October 19 Daily Devotional

Bible Reading:

Psalm 17:6:

²Because he hath inclined his ear unto me, therefore will I call upon him as long as I live.

Devotional:

You incline your ear to some one either when you yourself are hard of hearing, or when he to whom you listen has a weak voice, or, finally, when too great a distance separates you from him.

Now the first cannot apply to God. How should "He who has planted the ear not hear?" How should He who has created sound and the hearing of it not overhear every creaturely sound ?

Hence, when it is said of the Great God that He inclines His ear to our prayer, it always means a grace to us-ward, an act of Divine compassion whereby the Majesty in heaven adapts Himself to us, bends down to us, and, seeking us, comes to meet us.

Real prayer is always clothed with deep humility. There are all sorts of prayers. Prayer that is said; words thoughtlessly muttered; prayer because the hour of prayer has struck; prayer from sense of duty; prayer from necessity; prayer from home-sickness after God; prayer in order to drink in higher heavenly strength; prayer from joy in happy thankfulness; prayer for oneself; prayer for others; prayer alone; prayer with others; prayer spoken aloud; silent prayer; the form changes endlessly, and every form has value of its own. But whatever the form, in the prayer that enters more deeply into the spiritual, the soul feels small, your ego becomes conscious of its powerlessness, in your own estimation your own self feels as nothing, and less than nothing, before the Triune God; there is even a feeling of sinking away, so that God Himself must draw us up to Him, if the heart is to be lifted up and liberty of utterance be granted.

What is this whole world in comparison with the firmament, and what are you who pray compared with this world upon which you are only one of more than a thousand million living souls? Now there are a few mighty ones in the world, who feel, and must feel, that after the standard of the world they are great. Think of a Napoleon, think of a Bismarck. But there is nothing of all this greatness in the ordinary worshiper whose name is scarcely known outside of his village or city. Truly, the mighty ones on earth have their own account with God. This lies outside of what we deal with here. Here we are concerned with the plain but devout man who is scarcely known outside of his limited circle. And what is such a one, when he bends his knees before the High and Lofty One, the omnipotent Creator, Keeper and Governor of this small world and of those thousands of suns and stars that sparkle and shine in the sky which endlessly spreads itself over us.

In true prayer, in a prayer in which the soul at least in some measure forms a conception of God's Majesty and greatness, the worshiper can therefore never in his own feeling be anything.

He can but realize very profoundly that his prayer is but a passing breath, if it does not please the Lord to incline his ear unto it.

This need springs from the weakness of the human voice, from the immeasurable distance, and more yet from the indispensability of a personal turning on the part of God toward the suppliant.

Our voice in prayer is so much the acme of weakness when we want our prayer to pierce the heavens, that it makes no difference whether a leader in the house of prayer raises his voice and makes it resound through the arches or whether a sick man on his bed breathlessly whispers his low prayer to God. Even where no sound of voice is heard at all, the low and silent prayer need be none the less real in the soul. Our voice here avails nothing. Among people we can compel a hearing by speaking louder and by raising the voice. But when we would speak to "our Father who is in heaven" the significance of our voice falls altogether away. Then the stentorian voice of the mighty orator avails nothing more than the weakest voice of the child; and whether the shipwrecked man in his last extremity cries out his "O God, help me" in the face of the howling storm—it is all one and the same. Our voice loud or weak, affects nothing. The bleating of the lost sheep can make the shepherd hear. Our mere voice can never move our God to listen.

In prayer the voice serves and aids us and those who pray with us. Even upon our knees in solitude we feel impelled to express our prayer in words. Only through these words clearness enters into our prayer. It releases, it unburdens the soul. The undulations of the emotions within come to rest in the whispered or spoken word of prayer. A prayer without words may well cry out from the soul to God; but that takes place instinctively, we do not even call it prayer.

Real prayer goes through our consciousness. He who prays must know what to pray for. His memory must revive itself. He must think of the several needs in behalf of which he offers prayer. He must know the blessings, the benefits, for which he gives thanks. He must have a clear vision before him of the task in behalf of which he implores Divine help. Before him he must place the Majesty which he magnifies and adores. From the mysticism of the heart the praying soul must come to clear consciousness. And that comes out in the word, that is established by the voice, that consummates prayer.

In praying with others this is still more strongly evident. Then the voice is the instrument which brings the prayer of him who leads, to the soul of those who pray with him. With him who leads, prayer rises from the soul and finds expression in the word. With the others, prayer enters into the soul through the word. He who leads in prayer must be as one who plays the keys of an organ. His soul plays. The soul of the others must be attuned to his. And thus originates common prayer; a special grace given us by God.

Then comes distance.

When we want to ask something from some one who is on the other side of a pond or stream, we naturally raise our voice, and it is a help when he on the other side turns his ear toward us and by putting his hand behind his ear shows that he listens and tries to understand our call.

