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In a November 2014 op-ed titled “On Thanksgiving Day, Remember Fast Day,” Dean Grodzins, visiting scholar at the Massachusetts Historical Society and a research associate at Harvard Business School, traced the little-known history of Fast Day in the American historical memory. Grodzins writes:

“Around 1740 . . . the New England colonies (except for Rhode Island, which always went its own way) began observing regular annual fasts and thanksgivings, corresponding to the local agricultural year. Fast Day was held typically in April; farmers were in effect asking for God’s forgiveness and blessing before they planted. Thanksgiving was held in November, to show God gratitude for the harvest. Only at this time did Thanksgiving come to be associated with a feast.”

When was the last time you couldn’t fall asleep because your mind was racing, and you couldn’t slow down your thoughts? Or you woke up in the middle of the night, shaken out of sleep because of something which had not gone right that day or because of some worry for the upcoming day? I often wonder, when all I need is to slow down and rest, why am I awake with my mind running so fast?

When this happens, one trick my father taught me as a kid is to quote, in order, the Psalms (or, let’s be honest, maybe just remember a snippet from some of them) until you fall asleep. Granted, this is a lot easier to do if you grew up in a church tradition that sings the Psalms regularly.  Nonetheless, the point of this trick is rest comes from being in God’s presence through His word and prayer.

“The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” - Matthew 20:28.

This passage from the Gospel of Matthew has always struck me.  If Jesus came not to be served, then why do we call ourselves His servants?  He came to serve us!  This can be quite perplexing.  If Jesus didn’t come so we could serve Him, then why did He come?  If Christianity was like any other theism, serving (read: owing) would be the proper logical response.  But being the God of the Bible’s image bearers, humanity's existence is not merely one of subjection to a “higher power.”  Jesus came to show us what it actually means to be human.

“Be still, and know that I am God.

I will be exalted among the nations,

I will be exalted in the earth!” - Psalm 46:10

For quite some time, I wrongly believed this verse was a call to quiet my life and soul, to reject the world’s busyness, so that I may more fully know God. And, perhaps, there is a great deal of truth in such a premise, but as my seminary professor always liked to say, “right doctrine/belief, wrong text.” As I began to read the context around the verse, the entirety of Psalm 46, I noticed these poetic verses speak out of a troubled, perilous, and war-torn world, a tumultuous world created both by the evils of the earth and those of humanity. Verse 10, then, is not so much about quieting our inner-soul, as it is a call to place our confidence in the Lord amidst a dark and oftentimes terrifying world, to stop tarrying about like the rest of the fear-plagued world, and trust that all of history is moving toward God’s intended end, namely an entire created order singing His praise and honor (v. 10b).

“When one of those who reclined at table with him heard these things, he said to him, “Blessed is everyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of God!” But he said to him, “A man once gave a great banquet and invited many. And at the time for the banquet he sent his servant to say to those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’ But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said to him, ‘I have bought a field, and I must go out and see it. Please have me excused.’ And another said, ‘I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I go to examine them. Please have me excused.’ And another said, ‘I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.’” – Luke 14:15-20, ESV

On a recent Sunday after church, when I picked up my two-year-old son from children’s ministry, I asked the volunteer how he’d behaved that day. To my surprise, she told me that he’d behaved well (he’s been going through a tantrum stage). She warned me that his pants were a little loose and had fallen down once or twice. Bored by our conversation, he wriggled out of my arms to return to play with the other children. As he ran away to play, I noticed his loose pants slide down to his ankles, revealing his chubby legs and diaper. Some of the kids pointed and laughed at his “nakedness.” Oblivious to their taunting, he continued to happily play with a toy train that was nearby.  As he shouted “choo choo!” to no one in particular, I thought to myself, my son is literally “naked and unashamed.” He had no idea that he was supposed to be embarrassed because he was exposed in public. Naked and unashamed. In our appearance-obsessed culture, we rarely use these two words to describe ourselves. We may use one or the other, but rarely both.

“Unless the Lord builds the house,

   those who build it labor in vain.

Unless the Lord watches over the city,

   the watchman stays awake in vain.

It is in vain that you rise up early

   and go late to rest,

eating the bread of anxious toil;

   for he gives to his beloved sleep.”

-- Psalm 127:1-2

In his Grace in Practice: A Theology of Everyday Life (Eerdmans, 2007), Paul F. M. Zahl writes, “The more dire the circumstance or checkmate is, the more heartfelt and spontaneous the prayer for help is.”  I love the image of a checkmate because it describes well the human condition: defeated and helpless apart from God’s grace.  Due to the invasion of evil we find in ourselves and our world, we are utterly impotent to change, improve, or save ourselves. We are surrounded by reckless rooks and cruel queens that render our personal kingships hopelessly conquered.  

Checkmate.

While this may sound pessimistic, it’s the only thing that makes sense of “heartfelt and spontaneous” prayer, isn’t it?  To the degree we are optimistic about our ability to save ourselves and change the world, our fervency in prayer will disappear.  But to the degree that we see ourselves accurately, as helpless, we will pray to God for help.  And perhaps this is why energetic and sincere prayer is so rarely found today: we don’t know that we’re in checkmate.

And there was a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was advanced in years, having lived with her husband seven years from when she was a virgin, and then as a widow until she was eighty-four. She did not depart from the temple, worshiping with fasting and prayer night and day. And coming up at that very hour she began to give thanks to God and to speak of him to all who were waiting for the redemption of Jerusalem. –Luke 2:36-38

Anna’s life didn’t turn out the way she’d planned. As a young bride, Anna envisioned herself like other women in Jerusalem who spent their days and nights attending their families. But after her husband’s untimely death, Anna never remarried. One can only imagine the combined agonies of widowhood and old age in first-century Jerusalem. But what did Anna do with the time God gave her? Was she to live out her days as an object of pity?