Book Review: Transforming Prayer

Transforming Prayer, by Daniel Henderson, offers a fresh look at an old practice. The subtitle says it all “How everything changes when you seek God’s face”. I’m probably like most believers in that I pray daily, still feel that I don’t pray enough, but am not motivated enough to make the life changes necessary to have time to pray more. Henderson takes a different approach. Rather than making us feel guilty for not praying more, he declares that prayer can be interesting and enjoyable and transforming. It’s not a question of trudging through dry, obligatory prayer sessions, it is a matter of actually connecting with the Lord. As I read the first few chapters, I found myself eager to learn more, and to experience this transforming prayer myself.

His descriptions of how to improve our standard prayer methods were thought provoking. “We pray about personal problems, while most of the biblical prayers focus on Christ’s purposes.”(p.87) I checked this myself and found that he is right. My own prayers (and most of the prayers I hear around me) tend to be disproportionately about my own needs and the concerns of people around me. He explaines that it is not bad to pray for these things, but that our prayer lists risk superseding the Holy Spirit.

My main complaint was that I would have liked him to give an extended example of what worship based prayer would sound like. While the book contained a lot of instructions, and model sentences, and suggestions for how to begin, I would have liked to see a sample that put it all together. Of course, the risk of publishing such a sample is that the freshness would be lost, but even a historic snapshot would be helpful.

[Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Bethany House Publishers as part of their Review Program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. ]

Cuba

Many of you know that I visited Cuba last year, and were disappointed that I didn't blog about it. Unfortunately, I just couldn't figure out how to say anything that was really meaningful without endangering the people we went to visit.

But I thought I could at least give some generalities. First of all, it is actually possible to travel legally, as long as you obtain a license from the U.S. Department of treasury. A church or religious organization can obtain such a license.

The answer to many questions about Cuba is "it's complicated." People have asked me if Christianity is legal. It is legal to be a Christian, and to go to church, but it is not legal to build a church. We wanted to support and encourage the pastors without calling attention to them.

The faith of the pastors was astounding and humbling. Meeting them made me understand how circumstantial our faith is in the American church. What I mean by this is that we may hope for something, or pray about something, but if circumstances throw up obstacles, we say that God closed the door, and we give up. And we think that is faith. The pastors in Cuba handle things totally differently. They pray about things, and hear from the Lord, and they are not dissuaded even if circumstances look totally impossible.

Please don't comment and ask about the politics. My visit was not for the sake of politics, and I don't want to get distracted by issues that are outside of our control.

Tanzania: Conference at Masama Kati, and Rally, 7/8/2009

This mornings I was on bus #2 again, as we drove again to Masama kati church, where the pastor and some of the ladies greet me like an old friend -- I get the double cheeked embrace rather than just a handshake.

Once again we sit around waiting for things to begin, (...This is Africa...) so we take the opportunity to pose for our own team picture.

The local pastors and leaders gather in the church but we wait outside until 'tea' is ready - another meal of hard boiled eggs, bananas, bread, peanuts, and tea. After we eat, I again give my Swahili 'Thank You' speech, and then we go into the church. Jim preaches, and for ministry we form a fire tunnel, so we can pray for each one. The people obediently line up, but are clearly uncertain verging on scared. Clearly this is unfamiliar not only to them, but to their pastors. They sing hymns to give themselves courage, and shuffle ahead until they get to the 'tunnel', where the presence of the Lord is strong. Some of the people fall under the Spirit, and when they fall, they fall hard, in all directions, as we desperately try to keep them from crashing onto the stone floor.

I've got Swahili prayer phrases written on my palm, so I have my cheat sheet handy. It's fine to pray in English, of course, but I want to help orient them as to what is going on, since they seem so uncomfortable. We try to listen to the Holy Spirit to know what to pray for, but I can't tell for sure whether the Lord is speaking, or whether it is just me, until suddenly I find myself inexplicably in tears, and hear the word 'martyrdom'. Everything in me wants to pray for protection, for safety, for a different outcome, but the Holy Spirit tells me to pray that the man would be bold in spreading the Gospel. We've been seeing the fun part of the Gospel this week, but there's a more dangerous side too.

