In Chapter 2 (click there for a link to the book, then search for chapter 2), Foster talks about the kind of prayer that Jesus offered on the cross, “My God, My God, why has thou forsaken me?” Though I am not in the middle of such a season of prayer, I have known it more than once. I can think of two specific seasons where this type of prayer characterized my prayer life. The truths that carried me through, that Foster reiterates, are these: This season of aloneness, of silence, of nothingness, are not because God is displeased with me or that I have committed some horrendous offense against heaven. In fact, the two times I have keenly experienced this have been after making significant decisions to deny myself and follow Jesus. One such experience was in San Jose, when the world had fallen down around us. That was by far the darkest night of my soul, to use Saint John’s language. Heaven was iron. There were no responses. And yet, as Foster explains and I have found to be true, it does pass. That season was for nine months, and then some of the most glorious blessings followed. The other season was just this Fall, when we’d moved in with my parents and things weren’t good with Jeff and me and I was coming apart at the seams. Nothing seemed to offer any solace and there seemed no good outcome to our circumstance. That too passed. We still live here, but my heart has changed and Jeff and I, by the grace of God, have flourished once again in our marriage—even more so than before.
Foster calls this season “The Purifying Silence.” Though we often cannot tell, even afterward, exactly what God’s reasons were for His prolonged silence, we can often see a spiritual growth afterward that is unrecognizable in the middle of the storm. The further we get from the incident, the more clear it is. We are now just beginning to see the fruit of some of those dark nights of our souls in San Jose, and I am just now (even today!) beginning to get glimpses of the ways that God is changes, purifying, testing, and deepening our faith during this time.
What is beautiful about these seasons is that we realize that we truly realize that we cannot manage God. As Foster says, “God refused to jump when I said, “Jump!” Neither by theological acumen nor by religious technique could I conquer God. God was, in fact, to conquer me” (p22). The beauty of unanswered prayer, and of silence, and even of suffering is that we cannot control or manipulate God. And though our wicked hearts can want to at times, there is such a greater, more profoundly abiding peace when we recognize our true place in HIS plans and HIS purposes. This deepens my simple prayer.
Lastly, I loved Foster’s discussion of the “Prayer of Complaint.” As he says, “This form of prayer has largely been lost in our modern, sanitized religion, but the Bible abounds in it … The ancient singers (in the psalms) really know how to complain” (p23). This really struck me. I seldom complain in my prayers but often complain in my heart! How backwards is that? If I had a problem with Jeff (not even something he’d done wrong but just a problem), and I talked to everyone else about it (and myself) but not him, how ridiculous is that? But we do that with God. He would rather have honest complaining lovers than pious, proud, hypocritical religious people. My conclusion through all this is that I purpose to be honest with God and to wait patiently on God. When He is silent, He is still God. I can complain and pour out my heart and draw near to Him, but understand that He is in no obligation to respond to my beck and call. When He sees fit, in His infinite love and abounding wisdom, He will hear my call and come near. He’s promised He will.