A praying life requires a 180-degree about-face from the direction our human nature would lead us. Our flesh is bent on doing a good job, getting it right, proving our ability. A praying life is built on a principle that is the polar opposite of our flesh’s instincts: letting go, yielding, admitting helplessness. It doesn’t come easily to us.
Jesus ratified this principle as of primary importance in His first formal sermon. We refer to His opening remarks as the Beatitudes. The first words out of Jesus’ mouth, once the crowd had gathered, were “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3). Prayer is reaching into the kingdom and drawing on its resources. What is the prerequisite for having complete access to the kingdom? Being poor in spirit.
The word for “poor” means destitute: a beggar whose only hope is to receive from the hand of another. Until we recognize the blessedness of being wholly dependent on God, who even produces prayer in us, we won’t live in the abundance that could be ours. Our helplessness is our strongest plea. I illustrated this concept in Set Apart as follows:
I recently had the tiniest glimpse of how powerfully helplessness speaks. A few years ago, I lost my husband to brain cancer. During the final months of his illness, he became utterly helpless. The man I had leaned on for 25 years, whose strength I counted on, was now dependent upon me for his every need. During those weeks, my ear was tuned to his every sigh, his every restless movement, every change in his breathing pattern. If I had to be out of his room for even a few minutes, I had a monitor with me so I could hear him if he needed me. When he was strong, I was not so attentive. His needs did not fill my waking moments, when he could meet them himself. His helplessness spoke louder than any word he might have spoken. Because of his helplessness—because I knew he could do nothing on his own—I was on watch day and night.
My experience is but a pale shadow of the reality of the Kingdom, but still it helps me understand how my weakness is the opening for His strength. The fact of my helplessness is the only prayer I need. It speaks louder than eloquence.
My experience is but a pale shadow of the reality of the Kingdom, but still it helps me understand how my weakness is the opening for His strength. The fact of my helplessness is the only prayer I need. It speaks louder than eloquence.
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