Finally the crowd makes it through the fire tunnel, and we are done, but then we have to wait again for them to serve lunch. I use the time trying to learn a couple of new sentences in Swahili, since the kitchen helpers here have already heard my little 'thank you' speech, and I want to mix it up a little.

Eventually we eat, and then get back onto the bus to go to the rally field. Attendance was sparse initially, but picked up later on. Again we wait (...this is Africa...) until the local pastors arrive. Jim preaches an excellent message and calls for salvation, but no one responds. I'm confused.

Next we start praying for healing, category by category. The deaf. The blind. the lame. Those with tumors. After the first few people are healed, Jim asks again who wants salvation, and hands go up all over. I've read about this in books on missions, but now I understand it. They are afraid to turn to Jesus, because they know that the local spirits have power and they are afraid to make them mad. But after seeing the healings they are convinced that Jesus is stronger than the witch doctors, and they are ready to switch allegiance.



I see a lot of partial healings again, but nothing dramatic (unless you are the person feeling better, of course!): an ear that improves, an eye that goes from dim to clear, a leg that feels better.

A deaf girl clearly got a bit of hearing back. Her mother gestured to her to ask if she could hear, and the girl pointed to the speakers, so at least she was discerning the loud volume. I prayed again, and then as I spoke to her she suddenly turned her head toward the sound of my voice, but her mother said she still not understanding speech. I'm not sure how to explain this from a theological perspective -- if God is healing her, why isn't she all healed? But the mother looks happy, so she is definitely validating that there is an improvement. I just pray that her healing continued later on.

A girl's leg pain disappeared, and she was so happy she ran up to the speaker platform to give her testimony (picture above). And a woman also had her leg pain disappear (picture to the right).

Tanzania: Moshi rally and deliverance, 7/7/2009

Instead of going back to the hotel, some of us took the bus straight on to the prayer rally. This time I was mobbed by little kids who all wanted to hold a hand or a wrist or at least a finger.

Then I moved into the crowd to pray. A few people had headaches, and then a young woman pointed to her chest and stomach. In retrospect, I should have been a bit suspicious that her pain seemed to move around, but at the time I didn't think anything of it. I started praying and she started to sway, then she went limp and I was literally holding her up (luckily she was tiny). What to do? I was afraid she would get trampled if I put her down on the ground.

Suddenly she started manifesting demons -- writhing and contorting, and flailing about. I lost my grip on her, and all the children who were still hanging around me bravely tried to hold her, but it was a losing battle until three of the ushers sailed in -- large women with muscles of iron. They finally got hold of her, but then looked to me for direction, as if to say "you caused this, now fix it." I pointed to the deliverance 'tent' (actually just an area fenced off with black plastic), and followed them as they ran with her in their arms. Once in the tent, I tried praying peace on her, to no avail, and then commanded tthe demon to submit in the name of Jesus.

She instantly went limp again, and they laid her out on the ground, unconscious. I was afraid she was dead. I reached nervously for my money belt hidden under my clothes to make sure my passport was still there, in case I had to make a quick run to the airport. They huddled over her, patting her face to rouse her, and suddenly she was back on her feet, writhing and kicking again. Once again I commanded the demon to submit in the name of Jesus, and she fell down as if she were dead.

But now things were at an impasse. We could keep doing this all night. Without an interpreter to find out her story, there was no way to really help her. If people have an arrangement with a witch doctor, it doesn't do any good to cast out the demons because they come right back. So I left her under the care of the deliverance team, and asked them to tell me how it turned out.


I went back out to the field and prayed for a woman with a deformed hand. I didn't really see much change in it (although perhaps a bit of swelling went down), but she claimed that her pain was a little better. Then a few more headaches and a backache who all felt some relief, and then the sun was setting and it was time to get back on the bus.

Dinner was good, and you wouldn't even have known that it was my 4th meal of the day.

