Category: Prayer

Lessons from a Kidney Stone

‘And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose’ – Romans 8:28 (NIV)

To whatever extent I’ve complained of pain before this past Tuesday, I take it back.  Prior to that fateful day, I equated pain with the day I accidentally slammed my hand in my car door, as in, the door literally shut with my hand between it and the car frame.  After opening the door, I raced into the house, out of earshot of my wife and young daughter, where I let loose a torrent of screaming, that as best we know, is still hanging in space over Phoenixville, Pennsylvania (thank you Jean Shepherd).

But now I would gladly let you slam my hand in a car door a hundred times before re-experiencing what happened on Tuesday, when for the first (and please god last) time I passed a kidney stone. 

I hadn’t realized it, but I had probably been dealing with it for the previous three weeks.  I had some back pain and other symptoms, which I chalked up to other things.  But when the moment of truth arrived, as the stone left its refuge in my kidney, there was no mistaking it.  On the drive to the hospital, I developed a deep appreciation for the good folks who fill in potholes as my poor wife withstood my plaintive cries for mercy.  When we arrived, the triage nurse asked me what my pain level was on a scale of one to ten.  I told her eleven (and yes, I was ready with the reference to This is Spinal Tap).  Had she chosen to knock me out with a wooden mallet, I would have considered it a blessing. 

If you think I’m being melodramatic, you’ve never had a kidney stone.  For a man, it is considered the male version of childbirth.  I’m not sure how passing a 3mm piece of calcified gunk compares to a woman pushing out an eight-pound baby, but many women who have had both experiences claim that passing a kidney stone is worse!  Whether it is or not, you get the idea.  Passing a kidney stone is sheer hell. 

I have since passed the stone (it was a boy; I named it Atilla).  Which enables me to now say that, despite the hell of it, and the fact that I am still recovering from both the trauma of the event and the side effects of its treatment, the experience was not without its benefits.  Don’t get me wrong: I plan on doing everything in my power to ensure I never have another kidney stone again (just one example, no more spinach salads for me; apparently my ‘healthy’ practice of eating them several times a week may have been a contributing factor; the things Popeye never told us!).  And I have experienced more than a few moments of frustration and exasperation. But in the midst of my harrowing ordeal, I have experienced grace, and learned at least three important lessons. 

First, there were the miracles. 

My time at the hospital was not fun.  I had to wait a long time before the staff gave me anything for the pain.  I stood (sitting or lying down was NOT an option), first in the lobby and then in my private ER room, writhing in pain, praying they would come and help me, when after two hours, in walked a friend and member of the church I serve.  He had personal experience with stones and came as soon as he heard.  He no sooner began to pray for me than the nurse finally walked in with the pain medication for my IV.  Literally within seconds. 

Later that night, after I had been sent home with painkillers and instructions to drink heavily (water that is), I continued to struggle.  The super-ibuprofen didn’t kick in as quickly orally as intravenously.  I was at the end of my rope, ready to reach for the Percocet, which I had been instructed to use only if all else failed and have a deep, personal aversion to (I’ve seen too many people get hooked) when, shall we say, the dam broke, and the stone passed.  It was only after, when I looked at my phone, that I saw that another dear friend, who also had experience with stones, had sent me a GIF of George Bailey from It’s a Wonderful Life celebrating in front of the sign for Bedford Falls.  Under the celebrating George were the words, ‘It passed!’  My friend, who had been praying, sent it as an encouragement.  But it arrived simultaneously with the deluge that set me free. 

I suppose you could chalk both events up to coincidence.  But I believe in both the power of prayer and Christian fellowship.  The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective, the Book of James tells us, and I believe my friend’s prayers were both.  Also, there is something to be said in not facing things alone.  God made us for community, and we stand stronger together than we do as individuals.  Having good Christian friends to call on in a time of distress is a treasure of measureless worth.  Many prayed for me yesterday, but I believe these two ‘God incidences,’ as Philip Yancey would say, were especially coordinated to remind me of the immense blessing of prayer and fellowship.  And so, as a result of the dread Atilla, I hope to be less likely to take such things for granted. 

Second, well, back to the pain again. 

