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The thing about prayer.

Awhile ago, a friend introduced me to the Litany of Humility:

O Jesus! meek and humble of heart, Hear me.
From the desire of being esteemed,
Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being loved…
From the desire of being extolled …
From the desire of being honored …
From the desire of being praised …
From the desire of being preferred to others…
From the desire of being consulted …
From the desire of being approved …
From the fear of being humiliated …
From the fear of being despised…
From the fear of suffering rebukes …
From the fear of being calumniated …
From the fear of being forgotten …
From the fear of being ridiculed …
From the fear of being wronged …
From the fear of being suspected … 

That others may be loved more than I,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be esteemed more than I …
That, in the opinion of the world,
others may increase and I may decrease …
That others may be chosen and I set aside …
That others may be praised and I unnoticed …
That others may be preferred to me in everything…
That others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should…

I knew about this prayer for years before I ever prayed it. I was a little bit afraid to pray it, frankly.

Because the thing about prayer is you might get what you ask for.

And if your prayer is the litany of humility, and you get what you ask for, it is scary (especially if you’re an American). Because “deliver me from the desire of being loved” implies, for example, that someone won’t love you, and God’ll let it be, so you can learn to be ok with that. You’ll have the opportunity not to be approved, so you can learn to be ok with that, too. It implies, for another example, that you’ll be calumniated (people will lie about you, in other words), so you can learn not to be afraid of being calumniated. It implies you’ll be forgotten, ridiculed and wronged, so you can learn not to be afraid of those things, either.

And we already know that we know that we know that we don’t need to desire or fear those things in the ways the world says we do. We already know where to go to get all we need.

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Books in 2012: Evolving in Monkey Town

A few days short of three weeks ago, by way of what I could call nothing less than an Internet miracle, I stumbled upon Rachel Held Evans’s blog. She is a writer and a wife, a Christian egalitarian and a blogger in whose repertoire she tackles topics like gender roles, John Piper and why Calvinism makes her cry.

It was mild obsession at first sight.

Naturally, three and a half or four minutes later, I succumbed to the compulsion to order her book: Evolving in Monkey Town: How a Girl Who Knew All the Answers Learned to Ask the Questions. As of tonight, it is the second book I’ve read start to finish in 2012.

The book is a memoir of her faith journey so far. Her faith’s foundation started at home and church and was fostered further by her Protestant education. The book explores her faith’s evolution through the years she spent in high school, in college and working for newspapers (I know what you’re thinking: “Are you and Rachel Held Evans the same person?” No. But if I were married to a guy named Dan and she were Catholic, that “no” might be debatable.). It defines the difference between doubting God and doubting what we believe about Him. It challenges the uncanny knack some Christians have for confusing “faith” with “certainty.” It encourages critical thinking and growth. And friends, it is fabulous. I laughed, I fist pumped and I forced my mom to let me passionately read excerpts of it aloud to her. Scroll down to see some of my favorites (with the best lines bolded):

“I’m an evolutionist because I believe that the best way to reclaim the gospel in times of change is not to cling more tightly to our convictions but to hold them with an open hand. I’m an evolutionist because I believe that sometimes God uses changes in the environment to pry idols from our grip and teach us something new.” – pages 21-22

“Dan always says that as soon as you think you’ve got God figured out, you can bet on the fact that you’re wrong.” – page 118.

“When we require that all people must say the same words or subscribe to the same creeds in order to experience God, we underestimate the scope and power of God’s activity in the world.” – page 132

“If the poor were the most receptive to Jesus and his message, then the religious were the most repelled by it. They benefited too much from the status quo to benefit the radical teaching of Jesus, so they tested him with trick questions, criticized him for hanging out with sinners and ultimately helped arrange for his crucifixion.” -page 153

“… I’m also convinced that our interpretations of the Bible are far from inerrant. The Bible doesn’t exist in a vacuum but must always be interpreted by a predisposed reader. Our interpretations are colored by our culture, our community, our presuppositions, our experience, our language, our education, our emotions, our intellect, our desires, and our biases. My worldview affects how I read the Bible as much as the Bible affects my worldview.” -page 192

