"Let any man turn to God in earnest, let him begin to exercise himself unto godliness, let him seek to develop his powers of spiritual receptivity by trust and obedience and humility, and the results will exceed anything he may have hoped in his leaner and weaker days."
Reading Tozer has revealed my leanness, weakness, emptiness. I can say no more.
Ertia is motion (a guess); in = not. Thus the word to consider is in-ertia.
A glance at the dictionary tells me a related word is inert as in inert ingredients meaning inactive ingredients.
So whether ertia means motion, the definition stands. Inertia is lack of motion. For me it is lack of motion to get off the ground (figuratively speaking). A project or assignment just won’t happen unless that enormous anti-gravity effort is made and then, well, it’s not so bad. The issue is timing. Grab it, wrestle it, make it happen, stay on course, fight, persevere, reason, ‘grab it and growl’ and inertia fades.
There are often good reasons for inertia but I’m not going there this morning. My task is to slay the dragon, identify the goal, go after it, and win.
A glance at the clock reminds me that inertia will win if I don’t get on the move. Inertia? Never heard of it.
The centuries have found countless people who said, "Lord, teach us to pray." I am one who needs to be taught, one who needs to learn, one who needs to give it time so there can be the possibility of learning.
Who prays? Everyone. Anyone who asks is praying.
In the Christian prayer, we ask of God. And surely this is central, for what good father does not delight in hearing and meeting the needs of his children? We hear much reminding about the need to praise and give thanks and confess and commune and on and on. All true — I know it by text and by practice. And I also know how prone I am to just asking.
We pray when we have no where else to turn. We pray when we need comfort. We pray about perfunctory things that seem beyond us — like rasing our children. We pray about impossible things — like cancer and death. To learn prayer, though, surely means more. Is asking the entry? I believe it is, for asking is praying is asking.
But no relationship is one dimensional like that. To know God — this universally stated yearning of Christians — can never be reality without prayer that is more than asking. And yet, as I ponder this, I think I see that the asking is the gate to all else.
If we really want an answer, we will wait. We will listen. We will keep asking. We will ask better questions. We will listen some more. And maybe, if we really want to hear badly enough, we will wait and listen and prayer will become communion instead of monologue.
"Lord, we call out to you. Teach us to pray."
Comes the answer I believe, if we will hear: "No better question. Will you wait long enough to let me?"
A friend is lost. What can I do for one whose broken past revisits, embracing in his own life that which he despised in younger days; dreaming he can really make it right; bearing the weight of parent’s sin; picking it up again? What can I do? Can reason help? It is barren, and so seems prayer. Slippery slopes are theory; but when one is sliding, nearly out of reach — what to do? Does God care? He is the Father of the great parable, receiving the broken child with longing and gladness. But must my friend eat the rind again, knowing double its bitterness, creating anew that which pained him so much at the hand of others? As said Chambers, sometimes God has to ruin us in order to save us. Must my friend be ruined? I do not want it; my heart breaks for it. Enough with brokenness — let my friend live and be whole! I pray to the One who pulled me from the pit. I ask Him to do the same for my friend. May he finally rest in that Love which will not let him go.
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