I’ve already described the pain as best I can.  Words fail in the effort.  But having gone through it, I believe I’ve learned a lesson in compassion.  As a pastor, I deal with people in physical pain all the time.  I don’t believe I have ever dismissed anyone’s pain, but not having experienced anything so severe, I can’t say I’ve ever fully understood it either.  In a way, that was a blessing.  But in another way, so is this.  To whatever extent I have ever failed to consider the physical pain of another, to the extent I have responded to it with dry platitudes or dismissiveness, I repent.  The word compassion literally means, ‘to suffer with.’  From now on, I will try to do a better job of entering others suffering, walking with them through it, and doing so with a greater understanding.  This too then is a gift, one I pray will make me not only a better pastor, but a better person. 

And third, there is the love of God. 

By this, I don’t just mean that his love was with me in some theoretical sense.  I mean it was with me, is always with me, in the most real sense.  As I was writhing in pain, I thought of Jesus and the pain he endured on the Cross.  As bad as my pain was, it was a mere drop in the bucket compared to his.  Jesus felt, not only excruciating physical pain (excruciating, derived from crucifixion, is a word that was created to describe the kind of pain he experienced), but also the spiritual agony of carrying the sin of the world.  How did he ever endure it?  Why did he ever endure it?  Romans 5:7-8 tells us, ‘Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die…’  Let me stop there a moment.  After the pain I endured, I have to say that left to my own inclinations, it would be awfully hard to volunteer for a kidney stone, let alone die on a cross, for the sake of anyone; probably not even for a good person, certainly not for someone who hurt me.  But as the passage goes on to tell us, ‘…but God demonstrates his own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.’

The God of the universe took something far worse than a kidney stone for us.  Such were my thoughts as I battled Atilla.  There is only one conclusion to draw from such a reality.

God REALLY loves us. 

I had been struggling this Advent season before the stone.  The past several years have been hard ones for my family (they’ve probably been hard for many of you as well).  I was having trouble getting into the Christmas spirit.  But after this stone, well, what can I say?  I’ve been reminded of God’s miracles, of the power of prayer and the value of Christian brothers and sisters.  I’ve learned to be more compassionate.  And, best of all, I’ve been reminded why Christmas happened in the first place.  ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him might not perish, but have eternal life’ (John 3:16).  Indeed, he loves the world so much, you and me so much, that he took far more than a kidney stone to prove his love. 

Again, don’t get me wrong.  I am going to pray that I never have another kidney stone again.  Once in a lifetime is enough for me.  I hope you never have one (or another one) either.  But if you do, or if I do, I hope that it draws us even closer to the one who loved us so much that he was willing to endure far worse.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Pray for Peace

‘He is risen, and he reigns in the hearts of the children who will love while the nations rage‘ – Rich Mullins

This morning I awoke to the news that, as expected, Russia had invaded Ukraine.  As I searched for some sort of response to this tragedy, a couple of things happened. 

The first was that I remembered the story of King Jehoshaphat in 2 Chronicles 20.  Jehoshaphat, the King of Judah, received terrible news that an alliance of nations had arrayed against him and was marching on Jerusalem.  The Chronicler reports that he was ‘terrified by the news and begged the Lord for guidance.’  Jehoshaphat ordered everyone in Judah to begin fasting, stood before his community in front of the Temple courtyard, and offered up one of the most amazing prayers in all of scripture:

‘O Lord, God of our ancestors, you alone are the God who is in heaven.  You are the ruler of all the kingdoms of the earth.  You are powerful and mighty; no one can stand against you!  O our God, did you not drive out those who lived in this land when your people Israel arrived?  And did you not give this land forever to the descendants of your friend Abraham?  Your people settled here and built this Temple to honor your name.  They said, ‘Whenever we are faced with any calamity, such as war, plague, or famine, we can come to stand in your presence before this Temple where your name is honored.  We can cry out to you to save us, and you will hear and rescue us.  And now see what the armies of Ammon, Moab, and Mount Seir are doing.  You would not let our ancestors invade those nations when Israel left Egypt, so they went around them and did not destroy them.  Now see how they reward us!  For they have come to throw us out of your land, which you gave us as an inheritance. O our God, won’t you stop them?  We are powerless against this mighty army that is about to attack us.  We do not know what to do, but we are looking to you for help’ (2 Chronicles 20:6-12, NLT).

In the wake of this prayer, God spoke to the people of Judah through a prophet who told the people not to be afraid, but to go out to meet the enemy, not to fight, but to watch the Lord deliver them.  The people received this news by bowing before the Lord and worshipping. 

