“YOU WANT TO MEET after this and pray together?” whispered the old man.<\/p>\n
I nodded, unable to look at him, and choked down the lump in my throat. We were sitting in the Monday afternoon staff meeting of a large suburban church. I was pastor of the new church plant sponsored by this congregation. Dr. Hunker, after more than forty years as a missionary in Taiwan, was pastor of the Chinese congregation. Both of us were ancillary to most of the discussion taking place.<\/p>\n
The senior pastor had asked for prayer requests. My pride and reputation were on the line, but I felt compelled to ask for prayer for several things, starting with a minor health concern and working my way up to the biggie\u2014my preaching, which was not being well-received by the nucleus of people joining me in the startup effort from this sponsoring church. My core group was used to hearing a pulpit master; I was just a rookie.<\/p>\n
That day I was looking for more than advice on how to improve my sermons; I desperately needed some acceptance apart from my preaching.<\/p>\n
But after hearing the first half of a sentence of my request, the senior pastor cut me off, asked for other prayer requests in a tone that signaled we had enough on the table, offered a brief, generic prayer, then moved on to the business at hand.<\/p>\n
The lesson of that day came later, as Dr. Hunker and I left the air-conditioned bustle of the conference room for the warm quiet of his study. From under the worn couch, he pulled a couple of straw mats, each broken down in two spots from someone’s faithful knees. We knelt together without a word, he placed his hands on my head, and for the next forty-five minutes, prayed for me with an intensity and passion I can feel to this day. (A year later, as I knelt for the laying on of hands during my ordination, I immediately recognized the touch of Dr. Hunker, even before he began to pray for me.)<\/p>\n
That afternoon in his study, he prayed for my health, my marriage, our soon-to-be-born child, and all my worries and insecurities. Just when I thought he had covered everything, he moved on to the big stuff\u2014that I would have a passion for God, a passion for souls, and a passion for preaching. I cannot remember specific words, but I can still sense his patriarchal blessing, and the presence of God that surrounded me as that faithful servant soaked my needy heart in the warmth of grace.<\/p>\n
After most of an hour was past, he was done. I blew my nose and wiped my face dry, then Dr. Hunker sat with me and talked frankly about spiritual warfare and the role of prayer, specifically praise and worship, in standing strong in the fight. I’m sure my jaw dropped at some of the stories he told of confrontations with darkness throughout his ministry. Perhaps I thought, Maybe in Taiwan. But I doubt I’ll encounter anything like this in my ministry.<\/em><\/p>\n I didn’t know then that that afternoon would be a watershed event in my life and my ministry.<\/p>\n Earlier I discussed the role of the spiritual disciplines and their relationship to preaching. For too long, I pursued them merely as sermon insurance. I don’t think the average person in the pew can tell by the quality of a sermon whether the preacher prayed as part of preparation, and in some cases, neither can the preacher. But the spiritual disciplines are<\/em> an effective measure of the preacher’s passion, which may or may not be visible.<\/p>\n Prayer, for me, is a gauge of what I believe in, a confirmation of what I consider vital, an indication of where my passion lies. I seldom pray about things unimportant to me. I’ve never prayed to own a water-skiing boat. I never learned to water-ski, mainly because I’m scared to death of deep water. And I really don’t worry about the hiccups in the stock market; I keep my money invested in groceries and clothes for the kids. I never pray for things I don’t believe in, either. I’ve never prayed that I might see a UFO. Never prayed for the safety of professional wrestlers. Never once prayed for a World Series victory for the Chicago Cubs.<\/p>\n But I pray daily, with passion, for my family’s physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. I pray fervently about my work writing and editing publications for pastors and church leaders. These things are life to me.<\/p>\n In the same way, an urgency to pray throughout the sermon process tells me, at least on one level, that I still believe in preaching. And it signals to me that I really care about the outcome of the message in the lives of the people to whom I preach.