Later on, I heard what happened to the demonized woman. They finally got a translator to help, and someone discerned that she was wearing jewelry that had been cursed by a witch doctor, so they had the translator ask her if she was willing to give up the jewelry and turn away from the witch doctor, and accept Jesus, and after she said yes they were able to fully deliver her, and all her pain left also.

Tanzania: Massama and Nguni Dairy Coop, 7/7/2009

Breakfast is the same as it is every day: scrambled eggs and fruit (with the option of some rather strange rubbery crepes and hot dogs). I wonder what they feed the chickens here, as the scrambled eggs come out almost white. Just one of those little mysteries.

After breakfast the team split into several groups in different buses. I was on the Massama bus, which was scheduled to drop of people at a school and an orphanage on the way to Massama Kati (which was the church we visited for the early service on Sunday).

Anne, Amy and I were supposed to meet with the widows, but they didn't show up until around 10:30 (...this is Africa...), so first we spent some time talking with the pastor. He was interested to try to understand what our churches were like, and we were interested to hear the story of his church, which is the oldest and largest in the district.

Then we went into the church, where three seats had been set up in front facing the 'congregation' of women (about 30 of them). We felt a little odd and conspicuous sitting in front, but it would have been more conspicuous to be excessively humble and mess up the way they thought it should go.

We each preached briefly, but were keeping it short intentionally so we would have a chance to minister to them personally, but the pastor didn't quite grasp what we had in mind. First he kept trying to help us out by extending the preaching time, and then when Anne said we wanted to pray for them, he loudly started praying up front while all the ladies prayed under their breath. We finally started going around and laying hands on them. I handed out the bookmarks which seemed to please them -- the pastor was astounded that I had managed to bring bookmarks with Swahili bible verses. He would have been even more astounded if he knew that I had gotten them from a believer in Shanghai.

I forgot to say that they fed us breakfast first -- boiled eggs and peanuts again, with bread and bananas, and fried green plantain. Then we got back on the bus to continue on to Nguni.

In Nguni we were dropped off a the church, and then were driven in the back of the pickup truck to the Nguni Ladies dairy cooperative, a deceptively simple building with an incongruously modern refrigeration unit, to chill the milk. The chairwoman introduced us to all the board members, and read an explanation of the coop, translated by the pastor. They collect milk from 700 families, and get a total of 1,200 litres per day. There are 3 collection locations, to make it more feasible for families to be able to bring their milk.

The pickup truck had a high bed, so it was a little awkward getting in and out. I knew that I wasn't in as good a shape as I thought when a little old lady who looked about 90 tried to give me a boost. Getting off was even more embarrassing -- I thought I was gracefully sitting at the edge and sliding off, but apparently adults simply don't do that. All the ladies wanted to make sure I hadn't gotten my backside dusty, and kindly brushed it off for me. I was beginning to feel like my backside was public property, but it was serving as an icebreaker and bonding experience.

Then back up to the church for lunch, a veritable feast of rice, a thin meat stew, a plantain and meat stew, cooked greens, watermelon, and sliced oranges. I ate the hot food and skipped the rest.

After lunch, I made a short speech in Swahili thanking them:

"Asanteni sana. Tunapenda chocula cha hapa sana sana. Ninakubariki katika jina le yesu."

They were so proud of me they cheered aloud. Then they gave us gifts. We felt awkward to receive presents from them, but knew that it would be rude to refuse. It was such a festive time, with dancing and singing as they unwrapped long pieces of cloth, and proceeded to wrap us up in the local garb. They were in the middle of draping me when the pastor suddenly said "you have a phone call".

I was nonplussed. I didn't even know where I was myself. How would anyone else know I was here? Was someone suddenly going to say "Smile, you're on Candid Camera!". He handed me his cell phone, and it was Brittany, calling to tell me that the pickup time had been changed to 4pm. She asked how it was going, and I said "fine, but they are dressing me, so I have to go", which quite surprised her on the other end of the phone.

They sang a song to us, so I sang 'Bwana Awabariki" for them. How amazing that the internet enabled me to find a worship song in Swahili and learn it before my trip!