The next morning, they marched out to meet the enemy.  At the front were neither warriors nor chariots, but a choir, singing, ‘Give thanks to the Lord; his faithful love endures forever!’  The moment their song began, the armies arrayed against Judah began fighting among themselves.  By the time the Judeans arrived at the battlefield, the enemy was gone.  Victory had been won without the raising of a single Judean sword, and the Lord established peace for Judah throughout the remainder of Jehoshaphat’s reign. 

Now, I know, things don’t always work out like that.  It may not in Ukraine.  But the story is nonetheless a beautiful example of what can happen when God’s people pray.  It is a beautiful example of what God’s people should do when threatened: instead of relying on their own power, or trusting in chariots, as the Psalmist puts it (see, Psalm 20:7), they should rely solely on the power of the Living God.  As Jehoshaphat prayed, when we don’t know what to do (and in all honesty and humility, we never do), we must turn to God for help. 

The second thing that happened was that I received an image from my son in Rwanda, Emmanuel, of a group of Ukrainian Christians kneeling in the snow, praying for the deliverance of their country.

I didn’t know what the picture was at first, but when Emmanuel told me, tears came to my eyes.  Here was the remnant of Jehoshaphat’s people.  Here was the Kingdom of the Lamb. 

In recent weeks, I have read reports of grandmothers and small children training to fight the Russians when they come (which they now have).  The images were startling.  It seems that many believe the answer to war is more war; to strike against one’s enemies by using their tactics.  As I’ve beheld those images, I’ve recalled Jesus’ warning in Gethsemane to Peter to put his sword away, to not meet violence with violence, because ‘those who live by the sword die by the sword’ (Matthew 26:52). 

Jesus teaches us that there are other forms of resistance, other ways to stand against the dark powers that seek our destruction.  Paul refers to these other ways in 2 Corinthians 10:3-4, where he wrote:

‘For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does.  The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of this world.  On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds.’

I love Paul’s use of the words, ‘on the contrary;’ he is telling us that while the weapons of the world do not ultimately work (they only beget more violence), the weapons in the arsenal of Christianity have power to achieve things.  Weapons such as prayer and love are, he is telling us, the most powerful weapons in the world.  And, more importantly, the only weapons followers of Jesus are permitted to use.  In the Kingdom of the Lamb, the only way to overcome enemies is with love and prayer. 

Jesus himself is our example in this.  As is the early church, who, when beset by enemies, gathered and prayed:

‘Why do the nations rage, and the people’s plot in vain?  The kings of the earth prepared for battle; they gathered together against the Lord and his anointed one…Oh Lord, hear their threats, and give us, your servants, boldness in preaching your word.  Stretch out your hand with healing power; may miraculous signs and wonders be done through the name of your holy servant Jesus’ (See, Acts 4:25-30). 

We need to take the example of Jehoshaphat, the early church, and those Ukrainian believers kneeling in the snow, to heart.  We live in unraveling times.  The leader of Russia has become (likely has always been) a madman intent on building an empire.  China too is eyeing the expansion of their own.  In America, we have a former President, who may become one again, praising Putin even as he makes his power grab, and the bitter prospect of rising autocracy within our own borders.  What does one do in times such as these? 

The nations rage.  The peoples plot in vain.  Those with worldly minds, who follow the way of the dragon, strike back, meet force with force, violence with violence, hurt with hurt. 

But the children of the Lamb pray, in the snow and elsewhere.  They sing ‘Give thanks to the Lord; his faithful love endures forever!’  They conquer by the blood of the Lamb and the word of their testimony (see, Revelation 12:11).  They pray for the redemption of their enemies, or, failing that, some other intervention by God to establish peace.  They do not live by the sword.  They live by love.  They pray.  They model peace.  They may not know what to do themselves, but they look to the Living God for help. 

Today I ask all who read this to pray.  Pray for the people of Ukraine.  Pray for the miraculous transformation of Vladimir Putin’s heart.  Pray for the transformation of all who would use violence or do evil in this world.  Pray for the dramatic intervention of God.  Pray for the establishment of peace.  Pray believing that the God of Jehoshaphat is still on His throne and still mighty to save.  For He most certainly is. 

This is the way of the Lamb’s Kingdom. 

