The Prayer of Sophie

I’ve preached about how much I dislike the Prayer of Jabez. It seems to me to embody the worst of what modern Christianity has become. Gimme. Me. Mine. Want. Deserve. Blah, blah, blah.

"Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, 'Oh that Thou would bless me indeed, and enlarge my coast [territory], and that Thine hand might be with me, and that Thou would keep me from evil, that it may not grieve me!' And God granted him that which he requested." 1 Chronicles 4:10

As much as I’m sure I’ll regret it, let me quote myself:
“[However,] you and I have been on this journey long enough to know the truth about prayer and about what it means to be a disciple of Jesus rather than some kind of selfish follower of a minor Old Testament guy named Jabez. Jesus did not teach us that prayer was about seeking help with our own prosperity from God, but rather that prayer was a means of aligning our lives to the will of God.”

Sounds preachy and arrogant, huh? I thought I believed it. Then Sophie ran away.

We got home from church one Sunday night and had accidentally left her in the backyard. The infamous dog that is scared to stick her head under the bookshelf to get her squeaky toy out, evidently wasn’t too scared to stick her whole body through the gate and take a stroll around the countryside.

Suggestions of images from that night:
Scrambling from the attic to the basement calling out, “Soph!”

Running through the fields surrounding the house yelling, “Here Peanut!”

Driving the country roads screaming, “Sophie, come home!”

Sobbing on the neighbor’s front porch saying incoherent things like, “She weighs 65 pounds and she has a curly tail!”

Lying in the backyard, after it got too dark to search anymore, listening in vain for the jingle of the tags on her collar.

As we drove up and down the roads within a few miles of our house, every bump and thing that appeared in the ditch as we approached was a mirage from my worst nightmares. I was just sure it was going to be the body of my dog. When we saw buzzards circling ahead of us I thought I was going to throw up.

As I ran across the stubble of last fall’s leftover corn crop – still in the costume of this preacher (skirt and sandals) – I caught myself praying what I now call The Prayer of Sophie. It went something like this:

“Tanya called on the God of all creation, saying, “Oh that You would bless me indeed, and bring back my Sophie dog. If you will just protect her and bring her back safely I will be a better person! I’ll be a better preacher! I’ll do more for the church! I’ll do more for the people! I’ll do whatever You want!!! JUST BRING BACK MY SOPHIE!!! PLEASE???”

Pathetic isn’t it? To painfully quote myself, “Jesus did not teach us that prayer was about seeking help with our own prosperity from God, but rather that prayer was a means of aligning our lives to the will of God.”

I remember asking myself exactly how I was going to be if I was forced to align myself with a God who didn’t bring back my dog. I guess that’s the danger of prayer. It might not go your way. Then what?

I remember thinking that I didn’t have an answer to that.

About 3:15 a.m. Sophie came wandering home. Muddy. Her belly all cut and scraped up. Her feet so tender she couldn’t walk very well for a few days. But Sophie came home.

Did prayer make any difference? To be completely honest, I don’t think God had anything to do with whether or not Sophie came home.

The only thing that prayer changed was me. I was confronted with my own moral superiority. My own selfishness. My own questions about the nature of God.

And I think God laughed.