Again, they were pleased to get the bookmarks as a small token gift, but we all felt bad that we didn't have anything more significant to give them. Then into the truck to go to the second location. We stood crowded in the back, trying not to trip on the huge bags of rice (which I think they had loaded in specially for us to sit on), but the ladies explained that you got a better view standing, so we joined them. It was exhilarating to ride along as the ladies sang, and proudly pointed out their small homes as we passed.

The second site again had a cooling unit which we had to admire, and then on to the third one, where I told the ladies we needed a lesson in dressing, so they re-draped Anne while we watched. The pastor was enjoying seeing us as learners, so he asked whether we got it. I regaled the women by miming the whole process while counting in Swahili, and they counted along with me and clapped:

Mojo (wrapping around waist), mbili (tying on one hip), tato (tying on the other hip), nne (across shoulders), tano (tossing the endback over shoulder)

It's hard to explain how much fun this day was -- on the schedule it sounded kind of like a dud, but it ended up being a wonderful experience.

Tanzania: Moshi Prayer Rally 7/6/2009

The rally was smaller today, since it is a weekday. Once again, it wasn't on our original schedule, but was initiated by the locals. We're trying to go with the flow. It's critical to empower the local leaders, so there is a foundation to build on when we leave, but sometimes it sure makes things more complicated.

When we arrived, we played with the kids, and I wandered behind the platform, and encountered some of the woman who were organizing things -- I think they were ushers. One by one they greeted me with 'Bwana asifiwe' (praise the Lord), and embraced me. They were excited and joyful when I said 'Bwana asifiwe' back to them, so we shouted this back and forth, to mutual acclaim.

Once again, we are considered honored guests, and seated on the speakers platform. After the preaching there was again a salvation call. Fewer responded than yesterday, although lots raised their hands for re-commitment -- this was a little puzzling, as many of them were children, and presumably too young to have been backslidden believers.

Once the ministry time started, I was happy to have someone come to translate for me, but it was still hard to understand. After almost every prayer, he would discuss the results with the person, and then tell me "He feels fine." It was all very matter of fact, and I was a little suspicious about whether these were really healings, especially since the people didn't crack a single smile. Day by day we learned that that was pretty common. It was confusing to me that the same people who would exuberantly dance and sing and shout during worship (see picture), wouldn't even smile when God healed them.

One boy had an evident eye problem -- it was red and weepy and inflamed. I prayed 5 times and thought that perhaps his eyes were a bit less red, but they still didn't look right to me. The translator claimed that one of the eyes had opened up some, but I wasn't sure. In fact, it was often very hard to understand what was really going on, whether or not there was a translator handy. The chaos and ambiguity was just something I had to learn to live with. But it was mixed with moments of sheer exhilaration, in the cases where I could really tell that God was moving.

As usual, we had to leave as soon as it started to get dark, both for safety reasons, and because the permit to use the fairgrounds only covered daytime use. So once again we climbed back on the bus to go back to the hotel. Of course, I was always afraid the bus would leave without me, since there wasn't a scheduled departure time.

Then back to my room. Lori had given me an avocado she bought at one of the church auctions. It was the best one I ever ate -- creamy and sweet and mild. I had it with a banana (Katrina's auction purchase), a fiber bar, and an ostrim stick, finding it slightly amusing that the most exotic part of the meal was the ostrich sausage that I had brought from home, to turn it into a balanced meal.

Tanzania: Moshi Town, 7/6/2009

Today we have the morning off, and we can go into town to shop, eat, or whatever. But every day is still an opportunity for ministry, so we are given an introduction on how to go on a 'treasure hunt' -- the kind where you get words of knowledge and the Holy Spirit leads you to people to pray for. So as not to keep you in suspense, I'll admit that my 'team' didn't have any supernatural meetings, but some of the other teams had divine appointments.

So after breakfast we took the bus to the Uhuru hotel for the treasure hunt introduction, then the bus back to Sal Salinero, then another bus into town. These two little kids caught my heart. At home, we wouldn't even let kids that young go out by themselves, and here they are working, carrying sugar cane to market.

