Stepping
out of the space-time continuum.
When
we pray we are stepping out of the space-time continuum in a manner of speaking. We, in the time we call now, speak to God
about things, past, present and future from our perspective, and all the while
He is there. We live in time and are
prone to think linearly even when we try not to. Events and moments, cause and effect, action
and reaction all follow one another. But
when we pray we enter into a reality in which that chain can be unlinked. I say this to serve as a motivation for
prayer and to see the beauty of prayer in perhaps a new way. The best illustration for this is from J. P.
Moreland’s book Kingdom Triangle. (The
following lengthy quote is from this book, I do not own the copyright to this
book and do not receive any compensation for endorsing it and will not be paid
in any way should you buy this book.
Nevertheless, you need to buy this book.) This story wonderfully illustrates the ‘outside
of time’ nature of prayer.
Helen Roseveare is a physician
from Northern Ireland who has served as a medical missionary in Zaire, Africa,
and the surrounding region for some time.
Here, in her own words, is an eyewitness account about a hot water
bottle.
One night, in Central
Africa, I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of
all that we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny, premature baby and a
crying, two-year-old daughter.
We would have difficulty
keeping the baby alive. We had no incubator. We had no electricity to run an
incubator, and no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator,
nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts.
A student midwife went for
the box we had for such babies and for the cotton wool that the baby would be
wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She
came back shortly, in distress, to tell me that in filling the water, it had
burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. “…And it is our last hot
water bottle!” she exclaimed. As in the west, it is no good crying over spilled
milk so, in central Africa it might be considered no good crying over a burst
water bottle. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drug stores down the
forest pathways. “All right.” I said, “Put the baby near the fire as you safely
can; sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm.”
The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with many of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could easily die if it got chilled. I also told them about the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died. During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt consciousness of our African children. “Please, God,” she prayed, “Send us a water bottle. It’ll do no good tomorrow, God, the baby will be dead; so, please send it this afternoon.” While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of corollary, “and while you are about it would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she’ll know You really love her?”
As often with children’s prayers, I was put on the spot. Can I honestly say, “Amen”? I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that he can do everything; the Bible says so, but there are limits, aren’t there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa almost 4 years at that time, and had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send a parcel, who would have her put in a hot water bottle; I lived on the equator!
Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses’ training school, the message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the veranda, was a large 22-pound parcel! I felt tears prick in my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone; so, I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string. Carefully I undid each knot. We followed the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was building. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as we give them out. Then, there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children began to look a little bored. Next came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas- that would make a nice batch of bunns for the weekend. As I put my hand in again, I felt the..…could it really be? I grasped it, and pulled it out. Yes, “a brand-new rubber, hot water bottle!” I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could.
Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, “If God has sent the bottle, he must’ve sent the dolly too!“ Rummaging down to the bottom of the box she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone; she had never doubted! Looking up at me, she asked, “Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to the little girl, so that she’ll know that Jesus really loves her?”
The parcel had been on the way for five months, packed up by my former Sunday school class, who’s leader had heard and obeyed God‘s prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. One of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child-five months earlier in answer to the believing prayer of a ten year old to bring it, “That afternoon!”
The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with many of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could easily die if it got chilled. I also told them about the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died. During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt consciousness of our African children. “Please, God,” she prayed, “Send us a water bottle. It’ll do no good tomorrow, God, the baby will be dead; so, please send it this afternoon.” While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of corollary, “and while you are about it would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she’ll know You really love her?”
As often with children’s prayers, I was put on the spot. Can I honestly say, “Amen”? I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that he can do everything; the Bible says so, but there are limits, aren’t there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa almost 4 years at that time, and had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send a parcel, who would have her put in a hot water bottle; I lived on the equator!
Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses’ training school, the message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the veranda, was a large 22-pound parcel! I felt tears prick in my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone; so, I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string. Carefully I undid each knot. We followed the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was building. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as we give them out. Then, there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children began to look a little bored. Next came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas- that would make a nice batch of bunns for the weekend. As I put my hand in again, I felt the..…could it really be? I grasped it, and pulled it out. Yes, “a brand-new rubber, hot water bottle!” I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could.
Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, “If God has sent the bottle, he must’ve sent the dolly too!“ Rummaging down to the bottom of the box she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone; she had never doubted! Looking up at me, she asked, “Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to the little girl, so that she’ll know that Jesus really loves her?”
The parcel had been on the way for five months, packed up by my former Sunday school class, who’s leader had heard and obeyed God‘s prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. One of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child-five months earlier in answer to the believing prayer of a ten year old to bring it, “That afternoon!”
“And it shall
come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and all they are yet
speaking, I will hear” Isaiah 65:24
When
we are asked to pray we too often think of it in terms of last, now and
next. I am not sure that is a
distinction that we ought have. Perhaps
the time-space continuum is only one of the dimensions that we live with and
which is meaningless in the sacred moments of prayer.
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