<\/p>\n\n I’ve always preferred to start the sermon as early in the week as possible to let it simmer within for as long as possible. Monday morning isn’t too soon to begin grappling with and praying through the text: What did it mean then? What does it mean now? Dear God, help me understand!<\/em><\/p>\n A church directory sat on my desk with my Bible. I thumbed through it, a couple of pages a day, and prayed for the families of our church every week: Where do they hurt? Where do they doubt? Why, Father, are they struggling so? Use this message to be a part of the solution to their deepest needs.<\/em><\/p>\n Sometimes when communication fails it is because something went wrong with the sender. But other times, communication fails because of the inability of the receiver to hear<\/em> the message\u2014like receiving a phone call from someone who can hear you but you can only say, “Call me back. I can barely hear you.”<\/p>\n The prophet Jeremiah described his audience like this: “To whom can I speak and give warning? Who will listen to me? Their ears are closed so they cannot hear. The word of the Lord is offensive to them; they find no pleasure in it. But I am full of the wrath of the Lord, and I cannot hold it in” (Jer. 6:10-11).<\/p>\n Maybe I’ve read too many Frank Peretti novels, or maybe it’s just that the unseen realm of darkness and light has begun to come into focus, but I’ve become increasingly sensitive to the significance of prayer to create a teaching environment in which people are freed from the influence of the Father of Lies.<\/p>\n My enlightenment began when I was called as pastor of a church in a community that was more than 70 percent Mormon. The beautiful 100-year-old ward house (church) was the literal and symbolic center of town. Every street name was based on its relationship to the church. We lived on 372 South First Street East, not to be confused with 372 East First Street South, in accordance with Brigham Young’s “Plan of Zion.”<\/p>\n Joseph Smith, founder of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was heavily influenced by different occultic practices of his time, and the ritual and doctrine of his followers today reflect that heritage. In addition to the Mormon influence, we were bordered not too far to the north and south by two Indian reservations, where mystic Native American religions have taken on new life in the past few years, in part fueled by New Age seekers. To our immediate east lay some cheap land that was subdivided into forty-acre “ranches” back in the “70s. This remote region became not only a haven for retirees who wanted a little place in the country but also a hiding place for survivalists, militias, child molesters, drug lab operators, cultural dropouts from the ’60s, New Age practitioners, and more than a few small communes reminiscent of David Koresh and Waco, Texas.<\/p>\n It was, in many ways, the antithesis of Wheaton, Illinois, where I lived while working at Leadership.<\/p>\n In the diverse context of rural Arizona, we sought to evangelize and make disciples. We immediately collided with people and circumstances outside the normal range of conflict common to most churches. I found Neil Andersen’s books, including The Bondage Breaker<\/em> and Victory Over the Darkness<\/em> immensely helpful both in understanding our situation and in learning how to administer pastoral care.1<\/a><\/p>\n Over the next several years in that ministry, some people found victory over addictions. Others renounced involvement with false religions and occultic practices, and confessed Jesus Christ as the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Still others found freedom from shameful memories that had kept them in chains for years.<\/p>\n And yet others chose darkness over light.<\/p>\n Even within the fellowship of our church, we experienced spiritual attack. I found some who were literally unable to hear God’s Word proclaimed. My voice was just one of several voices shouting for attention in their heads.<\/p>\n Beyond the evidence of spiritual darkness in the lives of people who considered themselves believers, there was physical evidence of some kind of bizarre, ritualistic activity around our church facility. For example, on three occasions I arrived at the church on a Sunday morning to find blood of some kind smeared over the front doors. Once, a dead cat was wedged between the door handles. I usually arrived around 6 a.m., so I managed to clean the mess up before anyone else arrived. Maybe it was just kids playing pranks\u2014maybe it was something else.