What broad waters undulate between us and God, when we undertake to call upon Him.

The whole world lies between, all the absorbing interests of daily life, and, then, there is that immeasurable distance to the heaven of heavens, where the Lord is enthroned in everlasting Light.

Our Savior admonishes us not to begin our prayer by speaking to the Holy Ghost within us, not by invoking the Omnipresent One Who compasses our going about and our lying down and Whose hand is upon us; but with a reverent invocation of "our Father who art in heaven," and the Catechism puts it so cogently that we should do this in order not to think of the High God in an earthly way.

Naturally this is not all. In the course of progress, prayer becomes more intimate; which is to say, that, as we pray, God gradually discovers His holy Presence to us, and draws near unto us; yea, at length enters our own heart, and the Holy Spirit prays with us and prays for us, and then tells us how we should pray. But to begin with this is sickly mysticism.

First we stand before the distance. The soul must lift itself up to higher things. Not here below, but above, is the altar of the prayers of the saints, which as incense rises up before His Face. No longer here below, but in heaven our Savior sits enthroned on God's right hand praying for us, and by His intercession supporting our prayer.

First, "Lift up your hearts"—the sursum corda; and then, as we pray, God in His Majesty descends graciously down to us, sometimes into our very heart.

And this real urgency of prayer expresses itself with us in this, that praying can sometimes become, as the Psalmist says, a crying, a weeping, an impetuous demanding; and only when we observe that God turns His ear to us, that He takes notice of us and listens to our prayer, does the praying soul find rest.

When during prayer we feel that the listening ear of our God inclines itself to us, then the distance has been bridged, and we know that He has come near to us and that we are near unto Him.

And so prayer reaches, at length, its highest blessedness, in what in the third place we called the personal turning of God to the suppliant.

There are so many thousands and thousands who every morning and every evening call upon God for help and deliverance. It is true the numbers are on the increase of those who no more pray. But yet, how incalculably great the number still is of those who in distress and in danger of death call upon Him for help.

And now to feel that among those thousands and thousands we, too, come to be noticed, to realize that God looks also upon us and that He knows that we too call upon Him. Among these crossing and mutually jarring voices to have our voice also pierce through to the Almighty. If we may put it in a very human way: to know, to observe, to feel, that we, too, come to our turn, and that for us, also, there comes a moment of hearing—this is what we suppliants mean, when we jubilantly give thanks, that God also inclines His ear to our prayer.

Naturally this is not so with God. He does nothing by turn. He hears every suppliant immediately and all at the same time. But to our human sense there is always in our prayer, when it enters through, a feeling that God now also turns Himself to us, and inclines His ear to our personal prayer.

He inclines differently to you than to another, because this Most High God knows your particular life, fathoms your personal existence, sees through and through your particular need of soul, and, therefore, has laid up for you an altogether particular hearing of your prayer.

And this is the glory of prayer. You call upon your God and He knows you. He distinguishes you as one individual among those many thousands. And however insignificant you are, and with whatever burden of sin you come to Him, He does not pass you by, He despises not the voice of your supplication, He turns Himself to you, and inclines to you His listening ear.

So prayer becomes to you a seal of your election, when you become aware of this turning of God unto yourself.

To earthly kings, the mighty and the great alone have access. To Him Who is King of kings, the most humble and despised are admitted.

So you pray, and God inclines His ear unto your prayer. So are you near unto your God, and your Father who is in heaven seals to you the fact that not only are you now enriched with His Presence, but that eternally you belong near to where He is.

This devotional classic offers 110 meditations on a single thought from Psalm 73: "As for me, it is good to be near to God." The author states, "The fellowship of being near unto God must become reality ... it must permeate and give color to our feeling, our perceptions, our sensations, our thinking, our imagining, our willing, our acting, our speaking. It must not stand as a foreign factor in our life, but it must be the passion that breathes throughout our whole existence."

The meditations reflect the blending of spiritual vigor with doctrinal loyalty so consistently expressed in the life of Abraham Kuyper. These are devotions with true substance, avoiding the extremes about which Kuyper adds a word of caution: "Stress in creedal confession, without drinking from the Living Fountain, runs dry in barren orthodoxy, just as truly as spiritual emotion, without clearness in confessional standards, makes one sink in the bog of sickly mysticism."

Abraham Kuyper (1837-1920) was a Dutch political leader and Calvinist theologian. Elected to parliament in 1874, he became Prime Minister in 1901 and served in that capacity until 1905. As a theologian, he revived a systematic, orthodox Calvinism. He founded the Free Reformed Church and the Free University of Amsterdam. His other works include Principles of Sacred Theology, Lectures on Calvinism, and The Work of the Holy Spirit

Further information about Abraham Kuyper's life can be seen in the translator's "Biographical Note"; further information about To Be Near Unto God can be Abraham Kuyper's "Preface" to that book.