Prayer and the Art of Midterm Writing

"Why did you choose to love a God? I think you'll find the romance... one-sided."

I threw that quote in because I liked it when I first heard it, but I couldn't find it until now. It's from the movie Troy. And now on a completely different note:

I wrote a Philosophy midterm recently - an in-class essay. we've been reading through Plato's Republic, so the assignment was to write about one of the theories presented so far. He gave us the list of topics a week before the test. I started thinking about it at maybe 10 or 11 the night before. I soon realized that I knew nothing about most of the subject options, because of course I am way behind on my reading. So I decided that I would tackle Glaucon's theory of the nature of justice, because that's right near the start of the book. Then I realized that I had no idea how to defend or attack this theory.

It was late in the evening and I was sitting on my bed feeling stupid and worthless, trying to find something in Glaucon's argument that could be disagreed with. Soon I started thinking about how I'd gotten 42% on my Political Science midterm last week (to this day I don't know why, though I plan to talk to my prof about it) and how I was probably just really dumb or something, and how I'd flunk out of College and have to work on an assembly line at the dessert factory for the rest of my life. I wasn't actually thinking all of that, but I was feeling pretty bad about the whole thing. So I did something I usually try to avoid doing. I prayed. I prayed that God would grant me some kind of incredible philosophical knowledge so that I'd be able to find something to say about friggen Glaucon and his theory and that I'd get a good mark on my exam. I really try not to pray for marks in school, because it feels like I'm turning God into a vending machine, but in times like this I have no other choice. So I prayed. Then I went to bed.

In the morning I got up and started thinking about Glaucon. Within about 10 minutes of mulling I had my argument. It was all so simple. I don't know why I couldn't get it last night. In fact, I really don't know why Plato didn't think of this. (Probably because there's some glaring logical flaw I can't see.) I went to school and wrote my paper and I felt good about it. I got it back today and he gave me a 90 for it. So that's cool. (I mean, he didn't say "Holy shit, you've solved one of the great philosophical problems that has plagued philosophers for the last 2000 years!" but I got a good mark.) Which leave me with one problem: I think God may have just answered a prayer. I mean, it's like just about any answered prayer in that it seemed kind of silly and obvious once I saw it, and there's maybe even odds that I just thought it through on my own, but I did come humbly before God and ask him to help me out. So I think I might be stuck with an answered prayer. At least, I should probably give Him the benefit of the doubt.

God is so confusing - did you notice that? Maybe this is supposed to be a faith building thing, so that I'll realize that God can and will do this one really huge thing that I'm asking him. Maybe it's an encouragement that I'm not stupid at school. Maybe it's just a random answer to prayer for no reason I'll ever know. Or maybe I'm a smart boy and I figured it all out by myself, and God had nothing to do with it.

I'm reading Fresh Wind, Fresh Fire again, because I'm thinking about prayer. It's so weird. First of all, Jim Cymbala sounds a bit conservative to me now, and it's weird to think that God's working powerfully through his ministry. But more significantly, he prays and stuff happens. Bi-ZARRE. I can just hear my Bible School teachers: "there are two viewpoints on this book: descriptive and prescriptive. Scholars are divided over whether this is meant to be a model for our churches here and now, or whether it's simply the way God related to a certain group long ago in a land far away."

People tell me to test God out on this prayer thing. They tell me I should find something and pray about it and believe it will happen, and God will come through. Which sounds like spiritual suicide, but I've decided to do it. I've found something that I care about and I've decided to pray hardcore that it will happen and try my best to believe. This is scary because of the huge risk involved. I guess I'm betting the farm on this one - if it doesn't work out my faith will probably be crushed. But as some guy named Arthur C. Clark once said: A faith that cannot survive collision with the truth is not worth many regrets.