<\/p>\n Then there was the morning after a full moon, when I walked into our sanctuary and discovered the side door had been left ajar just enough so that the lock did not catch. On the carpet in front of the communion table was the matted hair of some kind of animal. Maybe a shedding dog just wandered in and took a little nap\u2014maybe it was something else.<\/p>\n I still hesitate to speculate about how to interpret such physical evidence, for I’m not inclined to see a demon behind every sneeze. But the occultic environment in which we ministered, the spiritual bondage of some in our midst, and this recurring weirdness had the effect of scaring me enough that I began to pray with a fervor I’ve not had before or since.<\/p>\n When I looked at my church’s needs as a lack of information, I was confident I could enlighten them out of my education and communication skills. When I looked at their needs as primarily emotional, I could put on my counselor’s hat. It was only when I began to see the dysfunction of our church and the community as stemming from our depraved nature, a sin-tainted world, and the ongoing influence of the Prince of Darkness\u2014and only when I came to an utter lack of hope in anything other than God’s direct intervention\u2014that I began to pray with new passion.<\/p>\n So it came to pass that prayer and sermon preparation became, for me, inseparably intertwined. I know that God does not dwell in a temple, yet our sanctuary became a holy place for me every day throughout the week. During the daytime, as sunlight through the glass made dancing dust motes visible, God’s presence strengthened and brightened me. At night, the shadow and contrast made me ever more sensitive to the reality of another realm beyond my sight.<\/p>\n I became utterly desperate, absolutely convinced that I, my friends, my church, and my family were without hope unless God directly intervened. The only posture suitable for such prayer was spread-eagle prostrate on the floor. When I recall what happened there on the floor, I find I lack the freedom to describe it in detail. I would no more give details of that time alone with God than I would describe my physical relationship with my wife. I can’t write or talk of it and retain any of the sanctity of the event.<\/p>\n But in those hours, day by day, God sustained me, empowered me, and renewed me to preach with hope and passion.<\/p>\n\n Inevitably, Saturday night came, and Sunday would follow quickly on its heels. After putting the kids to bed, I would often walk the three short blocks to the church to wage war. In Paul’s rich description of spiritual war, he said, “Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms” (Eph. 6:11-12, niv).<\/p>\n I entered the sanctuary singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs at the top of my lungs. I reasoned the spiritual forces of evil would flee in the face of earnest praise to God.<\/p>\n “May God arise, may his enemies be scattered,” I sang, making up the tune as I went along. “May his foes flee before him.\u2026 Sing to God, sing praise to his name, extol him who rides on the clouds\u2014his name is the Lord” (Ps. 68:1, 4, niv).<\/p>\n I would then stand in every doorway, my hands on the threshold, praying aloud that all people who passed through would be freed from the distractions and lies that had held them captive. “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32, nlt).<\/p>\n I then walked the length of every pew, praying for the people who predictably sat there week after week. I prayed for troubled homes, rebellious teens, and crippled marriages. I’d pause at the usual seat of the Mormon alcoholic husband of one of our members, praying for freedom over his addiction and spiritual bondage. Over there, left side, near the front, sat Jerry, the professional skeptic, who continued to attend semi-regularly despite his insistent doubts. Fred, my most vocal critic, sat near the back and sighed loudly whenever he felt I said something stupid (almost every other sentence). I’d pray for him that, in spite of my stupidity, he could somehow hear a word from God. While I was praying, the sermon I had prepared in the study percolated through my brain and into my soul. I sought supernatural connections between God’s Word and the occupants of each seat.<\/p>\n After working through the pews, I’d visit the sound booth, microphones, and musical instruments\u2014the dwelling places for demons of the most hideous kind. Then on to the pulpit, where I asked the Lord to give me courage and conviction, clarity of thought, and a heightened sensitivity to his Spirit during the actual delivery of the message. I completed the Saturday night ritual by asking that the pulpit, a mere piece of wood, be consecrated as an altar upon which I sacrificed, yet again, my pride, ambition, and desire to be liked. Early the next morning, I’d come once again for a brief time of prayer before turning on lights and the furnace, making sure the bulletins were out, and picking up empty beer cans in the parking lot.