A Story of Faith: Dead Prayers and Living Grace

Someone very eloquent once said, “Life stinks and then you die.” I wouldn't wear this pessimistic outlook on a T-shirt, but sometimes I wear it on my heart. I want everyone to know I'm suffering. 

Life is hard, it flat-out stinks sometimes, and a dead prayer life makes it stink even more. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Prayer should be my lifeline when struggles come and instead I grasp for anything else.

I might offer up the frustrated “Help Me” shout-out, but my actions prove how little stock I place in heavenly communication. The works-oriented part of myself (a.k.a. default mode) tries other options just in case: I memorize scripture, I try the power of positive thinking, or (this one’s the best) I ignore the situation all together. Blinded by my suffering, I lose sight of God's abundant grace. I exchange heavenward prayers for inward condemnation. 

It’s your fault. What a lame faith you have! 

I kick myself and talk trash to my inner (wo)man about what a loser Christian I am. Buck up, self! Where’s your faith? Should a “mature” believer struggle this hard?

Rather than embracing my utter need for prayer, I behave like nothing works: not the Bible and not God. Beneath the thin veneer of social Christian graces, I’ve surrendered to defeat and despair.

But here’s the truth: when trials and temptations come, I must turn to the inspired word of God. Not the words I’m tempted to scream at myself. 

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Hebrews 4:15-16

My time of need is always - even if I am unaware of it.

Should I save up my prayers for days of obvious trouble? Should I wait until something is killing me to cry out for help? No. But still, when I can no longer help myself, I go to the throne of grace with my tail between my legs. 

“Hey God, it’s me ... Lindsey ... things are REALLY bad again ... I know, I’m working on coming to you sooner ... but until then, I could use a little help.”

Thankfully, God’s word says that He sympathizes with our weaknesses and provides mercy and grace for my time of need. So why do I wait so long and come only out of desperation?

I avoid the throne of grace, because I don’t “get” the throne of grace. 

I hadn’t stopped to really consider the throne. Or the grace. I glaze over both, numbed by their familiarity. Perhaps that’s why I talk to God the way I talk to my BFF: I’m irreverent, comfortable and casual. And I don’t put too much stock in His ability to rescue me. 

My sloppy, desperate, last-minute prayers are a sad substitution for heartfelt and true relational petitions to the King of Heaven. My prayers are not for God’s benefit, filling Him in on my latest drama. They’re for my benefit. 

Charles Haddon Spurgeon, England’s “Prince of Preachers” and one of my favorite dead guys, preached a sermon in 1871 encouraging his church to understand the beauty and reality of true prayer:

“True prayer is an approach of the soul by the Spirit of God to the throne of God. It is not the utterance of words, it is not alone the feeling of desires, but it is the advance of the
desires to God, the spiritual approach of our nature towards the Lord our God. True prayer is not a mere mental exercise, nor a vocal performance, but it is deeper far than that—it is spiritual commerce with the Creator of heaven and earth.”

With Jesus on speed-dial, I often relegate my conversations with Him to the few free minutes I have in the car. If I want to converse with the Creator of heaven and earth, I have to escape this mentality. My prayers are offered in a royal court.

I must realize I have the ear of the King. A throne demands that I approach with:

• reverence and humility: I am low and He is high. 
• devout joyfulness: I am here, in the court of Holy and Righteous God, and I have been invited to come. This is joyful! 
• complete submission: I pray for God’s will, not my own.
• enlarged expectations: I ask boldly and for more than leftovers.
• unstaggering confidence: A King honors his word.
• This throne is unique. It is a throne of grace. Grace removes all fears that prevent me from approaching with confidence. My sin is no longer an obstacle preventing me from communion.

“What if I ask for something selfish? What if I ask with conflicted motives? What if God rejects my pleas?” No worries, this is where Grace shines. When Grace takes the throne, it:

• prays on my behalf. Jesus is my High Priest and goes before me to Holy God.
• overlooks the faults of my prayers and filters out my sinful requests. Grace sees my inner need for pardon and provision before my selfish physical demands.
• meets my every need with compassion. Grace offers me love.  

This throne is not an old and dying monarchy caught in the rigmarole of pomp and circumstance. Grace enthroned is a reigning dynasty, eternally secured and forever beneficial.

I have the ability to approach the God of the Universe with the silliest request, or the heaviest burden, for I do not have a High Priest who is out-of-touch with my reality and pain. He’s been there. He’s done that. And He’s overcome it.

Yes, keep the courts of grace on speed-dial, but know your audience. God is able, God is capable, and He is willing to provide all the mercy and grace your soul demands.   

“Approach my soul, the mercy seat, where Jesus answers prayer. There humbly fall before His feet, for none can perish there. Thy promise is my only plea, with this Iventure nigh. Thou callest burdened soul to thee, and such Oh Lord, am I.” - John Newton, 18th Century Hymn Writer