Stuff Christians Like (6 page)

SUE: Lord, I just pray that you would continue to strengthen and bless my relationship with Mark.

SHOT BLOCKER: Lord, please give Sue more patience. Help her to see with clarity. Help her not rush into anything that goes against your plan for her life.

This is the basketball equivalent of someone blocking your shot into another state. Right as the prayer is floating up to heaven, someone swoops in and shot blocks it back down to earth.

Closing a prayer circle is like being Spider-Man. With great power comes great responsibility. Although you get to determine when it ends, you also have to monitor the amount of quiet time
that signifies everyone’s had their turn. Because what you don’t want to happen—what the Closer fears most—is the “Encoreist.” This is the person who follows the Closer, boldly defying all rules of group prayer. It’s an embarrassing situation for a Closer, and for several minutes afterward, it’s hard to make eye contact with them.

Those are the seven. I didn’t formally include the Encore-ist on the list because even God can’t stand that person.

Maybe Christians are inherently forgetful. Sometimes when we share prayer requests, it feels like one of those moments where the waiter at a restaurant really isn’t listening to an order. It’s always a little uncomfortable when he refuses to write down your meal. Especially if you’re dining with someone who regards the menu as a palette of options to
create with
more than a list of meals to
choose from.

“I’ll take the chicken, but cook it as if it’s a piece of beef. Instead of a cream sauce, I’ll take a red sauce. Instead of rice, I’ll have beans. Instead of pine nuts, I’ll take walnuts. And instead of capers, could I get a banana split sundae? Could you crumble the croutons to a fine powder over the salad? And please leave every third piece of lettuce on the side of the plate. I’m trying to cut my lettuce intake by at least 33 percent.”

When the waiter hears all this and just nods without taking down a single thing on paper, I get nervous. There’s no way that dish is coming out the way it was ordered. It’s impossible to remember all of that, and my friend might send the meal back—which is awkward for all parties.

As much as I dislike that silly little situation, it’s nothing compared to when you’re at church or in a small group and one person is assigned to say a massive, include-everyone’s-request closing prayer. At this point, they should have a pen and pad out because people are going to fire out prayer requests.

Some will be simple: “I need a new job.” Some will be more complicated: “My dad has gout on his big toe, and his brother came into town to help him, and while he was here he stole his baseball card collection, so I need prayer for the toe and the eventual capture of the brother and the safe return of the baseball card collection.” If you’re not writing them down, the inevitable is going to happen: You’ll leave someone out.

“I’m sorry. Your prayer request did not make the cut. Good luck with all that.” That’s what you essentially say to the one person you forgot to mention. Mary’s job request got lifted up. The big toe and the brother and the baseball collection got some love. But you left out one person, and if they’re listening, they’re probably going to be thinking you just prayer-punked them. So what do you do?

Sometimes it’s best to just put God in charge of remembering all the details. Pray something like, “God, you’ve heard everyone’s requests tonight. We ask that you remember them and watch over them in your goodness.” No one’s going to complain that you didn’t specifically pray for them, because God’s on it.

I was in a small group once where the guy praying said before he started, “I’m not going to try to remember everyone’s prayer request.” I liked that. He was realistic and let all of us know up front, “You’re not getting any specific shout-outs in this prayer I’m about to give. Deal with it.”

If I had to choose, I’d lean toward the last option. At the bare minimum it’s honest. But I still think writing them down is the way to go. Sometimes we take prayer requests pretty casually. We treat them like status meetings at work, where people check on how projects are coming along: “The Q1 numbers are up and the vendor has been selected for the accounting issue.” But a prayer request is different from a status report. It’s you asking someone else to commune with God on your behalf, so it might be one of those rare moments in life where breaking out a pen and a piece of paper is called for.

I am slightly terrified that you will think I am a snake-handling Christian. It’s not that I’m constantly carrying around squirming burlap bags jam packed with vipers. I don’t have any small wounds on my hands and stories that start off like this: “Well, I wasn’t prayed up enough and you know what they say about dancing with an eastern diamondback when you’re too distracted by the world to focus on the ‘bitey’ end.” I’ve never even been to a church that considers a rattlesnake a pulpit accessory, but I don’t want you to think I’m a weird Christian.

That’s why depending on whom I’m talking with, I’ll tell the same story using very different words to describe something I feel like God told me.

If I’m with some livin-on-the-edge, completely-sold-out-for-Jesus friends, I’ll come right out and say, “God told me ______.”