May we walk in it.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Communion

‘Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere’ – Psalm 84:10

Today my family and I traveled to the shops at Rancocas Woods.  It’s a lovely spot we had recently discovered.  A friend had told us about his son’s secondhand book shop, Second Time Books, and we went to check it out a couple of weeks ago.  It’s a great store, you should go sometime.  And while you are there you should check out the other shops.  There’s a store for antiques, crafts, a snack shop, and a café with an amazing courtyard.  I hope to spend many days in the months ahead writing in that courtyard with a cup of coffee at my side.  It’s perfect. 

It was in that courtyard today that I had an encounter.  As we approached the café and neighboring antique store, we were surprisingly greeted by two dogs laying in the middle of the courtyard path.  Their owner was nearby pruning trees, and they were just the picture of contentment and happiness, lounging on the cool pavement and, seemingly, eagerly waiting someone to come by.  We did, and apparently suited their fancy just fine.  They were as loveable a couple of dogs as you could ever hope to meet (I think they were German Shepherd-Lab mixes, although their owner claimed they were part Collie).  They came right up to us, to me particularly for some reason, begging to be petted.  They didn’t have to beg much.  Having lost my best canine friend Corky in recent months (a story I have not been able to write about yet; it’s been a year of losses on too many fronts), I have been seriously dog deprived.  Perhaps that was what they sensed in their desire to be near me. 

The owner stopped his pruning and chatted with us a bit.  He explained how his dogs were friendly to everyone, which is why he didn’t have them on leashes.  He was a nice fellow; almost as warm and inviting as his dogs. 

The key moment that prompts me to write came when my family and I attempted to say goodbye to our new four-legged friends.  The male dog (there was one of each gender) allowed us to pass, but the female would hear nothing of it.  She nuzzled my leg, stared at me with her lovely eyes, wagged her tail, and otherwise enticed me to stay.  I gave her what I thought was a final pat on the head and began to move away, but it was then I learned she was dead serious about keeping me.  She literally sat on my foot as if to say, ‘Oh no mister.  You’re not going anywhere!’  The little darling enjoyed my company and intended to keep me as her hostage. 

The owner tried to call her, but she would not budge.  So he told me with a smile, ‘Well, there’s only one thing to do.  Stop petting her.’  It was then I realized that I hadn’t.  I had succumbed to her wiles and had given her what she wanted.  As long as I continued to do that, she was not going to move, even when called by her master.  So I stopped rubbing her head, he called, and the little dickens finally allowed me to move on. 

I considered the encounter just a cute episode in the course of an ordinary day.  But as I thought more deeply later, it dawned on me that my encounter with those dogs, especially the female, was nothing less than a parable of life with God. 

God always waits for us, doesn’t he?  Not just on courtyard paths, but on every path we travel.  God is also happy and content.  In fact, God didn’t have to create us humans to be so.  I believe it was Dallas Willard who answered, when asked what God did before he created the universe, ‘He was enjoying themselves.’  Father, Son, and Spirit, the three persons of the Trinity are fully capable of happiness without us.  And yet.  God seems to long for our company.  He eagerly waits for one of us (or all of us) to come by, and whichever one takes a moment to sit a spell will suit His fancy just fine.  If the Bible’s story of salvation history teaches us anything, it teaches that God, in each of His persons, practically begs for our company.  You could even say he’s dying to spend time with us, maybe especially those of us who need him the most. 

In my own life, I find myself so distracted at times, so eager to move on to whatever it is I have to do or wherever it is I have to go, that even when I run into him in the middle of my paths, I don’t always linger as I should.  I’ll spend a few minutes, but then try to move on, ignoring God’s efforts, his enticements, to get me to stay.  Such is my mania that I don’t even pay attention when he sits on my foot.  Maybe I feel as if I have received what I needed from God in the first moments of the encounter, and so move on to fill other needs.  What a shame.  I should be long to stay as long as possible, not only for my sake, but for His.

In his book, Love Big, Be Well, Winn Collier writes that prayer isn’t first and foremost about having our requests met.  It is simply communion with God.  When we spend time with God, the thing that matters is that ‘we have been with God, and God has been with us.’  What a remarkable thing it is that the God of Creation longs for this: to love and receive love.  Isn’t that what we were made for?  Isn’t that what we should long for too?

