raise a hallelujah, I will watch the darkness flee…’
(Raise a Hallelujah, by Bethel Music)
The song goes on to encourage us to keep singing, even when we are in the middle of the mystery, even in the midst of fear, to sing louder than our unbelief and to see the melody we are singing as a weapon against the darkness around us. For me, these words packed such a punch because I couldn’t see my way out of the darkness and fear, I was trapped in the mystery and prayer left me grasping for words that did not come. I began to sing along, and became aware that I was praying, and my prayer was a deep one. I was praying these words over people I was praying for.
I continued to do this over the following weeks, finding a new sense of liberation in both worship and prayer. I listened to lyrics in a much more present and focused manner. In a time when I had nothing left, God intervened with a way to pray that not only renewed my prayer life, but also drew me closer to God as I prayed.
Nothing new under the sun
Over the centuries many believers have expressed their prayer through worship – from plainsong to the great hymns of praise, from worship choruses to poetic spoken word set to music. The Psalmists prayed with song all the time, and they prayed out all their feelings – their joys and their laments. I’ve always loved the Psalms as a place where we can find such honesty and raw sadness, decisions to remember what God is doing in our lives, and calls to keep praying despite the pain. Psalm 42 is such a song of extremes – lament, remembrance and praise, and for me it is a Psalm that touches the wild depths of me, the places deep down where pain smoulders and tears gather. It’s a Psalm that speaks when I am in great physical or mental anguish, speaking honestly of the writer’s sadness:
Why, my soul, are you so downcast? Why so disturbed within me?
And then the Psalmist states his intention to keep on putting his hope in God:
I will yet praise him, My Saviour and my God. (v5)
I’ve found those words ‘I will yet praise’ to be an explosion of power in my own life, and when I apply them within a prayer setting in worship, their potency is all the more vivid. And it’s not only that it feels like a good idea – I’ve seen God answer prayers in some incredible ways, even though they were not even prayers that I created. When we pray with intention through worship we join in with the work of God. We are noticing what God is doing, and then partnering with God in that moment.
It’s not that singing along to a song will immediately make us feel better. It’s more that, as with the prayer practices Amy shares in her book, we take that moment and make it about connection with God. We find God in what is happening in worship, and we apply that outwards to the situations we are burdened with.
Finding hope amid pain
For me, intercessory worship has been a beautifully hopeful part of a life of pain. When I am struggling for breath and bent over with pleurisy, I can’t always find words in myself. But when I listen to a song, I can catch the wider mystery of a God who works through so many different things, who weaves these things through our lives to encourage and uphold us.
I’d like to finish by sharing a prayer for those of you are finding prayer is hard because you are hurting.
For those who live under pain and darkness, know the hope that is an anchor for your soul. For those who live in brokenness, know that love stronger than death has already shattered the darkness. For those who live under hurting and sorrow, know that instead of mourning there will be joy, instead of despair a garment of praise, instead of ashes a crown of beauty. Amen.
Liz Carter is an author and poet from Shropshire. She writes about the difficult and painful times in life, and how we can find gold in the mess. Her books Catching Contentment and Treasure in Dark Places are available in online bookstores. You can find her at www.greatadventure.carterclan.me.uk. She’s signed a contract for her next book with The Good Book Company, coming 2023. She’s just brought out a new prayer journal which is filled with verses and poetry about creation.
Order 7 Ways to Prayhere, including in the US, UK, and Australia. You’ll also find many resources for small groups – videos and a leader’s guide – here.
The experience of heart-wrenching trials has pushed Claire even closer to God, especially as she has rediscovered the prayer of lament. She shares movingly and gives a helpful example of how to pray this way, based on Psalm 13. You won’t want to miss this.
These are all a regular part of my days right now, as I watch one of those dearest to me struggle in ways I almost cannot bear. Suffering (whether your own or of one close to you) can rend you speechless, spiralling into the abyss of a dark unknown, even as you cry out to God for rescue, for a glimmer of hope… for anything that shows he is at work.
