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Prayer: A Suprasubstantial Encounter (Includes a hip-hop-styled explanation)

One of the most influential things I read during my seminary education was John Calvin’s description of the Lord’s Supper. Calvin believed that, although it is physically impossible for the body of Jesus to be literally present on altars across the world, Christ is indeed truly present in the meal.

Calvin believed that, by the power of the Holy Spirit, those with faith are lifted into the presence of Jesus Christ, who resides in heaven at the right hand of the Father. Like on Star Trek, our spirits are beamed up before the Lord, who feeds us with grace by his own hand.  It is called suprasubstantiation. Let’s say it together: Supra-Sub-Stanc-Ee-A-Shun:)  Supra meaning above or beyond and substantiation meaning embody or to give material form.  Above and beyond material form.  The Lord’s Supper is a suprasubstantial encounter with Christ, all those in the world participating, and all the saints in heaven.  Imagine that for a moment.  Wow.  A truly heavenly meal.

For an excellent, lyrical explanation of suprasubstantiation listen to hip hop artist Through Hymn:

Suprasubstantiation (Reformed) by Through Hymn

It is my belief that the same thing happens when we pray: the Spirit transports our spirits before Christ in heaven. Prayer beams us up to Christ. When we pray, we are very much being lifted in spirit into the presence of our God.  Prayer is a suprasubstantial encounter with Christ and all those praying on earth and in heaven.  Whoa. A heavenly encounter.

This encounter can change us forever.

If prayer is the way we encounter Christ, then it can also be a way we can share a heavenly, suprasubstantial encounter with Christ with others. Rather than talking to others about the God we know through Christ and what he can do for their lives, why not take them directly to Christ through prayer?

Haven’t you had a day when you wanted more than anything to be airlifted right out of this world? Your body hurts, your heart hurts, your head hurts, you need grace, comfort, mercy, love.  Pray.  Then recognize that everybody else on this earth needs the same thing. Pray with them.

 

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Prayer Encounters Grief

While serving as a chaplain at an inner-city hospital in Dallas, Texas, I was required to make contact with as many patients as possible. The areas with which I was charged were the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) and the antepartum and postpartum units—the maternity areas, for better or for worse. Too often for worse.

As a pastor still very much in training, I had not yet stopped feeling a bit trepidatious about walking into the room of a total stranger whose religious beliefs I did not know. This was quite different from the cold calls I used to make as a financial advisor. I remember those first few timid knocks accompanied by, “H . . . hello? Chaplain here. Can I come in?” I did not know what to expect. Would they call security or what? Imagine knocking on some stranger’s bedroom door, “Chaplain here, coming in.”

But whether it was a joyful mother with child and family or a bereft and lonely woman suffering the unimaginable, I was always welcomed in. Happy families always accepted a blessing for the new baby. Grieving families never turned down a listening ear and a prayer of comfort. In fact, during the whole summer I spent at the hospital, visiting twenty to thirty patients a day, I was never turned down for prayer.

Something about being in a hospital opens a person up to prayer.

I remember my first encounter with a husband and wife who had lost a child. The administrative assistant of pastoral care handed me a short note: “Fetal demise. Spanish only. Room 723.” I had spent one week in training, shadowing an experienced mentor. Why was she not handling this one? She was out for the week.

I called a translator, and she met me outside the patient’s room. I briefly described the scenario. We both gulped and took a deep breath. She knew her role: translate, although most of what had happened needed no translation. Did I understand my role, a man standing between God and a couple in deep mourning? I felt greatly inadequate.

We entered. I kind of pushed the translator in front of me. After all, some explanation of why I was there was needed. Not a doctor, not a nurse, but a chaplain. They send doctors to patients who can be fixed. They send chaplains in for the rest. Chaplains say, “I’m sorry.”

I will never forget the eyes of the helpless husband—big, scared eyes. His wife’s face was ashen with grief, her eyes cast downward. He explained to me that this was their third lost child. He was afraid that this was too much for his wife.

The translator’s job was no easier. She had to repeat a difficult story of infant death. Possibly one she had heard before or even experienced herself.

