“I’m telling you the solemn truth,” he said. “You aren’t looking for me because you saw signs, but because you ate as much bread as you could. You shouldn’t be working for perishable food, but for food that will last to the life of God’s coming age – the food which the son of man will give you, the person whom God the father has stamped with the seal of his approval.” [John 6:26-27 (NTE)]
As a result of Jesus miraculously providing food for a multitude with a boy’s lunch, the people wanted to make Him king. Rather than Caesar, they desired a ruler who would provide them with food and security. Realizing this, Jesus slipped away from the crowd. He and the disciples crossed over to the lake to Capernaum but the crowds followed Him there. Selfishly, they were looking to Jesus as if He were some sort of miracle-working vending machine—just pop in a material need and out would come a healing, feast, or wine enough for a week! Since they were seeking perishable bread rather than the enduring bread of everlasting life, Jesus confronted the crowd about their motivation. Like them, do we ever find ourselves seeking God’s hand rather than His face?
Most of the invitations we receive are for celebrations of retirement, landmark birthdays, or special anniversaries. They usually include something like, “Your presence would be the best present you could give us,” or “Your presence is present enough.” I wonder, are we are as willing to invite God into our lives with the same kind of wording? Or, like small children who greedily tear into all of their birthday gifts, are His presents more important than His presence?
Sometimes, when looking at my prayer list, I wonder if, like those people who followed Jesus looking for gifts, I might be more interested in Jesus satisfying my earthly wants rather than His filling my spiritual needs. Rather than abiding in meditative prayer, delighting in His presence, and getting to know Him, I often rush through a laundry list of requests. Rather than praying that He align my prayers with His will, I want Him to match His will with my desires. I often seem more interested in what He can give me than how I can best serve Him. I seem to forget that, when I invited Jesus to my party, it wasn’t for His presents; it was for Him!
In spite of those words requesting no presents on party invitations, there usually is a table laden with a variety of gifts and cards because people naturally want to give presents to the ones they love. God, like our friends, will also bring presents along with His presence when we invite Him into our lives. Because He loves us, He will lavish us with both His presence and the best presents possible: peace, love, forgiveness, guidance, faith, joy, wisdom, hope, and salvation.
With its declaration of one all-powerful infinite God, Jewish tradition holds that the Shema’s first verse “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one,” is the most important and, as such, demands greater concentration so the eyes are closed or covered by the right hand during its recitation. The Talmud traces this practice back to Rabbi Judah the Prince (135 – 219 AD) who often interrupted his lectures to recite the Shema. Whenever he did so, the rabbi placed his hands over his eyes as a way of disconnecting from his surroundings.
Jesus’ Parable of Two Men Who Prayed contrasts pride with humility, self-righteousness with repentance, and how not to pray with how to pray. In it, both Pharisee and publican (tax collector) go to pray in the Temple. The Pharisee boldly thanks God that he’s not a sinner like everyone else and then self-righteously singles out the sinful publican. Then, just to make sure God understands how good he really is, the man brags of his tithing; rather than giving a tenth of what he earns, he tithes a tenth of all that he acquires. Even though fasting was only required on the Day of Atonement, Pharisees fasted on Mondays and Thursdays as well, so the self-satisfied man finishes his prayer by boasting of his twice weekly fasts.
Even though I’m not an angler, whenever I read about casting my cares, I picture using a fly rod and casting my concerns out into the river so the fast moving water can carry them away to God. When we lived in the mountains, one of our favorite walking trails ran alongside the Yampa River and we often paused to watch as the fishermen (and women) cast their lines into the water. Fly fishing is all about the art of casting and a bit like poetry in motion. It was fascinating to watch an angler flick the rod back and forth, gradually increasing the speed of the motion, before finally casting the line forward so the fly would land in the perfect spot. Masquerading as a water insect, the fly is made of things like fur, feathers, fabric and tinsel and secured to a hook. Rather than purchasing flies, many fishermen spend hours tying their own flies. Not wanting to lose either fly or fish in the river, anglers use at least five different knots to securely connect the reel to the backing, fly line, leader, and tippet before finally tying on the fly.
Many years ago, I was facing a difficult decision about a project. In spite of praying, pondering, searching Scripture for direction, and consulting with wise advisors, I was still in a quandary. Nothing brought me closer to a clear answer to my dilemma. Although it seemed like a good idea (at least in theory) and I felt like I should want to be part of it, doubts kept nagging at me. Wanting God to make known His will, I prayed the words of Psalm 143:10: “Teach me to do your will, for you are my God. May your gracious spirit lead me forward on a firm footing.”
