This morning I almost beat my neighbor at tennis. During months of playing, he has served me one resounding defeat after another. But not today.
“Your shots have more muscle today,” my friend commented.
“Not more muscle-more power,” I replied. I’d discovered that pausing a split second in my backswing allowed me to return the ball with new authority and accuracy. That quiet instant of waiting is beginning to transform my game.
A moment of waiting sharpens my performance off the court, as well. In my weekly round of sermonizing, organizing, and visiting, I find new stamina and power from the times I give to prayer. I am learning how to face the opportunities and.rigors of ministry with more than human muscle or earthly ingenuity. Praying, I find, helps in three ways.
Quiet that brings power
Isaiah said it well: “In quietness and trust is your strength” (30:15). And no leader knew the power of quiet better than Jesus. Amid the whirlwind of his ministry, we read, “Early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house, and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed” (Mark 1:35).
As Henri Nouwen says of this verse, “In the center of breathless activities we hear a restful breathing. Surrounded by hours of moving we find a moment of quiet stillness.” Locked within the loudness of Christ’s action is a simple verse that points us to the quietness that fed his resiliency, and promises to feed ours as well.
Often, though, we neglect this quiet when we need it most. A friend pastoring a thriving Midwest church has discovered this. Several times a year he clears his busy appointment book and goes on two or three-day retreats. “I have heard things about God’s vision for our church,” he once told me, “that I would have missed had I not guarded those times.”
No wonder Francis de Sales commented, “We should listen to God at least thirty minutes a day- except, of course, when we are very busy. Then we should make it an hour.”
Before I approach the home of a parishioner, enter a room to conduct a meeting, or get out of my car before Sunday worship, I try to take time for the stillness of prayer. At the beginning of the day, I listen for a nudge to make a call, or visit a neighbor, or write a letter.
Such quiet makes me more compassionate, more open to God’s active presence. And such inward quiet transforms my prayer itself. No longer do my petitions seem as frantic as my daily schedule. No longer do I feel the need to string together an impressive volume of words. I find, to the contrary, that growth in communion with God is a movement away from wordiness toward simplicity.
This is why experienced spiritual guides suggest sitting in the presence of God for twenty minutes repeating a simple prayer like “Speak, Lord; your servant is listening,” or “Lord Jesus, have mercy on me.” A phrase from Scripture like “The Lord is my shepherd,” or “Jesus is Lord” can yield profound insight as it helps us silence distractions and focus on (Sod. The stillness that results can go with us while we answer phone calls, knock on doors, or chair meetings.
Rest that bears fruit
Just as our bodies need adequate sleep, so our spirits need replenishing pauses. Even Jesus, no passive quietist, knew the importance of rest. “Take my yoke upon you,” he told his disciples, “and you will find rest for your souls.”
But of the many adjectives describing the life of a modern pastor, restful is rarely one. Not when we feel pressured to visit the three new families in church Sunday and answer the stack of letters piling up on our desk. Yet I am slowly discovering it is possible-and vital-to move through the many tasks with an inner sense of rest, a quiet core of calm.
Herman Melville’s Moby Dick contains a parable of the importance of such renewal and rest. He writes, “However prolonged and exhausting the chase, the harpooneer is expected to pull his oar meanwhile to the uttermost; indeed, he is expected to set an example of superhuman activity to the rest, not only by incredible rowing, but by repeated loud and intrepid exclamations. … ” And, when the whale is finally sighted, the harpooneer “now has to drop and secure his oar, turn round on his center halfway, seize his harpoon. … and with what little strength may remain, he assays to pitch it somehow into the whale. No wonder, taking the whole fleet of whalemen in a body, that out of fifty fair chances for a dart, not five are successful.”
Of such failure Melville writes, “It has not by any means been so much the speed of the whale as the … exhaustion of the harpooneer. … To insure the greatest efficiency of the dart, the harpooneers of this world must start to their feet from out of idleness, and not from out of toil.”
To begin the day on a note of rest, not toil, I find I must arise before my family. I find a quiet place where I will not be distracted by noise or reminded of tasks to be done, and I indulge in the seeming waste of prayer. But out of that idleness, I continue to draw an energy to confront demands and needs with an ease and calm I know is not my own.
During the radio broadcast of last year’s World Series, I caught the tail end of an advertisement for an additive that readies engines for winter travel. A player plugging the product concluded, “My team wins not by being emotional, but by being prepared.” I thought of ministry. We are readied not in frenzied running, but in the waiting rest.
Trust that builds strength
Ministry also thrives on the calm confidence that comes from trust. No wonder Jesus told his disciples, “Do not worry.’ As they learned to lean on the assurance that God is able and adequate, they became unleashed for ministry.
Henri Nouwen helps explain why. “As long as ministry only means that we worry a lot about people and their problems; as long as it means an endless number of activities which we can hardly coordinate, we are still very much dependent on our own narrow and anxious heart.” But, he concludes, our worries can lead us into the heart of God and there become prayer. Then worry no longer dissipates our energy and creativity, but brings us to a renewed openness to the Lord’s doings.
One writer put it like this: “The truth depends on a walk around the lake, a stopping to watch a definition growing certain, and a wait within that certainty.” Waiting is perhaps the hardest aspect of trust. But obedience sometimes involves pulling back and trusting what someone has called “the slow work of God.”
A potentially explosive judicatory meeting once underscored this for me. A divisive member was threatening to disrupt the proceedings. I wanted to jump in, orchestrate a solution, and consolidate my position. Yet I still vividly recall God restraining my temptation to intervene. I heard a still, small voice urging, Trust me; trust me. I did, only to see God accomplish his purposes through others there entrusted with leadership.
Our constant temptation is to take charge-of our lives, our ministries, the next steps. “Put yourself in control of your financial future,” is the advertising appeal. Granting the need for responsible planning, is control the point? When I am regular in prayer, I remember again that all that happens does not hinge on my perspiration. I can loosen my grip and open my hands to the opportunities God creates. Prayer is a nagging, hopeful reminder that ministry’s unexpected detours and hoped-for triumphs are finally in the hands of Another.
I still spend hours in the study before preaching. I try to map out an agenda for meetings. I am attentive to the need to visit parishioners. Prayer is no substitute for work, no excuse for flying by the seat of our pants, no justification for sloppy work. But I am also coming to see that prayer needs to burst out of the compartment we sometimes give it in our professional priorities.
One of the most significant ways we prepare for ministry is to pray. As more and more of what I do is enriched by prayer’s quiet, rest, and trust, I know those moments are far from wasted.
-Timothy K. Jones
Goshen, Indiana
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