It quickly became clear that no words of consolation or advice would be even remotely helpful or appropriate. What could I possibly tell this couple about how to cope and move on from this?

I offered the only thing I had, prayer. The husband’s eyes lit up as if to say, “Yes! That’s what we need! Please!” We all joined hands, including the translator, as I lifted up the couple’s pain to the Lord. The woman was in tears. Her first tears. She began to talk now and make eye contact. The healing had begun.

It was as if the prayer had turned on a light.

As I was leaving, the husband walked after me and, in broken English, thanked me and asked if I would come back to pray with them the next day.

I had always known on some level that prayer is important, but on that day I learned how much people really need it. It was not that the couple needed my words or my presence. It was God’s presence they had so desperately needed. At times in our lives, God seems so absent or so far away that we need a person in the flesh to represent his presence. Prayer encounters our grief, our desperation, our inadequacies, all our hurts and wants.

As I look on from afar at the community of Newtown, I feel so helpless to help. Perhaps you do to. Pray.

Pray to the source of true and real help. It is the most powerful thing you can do at this time. And trust that God’s promise to comfort those who grieve is good.

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If Dogs Could Speak

I am sure I have been depressed.  We all have been or will be.  But I have never experienced the condition of depression.  It is like the difference between having financial struggles and poverty.  Poverty is not a rough patch it is a life long struggle.  Some people have bouts with depression, for others it is a condition that steals life away moment by moment, year by year.  Medication works wonders for some and for others the weight is too great.

For reasons I may never understand, God has always placed people with depression in my life.  Well before I was a minister I have known them.  At times I have been pulled down with them.  I have prayed so many times for relief for friends and strangers, but never seem to see any difference…until a few years ago.

One Sunday after church a woman approached me and asked for prayers for her sister.  She had been suffering from depression for years, but things were particularly desperate this time.  Jane had not left her house for several weeks, maybe months.  She was not eating.  She was not bathing.  She was not walking the dog. She would not talk to anyone.

She needed professional help and soon.

I offered to go with her and visit Jane.  Our goal was to get her into a hospital.  Fortunately she had a key to her sister’s townhouse.

It was a beautiful, sunny day.  On the outside of the townhouse everything looked just fine, but when we entered it was clearly not.  The smell hit me first.  The dog had not been let out in some time.  She greeted us at the door, but not in a happy dog way.  This dog looked depressed herself.  She was skin and bones with nothing but sadness on her face.

Though the entry way and every other room was stacked with stuff, one could see a hint of elegance and taste underneath.  It had been a lovely townhouse.

Lucy, the dog, led us to where Jane sat in a clutter at the breakfast table.  She wore a pink bath robe and her hair was stringy and unkempt.  She did not look up much when we came in.  She recognized her sister but continued to look at the floor.  Lucy stood beside her.  Jane’s gaze shifted to the dog.

Her sister introduced me and I pulled up a chair opposite her.  And there I sat feeling as helpless as I always feel around people who suffer in this way, wondering what to do.  So I started with the obvious. “Jane, you need help.  Do you know that?”

It was almost as if her jaw was rusted shut.  She could barely speak. “I guess,” she said staring blankly at Lucy.

“Will you go to the hospital with us?”  I asked.

“No.”

I tried to reason with her about.  She was not listening.  I tried to get her to talk about it.  She would not.  She was like a zombie.

I paused. Familiar words began to emerge in my head, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” I said, “Jane, I am going to ask God for help for you.”  I prayed.  When I opened my eyes Lucy had placed her paw on Jane’s knee and looked imploringly at her.  She looked like she was on the verge of speech.

I said, “Jane, your dog looks like she wants to talk to you.  If she could talk, what do you think she would say to you?”

She met her dog’s earnest eyes and said, “I need help.”  She pulled Lucy in and held her.  “I need help,” she repeat.

She and her sister went upstairs and packed a bag.  We all got in the car and drove to the hospital.  We even chatted along the way a bit.  I told her that I hoped she would join us for church when she was feeling better.  She said, “I think that would be nice.”

