by “I come to the garden alone,
While the dew is still on the roses,
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.
Refrain:
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.
He speaks, and the sound of His voice
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.
These are the words of a hymn by Charles A. Miles that paint a beautiful picture of the allure of time spent communing with God.
Reggie McNeal in his book “A Work of Heart: How God Shapes Spiritual Leaders” draws a similarly strong image of communion with God as a room where we meet with God for a date; or personal coaching. Sometimes we are happy to be there. We burst forth into songs of awe and adoration.
Sometimes, nothing much happens in the room. It’s quiet, like a long drive shared with a loved one without spoken words. Like hanging out with a dear familiar one, we talk, or sit in silence, like two old friends, sipping tea.
Other times we are startled we are there at all, like children summoned to the head teacher’s office. Begrudgingly we walk in, making up words on the go that sound right but mean none of them. We cruise on one-minute under the breath prayers.
Yet there are times we don’t show up at all, as we avoid the rotting, filthy, putrefying stuff that gets dragged out, stuff stuffed in closets we thought we would never have to open. Far too many times, the room is musty; shut for too long.
I have experienced all those variations of the room in my own prayer journey. Sometimes it is like a lunch date with a friend. Unrushed. Drawn out. Time stops. Other times it’s like a romantic evening that none of us wants to end. I linger. I get lost in My Father’s courts and throne room.
But sometimes it’s like a date with a Monday morning. I have to drag myself in there, and we sit in uncomfortable dry silence. I struggle to stay still, or stay present. I struggle to listen; and to hear. These are times I wonder what to say — what is adequate or appropriate or honest. Many are the times I have walked out with barely much said. Just perfunctory prayers. A check-in.
There have been to many seasons when have avoided that room — scared of the silence, of being encountered with my sin and my flesh, confident of my ability to handle life on my own. The hearth grows cold. The embers are barely alight. Yet each morning I hear the invite to come to the garden, “while the dew is still on the roses” and tarry there because my Lord wants to commune with me.
Prayer is not a chore
Prayer often feels hard because of our theological frameworks that have presented it as a chore, something to do in the to-do list. We feel we need to have the right words and cover all the bases. But as Reggie McNeal asserts, communion is about relationship, not obligation. When we view prayer as hanging out with a friend, we are encouraged because the friend wants to hang out with us as much as we do. And it is ok to not be scripted or rehearsed, shallow, exploitative, manipulative or worse still, impervious. God wants to meet us, whom He created for His own pleasure (Rev 4:11). God desires fellowship with us. The goal is to build a friendship and to grab a front row seat to what God is doing in us and around us.
But a life of active communion has many saboteurs – lack of surrender or dependence, life-on-our-own terms kind of living, worry, endless social media scrolling, the cult of hurry, a lack of focus, procrastination. Intentionality is key as are constant pleas to God to use plan, look forward to, show up and enjoy the sweet hour of prayer.
For in such times our faith is grounded, our fears allayed, anxieties emptied. God reveals his heart in these times. And He answers many prayers and whispers.
Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer!
That calls me from a world of care,
And bids me at my Father’s throne
Make all my wants and wishes known.
In seasons of distress and grief,
My soul has often found relief,
And oft escaped the tempter’s snare,
By thy return, sweet hour of prayer!
That our souls may forever cherish the sweet hour of communion.
