Prayer as Argument
My gangly bird legs stretched out in front of me and I watched my tennies rock back and forth, scraping over sandy dirt like windshield wipers. I alternated between note-taking and doodling, then shifted again, trying my best not to roll right off the log into a dead sleep.
As my mind began to wander toward the lake and a free afternoon, the Charlie-Brown-teacher-drone voice broke into clear syllables and I froze.
Did she just say Willingham? What on earth is she talking about?
Remain calm. Look casual. No sudden moves.
“The Willinghams are a perfect example,” she told my group. “I like to think of them as the ‘Yelling Family.’”
The umm, what?
There under the northern Minnesota pines, the last thing I expected in my morning Bible camp breakout was for my family to be Exhibit A for the Confrontational Communication Style.
I set my oversized junior high feet to window wiping again, in rhythm with my indecision: Should I rise up proud of our newfound notoriety or slink back to my cabin in shame?
As it turned out, the instructor (in truth, a longtime family friend who’d spent many hours in our home) meant only to share her appreciation for my family’s practice of communicating openly, albeit with a little gusto. While it could get noisy sometimes, what needed to be said got said, some other things got said back, and most nights everybody went to bed still friends.
So when I turned the page to my prayer study this weekend and saw the chapter entitled Prayer as Argument with God, I smiled big and couldn’t wait to read it three times.
Finally. A happy chapter.
After weeks of plunging the depths of prayer as groaning, prayer as desperation, prayer as God’s absence (or seeming), prayer as argument looked flat out refreshing.
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Author and pastor Matt Woodley recounts a conversation he had with a friend, a Jewish follower of Jesus. Every week for two years, his friend would argue some point in his sermon, piecing out Woodley’s interpretation of a Biblical passage. When he could stand it no longer, Woodley erupted over his friend’s constant critique. But his friend explained,
When New York Jews like me argue about Scripture, we’re asking for a dialogue. When I tell you that I disagree with something you’ve said, I’m expecting you to fire back and say, “Oh yeah, well I think that you’re wrong, too, and let me tell you why.” You see, Jewish people sometimes get close by arguing. Confronting each other is a sign of intimacy in the relationship. So when I dish it out, I want you to dish it right back. That’s how the relationship grows. (The Folly of Prayer, Matt Woodley, p. 85, emphasis added)
I’m a midwesterner, not a New Yorker. And I live a hair’s breadth away from the border to Minnesota Nice. In these parts, things get a little awkward when disagreements heat up. (And maybe this is a good time to add the disclaimer that we’re talking about spirited discourse here, not verbal abuse that twists intimacy into something it was never meant to be, nor divisive arguments that are all about power and control.)
But awkward or not, Woodley suggests that a richer and fuller relationship with God grows out of our willingness to contend with God.
We can, he’ll say, in all the security that comes from a covenant relationship with God, come to Him to say – and boldly so — “This isn’t right.”
Abraham did this. In Genesis 18, he reminded God of His justice. Abraham badgered God until He agreed not to destroy a city if just ten righteous men could be found there.
Moses did this. (Often.) In Numbers 11, at his wit’s end, he reminded God of His promises to His people, wondered why the whole burden sat on Moses’ shoulders, and told God He may as well just kill him on the spot if He wouldn’t treat him any better.
The psalmists did it. They argued with God all day long.
And we do this, God and I. We carry on a little of the tradition of the Yelling Family. When I am disturbed at how He carries Himself out in the world, or especially in my tiny corner of it, I can’t pretend it’s not like that.
I tell Him.
And when what He says in His Word just doesn’t make sense, we wrestle it out until it does. Or at least until I can live with it.
Sometimes, things change in the world. More often, though, after a sparring match with the Almighty (for Whom, I might add, I know I am no match at all), I come away bruised and disheveled but with a deeper love and knowledge of this One Who loves me so.
In this practice of argument, of humble but robust dialog, my intimacy with the Father grows deeper. It is a process of pursuing His heart, remembering we are on the same side, and relaxing in the safety that is covenant with Him.
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Photo by Jose Fernando Carli via Stock.xchng Reference: The Folly of Prayer: Practicing the Presence and Absence of God, by Matt Woodley
I agree wholeheartedly. My relationship with God got a lot more “real” when I stopped arguing with everyone else and brought it to God instead. He seems to enjoy the banter. So do I. Maybe that’s why I married into “The Yelling Family!”
2010/07/26 at 1:17 PM
So Amy, between you and God, which is the porcupine and which is the hedgehog?
2010/07/26 at 1:29 PM
Amy, I’m so glad to have you in ‘the yelling family.’ What a blessing you are!
2010/07/26 at 1:56 PM
Well, yeah, of course. We love having Amy around.
That’s what I meant to say.
