Restriction is a key part of our new vocabulary. We are restricted in our activities, in our social gatherings, restricted in our travel, and even restricted in church.
There is so much that we cannot do, and the experience is tiring, irritating and not a little disorientating. We know there is ministry to be done, but we just can’t get to do it. We know there are friends to encourage, but we have such limited access to them. We know there is a Lord to be worshipped, but we can’t even sing His praises. It is all so frustrating. When good things are out of reach, frustration is appropriate.
And yet, corporate worship and all the other communal features of Christian discipleship are only a part of Christian living. Perhaps God wants to use these strange times to redirect our gaze to some of the more personal elements of Christian living. Only what if we don’t notice? Like a dog desperate for a walk, our eyes remain so fixed on the front door that we fail to notice the many other doors our master is opening for us.
Jesus’ lockdown instructions
I’m not sure you would describe it as lockdown instructions, but Jesus’ words in Matthew 6 do seem remarkably appropriate for our current situation: ‘When you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you’ (Matt. 6:6). The Christian, we discover, has a secret life. A life that God intends us to keep hidden from public gaze. A personal and intimate life. A rich and varied life. A life that reflects the privileges of our individual communion with God. It is the ‘I-Thou’ of Christian living. And by God’s grace we want that intimacy to grow until, finally, with the psalmist we are able to say: ‘I have sought your face with all my heart’ (Ps. 119:58). There is something very good and very precious about the believer whose heart urges them to go into the inner room and pray.
For one thing such a heart reflects the character of our Lord. In the gospel accounts it seems as if Jesus would often retreat to the hills to pray. Consciously and deliberately leaving His companions, Jesus would step away from the crowds and give Himself to prayer. At times, it seems, that prayer would last all night long. For Jesus delighted to be in the presence of His Father. And He knew that strength and joy were found in that conscious, committed and ongoing dependence on Him. Jesus loved to pray and so should we. Yet, like most things worth doing, prayer is something that needs to be learnt.
Playing our scales
Every concert pianist started the same way: with years and years of disciplined lessons. An ability to play joyfully for hours and to improvise at will doesn’t just come naturally. It is hard won by hour after hour playing scales and arpeggios. Most of us find prayer hard work – fewer of us, I suspect, have put in the long hours needed that we might learn to pray. But perhaps this lockdown, when so many other elements of our Christian discipleship are out of bounds, might just be the time to do it.
Lockdown has, of course, brought new demands – home schooling and remote working are challenging for many. And prayer is harder still when we are exhausted. Not all of us will have the time and space for new spiritual disciplines, but some of us will.
The refining of His church
And what a glorious prospect it would be if, as we slowly emerge from this pandemic, it became clear that in the quietness of our homes and the privacy of our rooms, God had been at work teaching believers how to pray. What a blessing it would be and how glorifying to our God if, right in the midst of lockdown, there in the secret place, God had been purifying His church. And as students playing our scales, we had slowly become those who with our whole heart long to seek His face.