If my friends are a little more conservative, I’ll say, “I felt like God said to me _______.” Or the “Holy Spirit burdened me with _______.” Or “God laid _______ on my heart and impressed on me _______.”

If I don’t know the people at all and we just met, I might say, “Go Red Sox!”

It’s all very confusing, but even sillier than that is when I try to put a spin on the word “sin.”

Christians don’t like to say the word “sin.” We use synonyms because we think that if we say “sin” some folks will label us a traditional old school super Christian Bible belter.

Here are the words we use instead:

I work in the corporate world, where you’re supposed to put a spin on bad things. You’re supposed to say, “I found an opportunity for improvement,” not, “I made a mistake.” You should say, “I have identified some growth areas in my performance,” not, “I figured out why that project I presented caught on fire in the conference room.”

But when Jesus died on the cross he didn’t do so because he wanted to “shift my paradigm.” He didn’t come to help me “realize my full potential” and “unpack my baggage.” Or “overcome my hang-ups.” Or “recalenderize my Q1.”

I love when someone asks us to help out at church and instead of saying, “No,” we say, “Let me pray about it.” Really? I asked you to help me clean up tomorrow night after youth group, and you feel like that’s something you need to run past the Savior of the world? He’s going to give you the thumbs-up or thumbs-down on whether or not you can help me stack chairs for seven minutes?

When GE sent me an email to let me know that one of their appliances would be featured on the
Oprah
show, I didn’t have a problem unsubscribing from that email list. But it’s not so simple if you’re a Christian and find yourself on a prayer chain you didn’t sign up for.

What’s this? The “Nantahala River Prayer Chain?” How did I get on this thing? Do I have a crazy aunt that lives in the Nantahala Gorge area? Or is someone in my small group loosely tied to this ministry and just included all of us on his personal
crusade to pray for river people? Is that the politically correct term for “hill people”? Clearly “hillbilly” is no good; I’m going with river people. How many river people are there though, because I’m getting daily reminders to pray for them? Is it one email reminder per river person?

Why is this email chain blowing up all of a sudden? Has there been a new predator introduced into the river? And do we really need to use the bright red Microsoft Outlook “!” of importance with every email? I could understand if you were actually sending this prayer request from an iPhone while in the river, while being bitten by an Alligator Gar, but other than that exact circumstance, it seems a little extreme.

How do I unsubscribe from this prayer chain without making it look like I hate Jesus, prayer, and river people? Should I say that I’m already praying for some river people in my own state? Should I tell them I’m a beach kind of person and feel called to pray strictly for ocean-related people groups? If I donate some money to the cause, can I buy my way off the list? Should I sign up for a new gmail account and tell them my email address changed? I’ll still use my current email address for everything but river people – flavored messages. Maybe that’s the best plan.

Is there a loving way to unsubscribe from a prayer chain without feeling like you’re hitting the “unfaithful” button?

You don’t have to pray before you eat something that has nougat in it. A lot of people don’t know this, but if you look deep enough into the Old Testament, you’ll find the Hebrew word for nougat:
chonoug.
Most seminaries aren’t teaching this information, which is a shame—a dang shame.

These are the kinds of conversations I have with my friends. Especially when it comes to praying before meals. This is such
a murky subject that I’ve created the following guide. Tear it out and keep it in your purse or wallet for the next time you have a question about proper food prayers.

Sometimes, “Have you prayed about that?” is a blanket statement we Christians use when we’re a little tired of listening to you talk about a particular problem. It’s not that we don’t want to hear about it; it’s just that you’re rambling a little and maybe we’ve got places to go, so we’ll just throw out that question knowing that chances are…you haven’t. And then you can go home and pray, and we can go home and feel like we’ve shared some godly wisdom.

But there are two things that friends will never encourage each other to pray about. Two topics that are so explosively dangerous that if we ever overhear someone about to pray for them we’ll leap through the air, stretching our bodies out horizontally to slap the prayer from their mouth. The dangerous subjects?

Patience and humility.

Even as you read that, you probably chuckled to yourself and thought, “Oh boy, those are two things you don’t want God to give you.” And you’re right. Collectively we’ve made those the most dangerous things in the world to ask for. I think we’re afraid that when we pray for patience and humility, God’s going to answer that request with a beard and a barrel.

The beard symbolizes how long you’ll have to wait for something you really want. As if the moment you ask God to give you more patience about your job situation, he’s going to say, “You got it. Now you can’t leave the job you’re in for the next thirty-four years. Hope you enjoy that cubicle. Ha, ha. Gotcha, sucker.”