Unfamiliar territory
I have to confess lament was not something I practised regularly until around five years ago. I come from an evangelical church that is not big on tradition, and does not follow a traditional church calendar. But it was when my sister’s marriage fell apart and my mum’s health began to deteriorate rapidly that the emotional turmoil inside of me needed an outlet. In the midst of this, a dear young mum in our church died, leaving a husband and three small children. All of a sudden I was grieving privately in my family but also publicly with my church family. As my husband and I tried to lead our congregation through it (he as the pastor, me the worship pastor) I felt suffocated, alone and with no way of releasing the pain within. When I gathered the worship team who would be playing that first Sunday after her death, I realised that we had no language to express what we needed to as a community, but also as individuals.
A God-given language
During that season, I was drawn back to the Psalms, gently reminded by God that so many are songs of lament, and that I had utilised them once before. In an incredibly painful time in my marriage, I had opened Psalm 38 and the words had leapt off the page to me, as they seemed to describe exactly what I was experiencing then: ‘My wounds fester and are loathsome because of my sinful folly. I am bowed down and brought very low; all day long I go about mourning… I am feeble and utterly crushed; I groan in anguish of heart’ (Psalm 38:5–6,8).
Back then, it was a revelation of my own sinfulness and the resulting pain that caused me to lament. But in more recent years, it has been a cry from deep in my soul that has been almost unstoppable. It has become a way I have desperately tried to remain connected to God through circumstances that have threatened to engulf me or those I dearly love. Some days it can sometimes feel like all hope is lost – and yet lament is the bridge that helps me find my way back to God when he seems distant or hidden.
I don’t relish the experiences that have revealed how vital lament is to me, but I do cherish the renewed understanding that God has given us permission to vent all our anger, frustration, anguish, as well as our questions, through the examples in the Psalms and Lamentations – as well as of Jesus himself.
Faith and intimacy
I am walking a particularly painful path right now – and it has seemed relentless for the last few years. My mum passed away just before Covid, and almost immediately we were swept into working hard to keep our church community feel connected during the lockdowns, and now we are in the midst of an excruciatingly painful situation in our immediate family.
When my mum died, God spoke to me so clearly through John 11 – revealing an image of Jesus weeping alongside me. That has been a real comfort at times, but in other moments the sense of loss and pain has been overwhelming. In those times, I have come to view lament as part of my survival kit – an absolutely necessity to stop me from going under.
Lamenting with the Psalms
The pandemic has brought suffering to so many families, and this life is full of troubles (as well as joys). If you don’t regularly practise lament, I encourage you gently to try finding a psalm that seems to echo the cry of your heart and turn it into a prayer.
Here is an example of the way in which I use particular psalms as launchpads for my own prayers – I hope it is helpful to you, but of course do feel free to find your own individual way of lamenting before God.
1 How long, Lord? Will you forget me for ever? How long will you hide your face from me?
God I can’t see you at work in this situation. It feels like I am having to cope on my own. I know you are there – please reveal yourself to me. Show me you haven’t forgotten us.
2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me?
This all feels relentless, and it does feel like the devil is having a field day. I am finding it hard to keep batting away the discouragement, and my own depression. How long is this going to go on for Lord?
3 Look on me and answer, Lord my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death, 4 and my enemy will say, ‘I have overcome him,’ and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
We need you to move – we need release! Come and act, move so that those around will know that you are God. And bring me your discernment and wisdom to know what to do – and your energy. I am so tired Lord…
5 But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. 6 I will sing the Lord’s praise, for he has been good to me.
I do trust you Lord, however hard that is to say at times – and I do know that you are good and that your character cannot change. I also choose to worship you, singing songs of thanks, because I know they stir my heart and do me good. Thank you for the salvation you have brought me, thank you for the way you have led me in the past – and thank you for the way you have upheld my family. I know that you love them more than I do – and trust that you have a hope and a future for each one of us.
Claire Musters is a writer, speaker, editor and author of several books. You can follow her at @CMusters on Twitter and on Facebook or visit her website. Her most recent book, Grace-Filled Marriage (Authentic Media), was written with her husband and is available to buy from clairemusters.com – it is also part of the Big Church Read initiative (see thebigchurchread.co.uk/grace-filled-marriage/ for videos, reading plan and discussion questions). The devotional she wrote while her mum was dying, Every Day Insights: Disappointment and loss (30 readings and reflections to help bring comfort and hope), can also be bought direct from Claire, as can all her books – contact Claire on cmusters@Icloud.com for more details (including special Christmas offers).
Order 7 Ways to Prayhere, including in the US, UK, and Australia. You’ll also find lots of resources for small groups – videos and a leader’s guide – here.
