Prayer in spiritual warfare

We live in a world of spiritual warfare. In "No Small Snakes," author Gordon Dalbey describes an

experience with a particularly frustrating member of his church, Liz:

If any situation bore a potential for conflict, she seemed to know supernaturally how to spark it. My training in psychology and knowledge of her painful childhood suggested several reasons for her disruptive manner, and for some time I compassionately tried to overlook it. Yet as she grew even quicker to assume conflict at church events, my 'pure compassion' gave way to an equally pure anger.

That night, we needed to discuss forming a new worship committee, and Liz -- in her late sixties -- urged three women over 65 for the three-member committee. At that, my inner leash broke, and I cried out in my spirit, Lord, what can I do about this woman? I know You want me to love her, but what she does is making me furious!

In that moment of surrender to God, I sensed the enemy at work. At once, I confessed and released my anger at her and asked God to show me through His Holy Spirit what was going on. The word contention came to mind, and I silently bound a spirit of contention in Liz. She became noticeably subdued, but I could see that she was nevertheless chafing at the bit to stir further conflict.

I asked God for a spirit of wisdom and then spoke to the committee, saying simply that we needed a cross-section of worship sensibilities, which three women in the same age bracket would not provide. Liz huffed and was about to speak, but I silently bound the contention again and others picked up the discussion.

After praying for her for several weeks, I finally knew I had to talk openly with Liz and went to see her. Thanking her for her years of service to the church, I then told her straightforwardly, with no anger, that her contentious attitude was becoming an obstacle to open discussion at the church. I hoped that such as truth-telling would spur her own will to cooperate more with others at the church -- though I never told her about my prayers of binding the enemy in her. As I anticipated, she was upset that I 'would say such a thing,' but I prayed to hold my ground, and she listened.

Thereafter, I demonstrated my compassion for her by thanking her when she was either supportive or helpfully critical in other settings, and by continuing to bind the enemy's power over her. In time, those who had before come to me complaining of Liz's manner told me how much nicer she had become.

Pay attention to your interactions with people. Sometimes there may be more at work than we notice on the surface.

Saint Augustine's vision of Jesus

In "Beautiful Outlaw: Experiencing the Playful, Disruptive, Extravagant Personality of Jesus," John Eldredge shares an interesting way that Saint Augustine encountered Jesus (pp. 181-183):

[Saint Augustine] was quite an accomplished sinner, by his own admission, a man we would send to a recovery center for sexual addictions. Though he had the opportunity to sit under the preaching of Ambrose, and though his own mother was praying night and day -- a most effective weapon for turning a wayward soul -- he was bound to his darkness. 'I was in torment,' he wrote. Until that fateful day when in a garden, he heard God speak -- through the voice of a child over a wall:

Somehow I flung myself down beneath a fig tree and gave way to the tears which now streamed from my eyes, the sacrifice that is acceptable to you.... For I felt that I was still the captive of my sins, and in my misery I kept crying, 'How long shall I go on saying, 'tomorrow, tomorrow'? Why not now? Why not make an end of my ugly sins at this moment?' I was asking myself these questions, weeping all the while with the most bitter sorrow in my heart, when all at once I heard the singsong voice of a child in a nearby house. Whether it was the voice of a boy or a girl I cannot say, but again and again it repeated the refrain 'Take it and read, take it and read.' At this I looked up, thinking hard whether there was any kind of game in which children used to chant words like these, but I could not remember ever hearing them before. I stemmed my flood of tears and stood up, telling myself that this could only be a divine command to open my book of Scripture and read the first passage on which my eyes should fall.

He does. They are the very words he needed to hear from God. And in that moment, which would end up echoing throughout the world, 'You converted me to yourself.' Take it can read, or take up and read, depending on the translator. Tolle lege in the Latin. I think we've missed the playfulness of this. Augustine is a voracious reader. Books are his language. Jesus -- who sent the fisherman fishing and the tax collector to hand out charity -- tells Augustine to get up and read. Open the book, you bookworm. Through the singsong chant of a child, which adds an even more playful touch. Jesus was singing his tune.

I find it thoroughly fascinating the way that Jesus connects with each of us individually.

Forgiving God

On p. 163 of "Beautiful Outlaw: Experiencing the Playful, Disruptive, Extravagant Personality of Jesus," John Eldredge shares the story of a friend who needed to forgive God:

A friend of ours called to ask for prayer. We met, not quite sure what was on the agenda, but willing to help if we could. She said she didn't feel Jesus anymore. Didn't want to feel him anymore. Surprising words from a woman who once had a pretty intimate relationship with Jesus. She began to talk about the suffering she and her family had been through -- bankruptcy, losing everything, and then church folk blaming them for bringing it on themselves through some unconfessed sin. (Which was not the case -- this was during the economic collapse of 2009. Can you see why I hate the religious fog?)

As she opened up the well of suffering in her soul, I could feel the loving, concerned presence of Jesus in the room. With all the intention you see in him toward the woman at the well, or the rich young ruler, I could feel him getting in position to rescue this heart. Rather than jumping to offer encouragement, counsel, or advice, we simply prayed. 'Jesus, what are you saying in response to all this?' I heard his loving voice very clearly:

You think I did this.

It was the same strong, kind voice I now see him using all the time in the Gospels, but never saw before because I was watching television with the sound turned off. I had removed his personality from the stories. He said it again:

You think I did this.

Our friend was speechless. The 'faithful church girl' part of her heart didn't want to admit what she was really feeling. But pain has a way of stripping all pretense. 'Yes, I do,' she said.

You need to forgive me.

Now that really blew her away. Forgive God? This idea is going to cause some readers to freak out. Just listen for a moment. If you are holding something in your heart against Jesus -- the loss of someone you love, a painful memory from your past, simply the way your life has turned out -- if you are holding that against Jesus, well, then, it is between you and Jesus. And no amount of ignoring it or being faithful in other areas of your life is going to make it go away. In order to move forward, you are going to need to forgive Jesus for whatever these things are.

When I lost my job in 2010, I needed to forgive Jesus. I was really mad. But I understand that it wasn't his doing; it was the responsibility of my employer at the time.