2010/07/26 at 2:01 PM
This is where I am at. Thank you for your words of wisdom that makes me look at things in a fresh new light.
Much needed and much appreciated.
<3
2010/07/27 at 10:47 AM
Hey Julie, Woodley closes this chapter by saying “I’m convinced God would rather have a good argument than a cold shoulder.” I think that’s true. So go ahead, get closer.
2010/07/27 at 11:16 AM
Oh I like this post. Very, very much. I don’t argue with people with whom I don’t desire relationship. I only argue with those that I trust not to shred me. That is very interesting…
2010/07/27 at 6:04 PM
I’ve always thought it comes down to two things: trust and value. I agree with you, I’m not likely to argue with someone I don’t trust (though professionally, I do it all day long, sometimes meeting up with the shredder), but I also won’t argue where I have nothing of value at stake, namely the relationship. I appreciate this observation Kelly.
2010/07/28 at 6:40 PM
Sometimes me conversations with God are not always kosher either. Sometimes you gotta use your own way of communicating. He made us that way so He must figure we are going to be true to how we were made.
Good post Lyla.
2010/07/27 at 7:41 PM
He gets it, either way. And He ultimately wants your heart — however that happens to look at the moment.
2010/07/28 at 6:41 PM
I like this….
we are less of a yelling family now, than say when the kids were younger.
but there is a level of trust when you are asking for it isn’t there.
2010/07/27 at 9:20 PM
I’ve settled down some too as I’ve gotten older, and my kids have gotten older. I get that. T’hanks Deb.
2010/07/28 at 6:42 PM
This is awesome, Lyla! The DeRushas are a Yelling Family…but I married into Minnesota Nice, which is an interesting juxtaposition. Miraculously our families get along really well, despite our vastly different communications styles.
I like what you are saying about God and our relationship with him. I had a revelation of sorts when I was reading the Psalms for a church Bible class. Our pastor asked, “Do you think it’s okay to be mad at God?” In the past I would have said, “No! No no no no.” But now I think perhaps yes. I think God would rather have the conversation — even a heated one. I think he prefers the relationship, even a question, wrestling, sometimes confrontational one, rather than the silence. I gave him the silence for a long time…now I’m asking him the questions. Progress…yes?
2010/07/29 at 9:10 AM
Thank you for visiting Lyla, and for your kind comment. It is so nice to meet you.
You’ve given me much to think about in this post. I used to be a bit more argumentative with the Lord, but recently I’ve just sort of quietly accepted the things that have torn at my heart. Perhaps it is all right for me to talk it out with Him – to argue my point. I know He is wiser than I can even begin to comprehend, but I also know He loves me and wants to really heart my heart.
Thank you for this Lyla.
2010/07/29 at 9:51 AM
Lyla. I love this. My family doesn’t yell (I don’t think), but we are open. We are in-your-face honest. And I always know where I stand with them.
Other people dance. Dance around discomfort, around conflict, around problems. And I’m never fully at ease.
I love to dance when it’s a celebration. Otherwise, bring on the wrestling.
You did this piece so well.
2010/07/29 at 9:36 PM
Michelle, I married into “South Dakota nice” which is a very close cousin to MN. I don’t always successfully make the appropriate adjustments. And yes, not giving Him the silence, that’s progress indeed.
Linda, thanks for stopping over! You are exactly right: He loves you and wants to hear your heart. And I don’t think that always means arguing with Him. (But sometimes…)
Anne, I make a very poor dancer.
2010/07/30 at 9:02 AM
Lyla ~ I’m quite certain that “gangly legs” wouldn’t prevent the right kind of dancing. I’m smiling to think that you’re more like me in the wrong kind of dancing than I might have thought. Your SD & MN “nice” sure come through.
2010/07/30 at 9:15 AM
Oh Anne, the big feet at the end of those gangly legs have stepped in it more times than I can count. But I hardly imagine I can do it with all the grace and Michigan favor that you seem to radiate.
2010/07/30 at 12:06 PM
*smile*
LOL
*smile*
2010/07/30 at 1:19 PM
As I’m reading this, I am thinking of how the psalms reflect this element in dialog with God. It is there sometimes, no doubt about it. Of course, it’s important that we engage the argument with reverence and respect. But if we are growing, there will be fireworks. We need the freedom to wrestle. Good post.
2010/08/02 at 8:09 PM
Cassandra, the psalms are chock full of this, don’t you think? The psalms just gush with all kinds of different ways to dialog with God. Maybe that’s why I can get lost in them so easily. And I’m convinced that when we choose to take it to God this way, in due reverence, He will engage us. He will give it back might just flip us over and shake us a bit. But in the end, we grow more tightly together. My love and trust run so much deeper each time we have to do it this way.
2010/08/02 at 9:18 PM