Several weeks later after church, I was greeting worshippers as they filed out on their way to lunch.  A visitor came through the line.  I had never met her before.  She wore an elegant pink dress suit, her hair was perfectly coiffed, and she stood before me smiling like we were old friends.  She hugged me much to my surprise and said, “I made it.”

I stared at her for a moment before I realized that it was Jane.  She was utterly unrecognizable!  “Jane?  I can’t believe it!”  My heart swelled with joy.

“Lucy and I are doing much better now.”

Seeing Jane like that gave me great hope.  I think of that day when I pray with people with depression knowing that there is indeed help.

I know her struggle is not over.  She has her good months and her bad months.  Depression is a disease, but it is not permanent.  God is bringing about a day when depression will cease.

For now I just trust the words of my savior calling,  “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

I read it often.  I quote it often.  I pray it often.  And one time I even heard a dog speak it.

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A Prayer Father

I did not invent prayer encounters.  People have been praying with each other for who knows how long.

Prayer has been a part of my life since before I could remember.  However, yesterday I was reminded of one of the prayer inspirers of my life.

My dad’s best friend from college and a close friend to this day is Bill.  I grew up knowing Bill and his family all my life.  His children were cousins to me.  There is a lot I could write about this remarkable man, but not today.  He has had and continues to have a great spiritual influence on my life.

Yesterday, Jennifer, Nelson (our 4 month old son), and I were driving from Dallas to Houston on our Nelson 2012 whirlwind tour of Texas.  We stopped on the way to visit Bill and Pam, his wife.  Per usual we talked non-stop for an hour which could have easily become 6 had we not had a schedule to keep.

As we were leaving, while I was starting up the car, Bill took my hand and smiled broadly, “Let’s have a prayer before you leave.”  We all joined hands and he prayed for us and our new family.  It occurred to me in that moment, that he had always done this for me.  He never misses an opportunity to pray with others.

Thinking back through my life, Bill has shown up at random times with a word of guidance and a prayer that lifts me toward my ultimate Father.

Without a doubt Bill is one of my prayer fathers.  That I pray with others is in no small part because he prayed with me.

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Pastors Need Prayer, Too

I was preparing for one of the most difficult sermons I have ever preached.  It was for the 10 year anniversary of the events of September 11th. 

I was not the only preacher preparing for that day.  Preachers all across America were discerning what they would say that hadn’t been said a thousand times. 

Honestly, I would rather forget the day.  Perhaps we all would.  But we cannot.  We must not.

I sat there on my couch Friday morning watching The Today Show.  As they recounted the events and interviewed various people that had been much more affected than I was, I had a sudden urge to talk to my former pastor. 

Tom was the pastor of one of the most significant churches in New York City.  I was an investment advisor working in Midtown Manhattan.  Tom now heads a church consulting ministry in Atlanta. I pastor a church in Nashville. 

On 9/11 Tom waived hundreds in from 5th Avenue for prayer services.  He heard shocking story after shocking story.  He led our church through this time with grace and compassion.  He is one of the reasons I am a minister today. 

I needed to talk to him.  I needed to remember that day and the weeks after.  I called him.  It turns out he too was preaching that day as well.  As he shared stories with me I had not heard in years, I could still hear the fresh emotion in his voice.  It was almost like he never left that day. 

He told me he would be praying for me throughout the weekend.  I started to say I would do the same for him, but then I remembered my prayer resolution. 

“Tom, I have a resolution to never save prayer for later.  Can I pray for you now?”  He paused.  I could hear him close a door. “Absolutely, Paul.”

I prayed for him.  He said with voice cracking, “Paul, you have no idea how much that means to me.”  I did. Ministry can be a lonely life sometimes.  Other ministers understand.  He then said, “Now, let me pray for you.”

It felt like a warm spiritual bath.  My anxiety and dread of the coming Sunday melted away.  He was my last pastor before I became a pastor and in the moment he was still my pastor and I had become his.    

Throughout the weekend, I received text messages from him.  “I am praying for you.  Praying that God speaks powerfully through you.”  I returned the prayer. 

Pastors need prayer too.

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