<\/p>\n My secretary had given me a collection of Puritan prayers, published by Banner of Truth Trust, entitled The Valley of Vision,<\/em> one of my prized possessions. One prayer, “A Minister’s Preaching,” I still carry in my Bible. It was more often than not my Sunday morning, pre-preaching prayer:<\/p>\n\n \nMy Master God, Just a few weeks ago, I preached in a Baptist church where the tradition of the altar call is alive and well. My text was Philippians 3:5-11. My title: “Life’s Most Difficult Choice.” The point: “Life’s greatest satisfaction is not found in our success (vv. 5-6), our righteousness (v. 9), or our comfort (vv. 10-11), but is instead found in the intimacy of knowing Christ. My life’s theme\u2014expressed in that key phrase, I want<\/em> to know Christ\u2014became our refrain. Not have<\/em> to. I want<\/em> to know Christ.<\/p>\n I closed the message by encouraging people to consider ways they had allowed the search for success, self-righteousness, or personal comfort to edge out the search for intimacy with Christ: “Let me encourage you to pray silently, asking God to reveal the answers to your heart-searching questions. And I’ll be standing here at the front if you’d like someone to pray with you or have questions.”<\/p>\n As the pianist began playing quietly, a businessman in a suit that cost more than my truck immediately strode up the aisle and grabbed my hand in a double-fisted grip. “I can’t believe I’ve allowed it to happen,” he said, his voice growing rough. “I really love the Lord, but over the past year or so I’ve started a new job. I’ve tried so hard to get a handle on it that I’ve given what belongs to Christ to my job. Would you pray for me, that I can re-prioritize my life, and that I’ll be paying attention so that it never happens again?”<\/p>\n We did pray\u2014first me, then him. He thanked me and returned to his seat.<\/p>\n Afterward I was shaking hands, and the man who had responded came through and thanked me again. “I don’t know why that decision had to be made publicly,” he said. “But thanks for giving me the opportunity to step out. I really needed that.”<\/p>\n I don’t often see such immediate results from a sermon, but when I do, my passion for what God has called me to do re-ignites. I redouble my efforts to implement the spiritual disciplines and, specifically, to pray\u2014to pray for the war God is waging through the sermon.<\/p>\n\n <\/a>Neil T. Anderson, The Bondage Breaker<\/em> (Eugene, Ore.: Harvest House Publishers, 1993). Neil T. Anderson, Victory Over Darkness<\/em> (Ventura, Calif.: Regal Books, 1990).<\/p>\nPreparatory prayer<\/h2>\n
Pre-game prayer<\/h2>\n
\n
\nI am desired to preach today,
\nbut go weak and needy to my task;
\nYet I long that people might be
\nedified with divine truth,
\nthat an honest testimony
\nmight be borne for thee.
\nGive me assistance
\nin preaching and prayer,
\nwith heart uplifted
\nfor grace and unction.
\nPresent to my view
\nthings pertinent to my subject,
\nwith fullness of matter
\nand clarity of thought,
\nproper expressions, fluency, fervency,
\na feeling sense of the things I preach,
\nand grace to apply them
\n
\nto men’s consciences.
\nKeep me conscious all the while
\nof my defects,
\nand let me not gloat in pride
\nover my performance.
\nHelp me to offer a testimony
\nfor thyself,
\nand to leave sinners inexcusable
\nin neglecting thy mercy.
\nGive me freedom to open the sorrows
\nof thy people,
\nand to set before them
\ncomforting considerations.
\nAttend with power the truth preached,
\nand awaken the attention
\nof my slothful audience.
\nMay thy people be refreshed,
\nmelted, convicted, comforted,
\nand help me to use the strongest
\narguments drawn from Christ’s
\nincarnation and sufferings,
\nthat men might be made holy.
\nI myself need thy support,
\ncomfort, strength, holiness,
\nthat I might be a pure channel
\nof thy grace,
\nand be able to do
\nsomething for thee;
\nGive me, then, refreshment
\namong thy people,
\n
\nand help me not to treat
\nexcellent matter
\nin a defective way,
\nor bear a broken testimony
\nto so worthy a redeemer,
\nor be harsh in treating
\nof Christ’s death,
\nits design and end,
\nfrom lack of warmth and fervency.
\nAnd keep me in tune with thee
\nas I do this work.
\nAmen.\n\n2<\/a>\n<\/p>\n\n<\/blockquote>\n\nPost-game prayer<\/h2>\n