“Sometimes I wonder who really had the most biblical support back in the 1800s, Christians who used Ephesians 6 to support the institution of slavery, or Christians who used Galations 3 to support abolition. Both sides had perfectly legitimate verses to back up their positions, but in hindsight, only one side seems even remotely justifiable on a moral level. On the surface, the Bible would seem to condone slavery. But somehow, as a church, we managed to work our way around those passages because of a shared sense of right and wrong, some kind of community agreement. Maybe God left us with all this discontinuity and conflict within Scripture so that we would have to pick and choose for the right reasons. Maybe he let David talk about murdering his enemies and Jesus talk about loving his enemies because he didn’t want to spell it out for us. He wanted us to make the right decisions as we went along together.” -pages 193-194 

Click here for more about Evolving in Monkey Town. And click here to read Rachel’s blog.

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Back seat driver.

It dawned on me the other day that I am a “backseat driver.”

I am the kind who doesn’t mind (and even prefers) that the driver is the one in control of the car. But even as the person not behind the wheel, I sometimes find it hard to forsake driver-like vigilance. I like to see what’s coming.

There are two kinds of this kind of backseat driver. Both watch out for what goes on around the car. But one is compelled to warn the driver about what he or she sees coming, and the other isn’t. I have been both.

The one who warns the driver doesn’t want to control the car. But he or she also doesn’t trust the actual driver — not wholly, anyway. He or she may want to trust (because goodness knows it is a relief to relax, which is a passenger’s privilege). But he or she may not trust because of a bad past experience, or narcissism (“I can see better than you can [because I am better than you are]!”), or because his or her particular driver isn’t a good one. This kind of backseat driver is also annoying, frankly. No human wants to be this person’s driver. And most drivers take this person’s commentary personally, unless the driver knows the root of this person’s distrust and is able to empathize with him or her.

The backseat driver who isn’t compelled to warn the actual driver also doesn’t wholly trust the driver (if he or she did, he or she would not, in fact, be a backseat driver). This kind definitely wants to trust the driver. This kind also would like to cash in on his or her right to revel in the relief that comes with knowing you are in good hands. So while his or her driver-like vigilance wavers — sometimes he or she trusts, other times he or she doesn’t — this kind remembers to reflect on some things.

Like the fact that as a passenger, whether you do or don’t trust the driver, you still are going to end up where ever the driver takes you.

Or the fact that as a passenger, it is not your responsibility to tell a good driver what to do.

Or the fact that (ideally), you wouldn’t be in this car with this driver if you didn’t think this driver was good.

Or the fact that from where we sit, we can’t always see as much as the driver sees, or ever see it from the same perspective.

Or the fact that we really are free to relax while the driver takes care of the driving.

And so quietly, while this second kind of backseat driver pays attention but also reflects on the above, he or she practices trust. And at red lights and stop signs, he or she reflects on the parts of the ride that are behind them. And in retrospect, it is easier to see that, “I can trust this driver. And I do.”

The other day, it also dawned on me that this — how good at being passengers we are — might be a metaphor.

What if life is the ride?

What if God is the driver?

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Control.

I’d be lying if I said I have never felt like what I did or said had changed my course so completely that I ruined my chances of achieving something. That a decision I made had created conditions that made it impossible for me to get what I wanted. That a part of me had so turned someone off — be it an aquaintance, a potential employer, a guy — that had I only spoken or behaved differently, the rupture that rendered our relationship over forever never would have existed.
So then I feel like thanks to me, I’ve lost everything I could’ve, should’ve or would’ve had.
As if I have that kind of control.
The truth is we are in control of what we say and do. And sometimes, that thing I say or do in fact does change my course so completely that what I thought I had coming never comes. And sometimes, that decision I make does create conditions that aren’t favorable for getting what I want. And sometimes, that part of me is why a relationship is severed.
But an important and often neglected part of this truth is that because my course or conditions change or somebody walks away because of me does not mean I didn’t get what I could’ve, should’ve or would’ve had. It means I didn’t get what wasn’t meant to be. I didn’t get what wasn’t designed for me.
And if it wasn’t for me, why would I even want it?
Once, Job said this to God (Job 42:2): “I know that You can do all things, and that no purpose of Yours can be thwarted.”  
Amen.