(October 15, 1881 – October 26, 1944)
William Temple, one time Archbishop of Canterbury, records a wry observation about prayer. He said that when he prayed strange coincidents occurred. And when he failed to pray they did not.
Inspiration-wise this is hardly radical stuff. Not quite the thing to launch the troops up over the ramparts. He may just as well have said, "Two cheers for prayer."
It falls short of the bold vehemence of a promise like:
"Ask anything in My Name and I will do it."
I can honestly think of only one reason to commend the quote:
It happens to be true.
Before I left for a trip to the Czech Republic on August 26th, Jane and I prayed. For some reason we began praying for friends infected with Lyme's Disease, though we'd received no recent requests. Jane's younger brother has suffered for years and three friends in Memphis have endured long out-of-state hospital stays trying to shake free of it. We talked about Lyme's after we prayed and it struck me as odd that the emphasis should emerge out of nowhere on that particular morning.
Entering Budapest Keleti Station (the place where Hercule Poirot was standing at the beginning of 'Murder on the Orient Express') I heard the delightful news that the train was three hours late. I settled in for the grim wait and struck up a conversation with a 35 year old Czech going home to Prague. He told me he owned a tea company and asked what I do. I usually try to draw that one out and stimulate a little curiosity, but this time I gave in quickly and admitted, "I'm a Bible teacher." He brightened noticeably.
Not the response I'm used to.
"I've just come from my doctor and he was telling me about Christianity," said he.
I asked why, if he lived in Prague, he came all the way to Budapest to the doctor (nearly seven hours by rail).
"The best specialist for my illness lives in Budapest."
"What is your illness?" I asked.
"I have Lyme's Disease."
You know I should have seen it coming, but I didn't.
The inevitable dialog began.
I'm confident it will continue, in person, soon, and in Prague.
It won't be easy. His commitment to Buddhism is such that he has learned the Tibetan language.
Pretty impressive.
God's commitment to the salvation of Czechs and Buddhists is such that he sent His only begotten Son.
Even more impressive.
I carry the conviction that the whole thing didn't begin at Keleti station.
I rather think it began in prayer.
William Temple, one time Archbishop of Canterbury, records a wry observation about prayer. He said that when he prayed strange coincidents occurred. And when he failed to pray they did not.
Inspiration-wise this is hardly radical stuff. Not quite the thing to launch the troops up over the ramparts. He may just as well have said, "Two cheers for prayer."
It falls short of the bold vehemence of a promise like:
"Ask anything in My Name and I will do it."
I can honestly think of only one reason to commend the quote:
It happens to be true.
Before I left for a trip to the Czech Republic on August 26th, Jane and I prayed. For some reason we began praying for friends infected with Lyme's Disease, though we'd received no recent requests. Jane's younger brother has suffered for years and three friends in Memphis have endured long out-of-state hospital stays trying to shake free of it. We talked about Lyme's after we prayed and it struck me as odd that the emphasis should emerge out of nowhere on that particular morning.
Entering Budapest Keleti Station (the place where Hercule Poirot was standing at the beginning of 'Murder on the Orient Express') I heard the delightful news that the train was three hours late. I settled in for the grim wait and struck up a conversation with a 35 year old Czech going home to Prague. He told me he owned a tea company and asked what I do. I usually try to draw that one out and stimulate a little curiosity, but this time I gave in quickly and admitted, "I'm a Bible teacher." He brightened noticeably.
Not the response I'm used to.
"I've just come from my doctor and he was telling me about Christianity," said he.
I asked why, if he lived in Prague, he came all the way to Budapest to the doctor (nearly seven hours by rail).
"The best specialist for my illness lives in Budapest."
"What is your illness?" I asked.
"I have Lyme's Disease."
You know I should have seen it coming, but I didn't.
The inevitable dialog began.
I'm confident it will continue, in person, soon, and in Prague.
It won't be easy. His commitment to Buddhism is such that he has learned the Tibetan language.
Pretty impressive.
God's commitment to the salvation of Czechs and Buddhists is such that he sent His only begotten Son.
Even more impressive.
I carry the conviction that the whole thing didn't begin at Keleti station.
I rather think it began in prayer.