The next time God sits on my foot, I think I’ll stick around his courts for a while.  There isn’t anything I have to do that’s more important than that. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Above Mirkwood

‘I will refresh the weary and satisfy the faint’ – Jeremiah 31:25

‘Is there no end to this accursed forest?’ – Bilbo Baggins, in The Hobbit

Bilbo and the Dwarves were spent.  Passing through Mirkwood had proven to be even more of a challenge than expected.  During the opening days of their passage, they experienced occasional beams of sunlight that slipped through the canopy above, but as they moved deeper into the forest, light became a memory.  Tolkien writes:

‘The nights were the worst.  It then became pitch-dark – not what you call pitch dark, but really pitch; so black that you really could see nothing.  Bilbo tried flapping his hand in front of his nose, but he could not see it at all.  Well, perhaps that is not true to say that they could see nothing; they could see eyes.  They slept all closely huddled together, and took it in turns to watch; and when it was Bilbo’s turn he would see gleams in the darkness round them, and sometimes pairs of yellow or red or green eyes would stare at him from a little distance, and then slowly fade and disappear and slowly shine out again in another place.  And sometimes they would gleam down from the branches above him; and that was most terrifying.’

Before many days passed, they ran low on supplies, and then, following a most unfortunate attempt to cross a stream, lost what little remained.  They were out of food and water, and nearly out of hope.  It seemed the journey through the darkness would never end. 

Finally, Thorin Oakenshield, the dwarves’ leader, suggested that ‘someone’ climb a tree to see if the edge of the forest could be seen.  ‘Someone,’ of course, meant Bilbo Baggins. 

And so up Bilbo went.  He didn’t have much experience climbing trees, but he made the best effort he could.  This too was hard going.  He had to push his way through branches, catching many a ‘slap in the eye’ as he did, and nearly fell several times.  But at long last he made his way to the top. 

Where he was amply rewarded for his trouble.  At first, he was nearly blinded by the light after having lived in darkness so many days.  But as his eyes adjusted, he took in a brilliant view.  The sun shone in all its glory.  He felt its warmth upon his face.  Beneath and all around he beheld a sea of dark green, rippling with every breeze, and thousands of butterflies.  Bilbo looked at the butterflies a long time, basking in the sunlight and breeze.  After so many days in a dark forest, it was a taste of heaven. 

Sadly, he didn’t see the end of the forest, and so, when he went back down, didn’t have any definitive answers for the dwarves as to how much longer their dark journey might last.  But the beauty he glimpsed atop the boughs of Mirkwood were lifegiving and sustaining, which may explain why, for those who know the story, while the dwarves would lose their heads in coming days, Bilbo would be able to keep his. 

Walking through this weird COVID-19 experience, my mind has returned over and again to this episode in The Hobbit.   I find myself yearning for, and thankfully finding, moments ‘above Mirkwood.’  At times it feels as if we are traveling through a darkness that seems to have no end, or at least no end in sight.  And once in a while, we look out and see ‘eyes:’ nasty tidbits in the news; reports from hospitals; stories of friends, neighbors and even family who are infected; bills we may not be able to pay; pantries running low on supplies and grocery stores with bare shelves; outrageous remarks from leaders who should be leading but are instead grandstanding and acting like fools (yeah, I’m talking about him); and other nonsense that only serves to heighten our anxiety.  The eyes disappear for a time, but then reappear, and it is eerie beyond belief.  Indeed, it is at times most terrifying. 

Which is why it is so important to find time above Mirkwood.  How do we do that?  Well, climbing trees might help, but I think the idea is that we need to rise above the darkness and stand in the presence of the One who makes all things bright and beautiful.  Perhaps you don’t have much experience in doing that, but that’s OK, just be like Bilbo and do your best.  Perhaps you are so overwhelmed with things to do that it seems you cannot find time for God.  That’s OK too.  Just push your way through the branches.  If you slip a few times and fall short, just try again.  Eventually you’ll make it. 

When you do, I promise you will be rewarded for your effort.  You will feel the warmth of God in the core of your being.  You will sense signs of beauty and new life around you.  You will sample a taste of heaven.  And even if, when you come back down, you are still unable to know when things will ‘get back to normal,’ you will at least have found strength for the journey, and be better positioned to keep your head in the days to come.  The lifegiving and sustaining experience of God works wonders for the soul. 

Folks, these are dark and scary times, and we won’t make it if all we do is stare into the darkness.  We need to spend time in the presence of the God who refreshes the weary and satisfies the faint. 

We need to spend time above Mirkwood. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent