I sat at my desk and looked at the two books. One was my Bible, the other my Day-Timer. They were at war again. Personal devotions versus professional duties.
It was Friday morning. The Day-Timer was attacking with two unfinished sermons for Sunday, an adult Bible class to polish up, a bulletin to make, and three overdue visitation calls. The counterattack came from unshakable memories of sermons (some my own!) highlighting the importance of prayer.
It was a familiar battle. I-man of God, preacher of the Word-was also the chief operating officer of a complex organization. I had a million things to do. So a couple of verses, a run through the prayer list, and on to my real work. And I know this feeling is not unique to me.
When I finally decided to do something serious about my own spirituality, I made some interesting discoveries. The villains I most suspected turned out to be mere accomplices. The most important miscreant was hiding where I least expected.
At first I thought the problem was my schedule. I studied time management. I learned to set priorities. I put prayer in my Day-Timer, along with relaxation and dates with my wife. My marriage improved, and so did my health. But the prayer battle continued. My defeats were glaring now, trumpeted by blank check spaces in my daily log. I chose work over prayer most of the time. It was almost as if I didn’t want to pray.
Perhaps I needed personal renewal. So I tried various conferences. Many were wonderful. I enjoyed the preaching, was lifted by the worship, strengthened by the prayers. But I was a spiritual groupie-I felt spiritually vital in the group, but I dried up back in the daily grind.
Was the problem stress? I took an excellent class in stress management. I learned about adrenalin and cortisol. I started working out. I began to journal about the “oughts” and expectations I battled. I learned to be more assertive, to delegate responsibilities But still I found myself too busy to pray more than a few minutes a day.
Three years ago I stumbled upon the chief culprit: not stress, not time management, not workaholism, not my schedule, but my spirit. The real villain was poor theology.
I finally took a class in “spirituality,” a term I had confused with “spiritism.” Some of the readings in the course were, to my careful orthodoxy, weird. But beyond the strange personalities of the mystics, there was a tantalizing vision: prayer not as duty but as delight.
I had worked hard for the Lord. But my dedication was grim and forced. When Paul spoke of being a “bondslave” of Jesus, I could identify, but not with the ecstatic self-abandonment he evidenced. I sensed the same joyful self-sacrifice among the monks of a small priory in the desert north of Los Angeles.
Our class was on a modified silent retreat. One afternoon I headed up among the boulders and Joshua trees to pray. With me were only the sighing wind and the bright desert sky. And four printed questions. I got only as far as the first, which asked me to reflect on God’s care in my early life.
I’m glib, and I began to write rapid, familiar cliches. Then it dawned on me like the sun rising in my soul; God does care for me! He cares about my feelings. About my struggles. He loves me. He enjoys me! I don’t have to prove anything.
I, spiritual child of Martin Luther, had never been able to find a gracious God. But now I realized he is with me because he loves me. I’m not a pastor to him. He calls me by name.
Please understand, I knew intellectually I was justified by grace alone. But I had been living as if I were “under the law,” a special law for pastors. He was a demanding boss, calling for something far beyond my ability to deliver. He was my ultimate Parishioner, measuring my performance against his infinite expectations.
No wonder it was hard to pray! Time alone with him had been time to prove something, to demonstrate holiness or earnestness or even repentance. It was like reporting to the board of elders. I had preached the efficacy of the finished work of Christ to my congregation and exempted myself as pastor.
I’m still glad I learned something about managing time and stress. But for three years now, instead of trying to prove something to God, I have offered my ministry as a gift to my Lover. Sometimes it’s as crude and simple as a child’s handmade gift, but I offer it anyway, because I know he cares.
So, do I pray like John Wesley? No, I’m still no model of personal discipline. But something funny happened at that desert theology class. I began to enjoy God’s presence. I snatch times with him now many times a day: stopped at a red light, sitting in a dentist’s office, parked in front of the school to pick up the kids.
I discovered God is my Friend, not my Foreman.
-Richard Bridston
Mt. Bethel Lutheran Brethren Church
Mt. Bethel, Pennsylvania
Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