I bought stuff at the curio shop, since the advance team said that 'mama' was trustworthy, and would even deliver our parcels back to the hotel for us.

Then Richard, Tish,Katrina, Lori and I walked down through town, and ate at the Taj Mahal -- a misnomer if I ever heard one! Indian fast food in a greasy spoon. After a wild goose chase for fabric for Tish and Katrina we were getting increasingly harassed by the vendors trying to sell us stuff, and I was getting nauseated by the smell of the meat hanging unrefrigerated in the butcher shop. I figured that if it was making me sick I might as well get a picture of it. We had been warned not to try to take pictures in town, because people would either be offended or would want money, so I decided that I would pay the guy up front, so I approached the butcher, asked him in Swahili if I could take a picture, and handed him a small amount of money.

He took the money, so I quickly took the shot, and sure enough, was immediately surrounded by guys demanding payment. I brushed them off, insisting that I had already paid him, and then they gave up.

Finally we caught the bus back to the hotel, with just a few minutes to spare to put bug spray on and drop off our knapsacks before getting the bus to the rally ground.

[Private 'life lesson' for the women: Don't bother trying to shave your legs if there is no hot water. You will slice off every little goosebump, and then they really sting when you apply bug spray. Trust me on this one.]

Tanzania: Moshi Prayer Rally 7/5/2009

We were barely back at the hotel when we heard that a prayer rally was going on at the fairgrounds in Moshi. We were expecting to have meetings there later in the week, but the locals decided to start today. Apparently Lee is going to preach, so several of us jump into the van to go along as the prayer team. Wow, we arrive at the grounds and are surprised to find a crowd of 1000 already gathered. Thank goodness for cell phones -- Lee quickly calls back to the hotel to ask the team there to round up anyone they can, since we will need more people to pray.

It turns out that there are seats for us up on the speaker platform. I perch uncomfortably, worried that someone more important will come along who is supposed to have this seat. Lee preaches, and then gives a salvation call. The crowd has swelled by now to several thousand, and hundreds and hundreds of hands go up. I've never seen anything like this.

Then it is time for healing ministry. I wade into the crowd, filled with a combination of faith and fear, of excitement and uncertainty. A woman named Elizabeth comes forward and gestures at her eyes. I'm frustrated at not knowing enough Swahili to ask her more specifics. Clearly she is getting around, so she is not blind, so I'm not sure what the problem is. Fortunately, one of the local pastors comes over to interpret, and explains that she can see to get around, but cannot see to read. As I stand there with my own trifocal lenses, my faith shrinks -- if I knew how to heal this, would I be wearing glasses? But I start to pray anyway. I pray for a while, and then ask the pastor to ask her if she is better.

He explains that she can't tell if she is better until she tries to read, so he whips out his Bible and holds it in front of her. She shakes her head and points to the inch-high letters showing the title of the book. I pray some more. He holds the Bible out again. She shakes her head again. He tries to negotiate a compromise, and points to the word BWANA, (Swahili for Lord), written in larger type. She shakes her head again and points to the inch high letters. I start praying again, and feel a sudden moment of panic. Will I be here all night with this one woman? I pray a third time, and nod to the pastor. He holds out the Bible, but this time the woman pauses, and takes it into her hands, adjusts it a moment as if to focus, and then with great dignity starts reading aloud, the word of God in Swahili.

For a moment, I was oblivious to the crowd around me, I was just in awe of what I had just seen God do in front of my eyes.

Elizabeth was so pleased she went up to the platform to share her testimony with the crowd -- that's her dressed in pink, with the microphone.

God healed so many people I lost count -- mainly headaches and leg pain.

However there was also one memorable prayer failure. A young woman carrying a baby in a sling, gestured that she had a pain in her lower back. I prayed and tried to ask her in Swahili if she was better (the translator had disappeared). She grabbed my hand and placed it on her back again. I prayed a second time. Anything? No. Clearly frustrated with me, she grabbed my hand again and thrust it higher on her back, under the moist heat of the baby's butt. No healing for her, and warm baby pee for me.