Jesus commissioned His followers to go and make disciples, “baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit” (Matt. 28:19). As the early church spread the gospel message, baptism would follow a new believer’s response of faith. It publicly signified that the individual was now a follower of Jesus

Metaphors often communicate on a level that words cannot. Baptism is a powerful picture of our salvation experience. Through this act, we proclaim the good news that Jesus died for our sins, was buried, and rose again–and testify that we’ve welcomed His transforming power into our life.

The Greek word for “baptize” in Scripture is the same term used to describe a cloth dipped in dye–it refers to total change. So by being plunged into the water, we declare that we’re choosing to die to our old way of life and are uniting with Christ. Our sin is buried with Him, and its power is conquered through His atoning death on the cross (Rom. 6:14). When we’re raised up out of the water, we affirm His resurrection. Baptism is a symbolic way of expressing that just as the Lord conquered death and rose again, we are spiritually resurrected from death into new life. We are “born again” and irrevocably transformed through the power of His Holy Spirit.

In the Bible, the word “believe” isn’t a conceptual word describing intellectual agreement alone. It is a word of action. Our belief should never be hidden like a light placed under a bowl (Luke 11:33)–when unbelieving family and friends look at our lives, they need to see the gospel in action.

Researchers have stumbled onto a subject that has long been tested, though perhaps never before quite so clinically.  Over the last decade, millions of dollars have been spent on testing the effects of prayer in the field of medicine.  The studies, which have targeted an assortment of medical conditions and religious traditions, have attracted criticism from all over the place. Some argue that science has no place exploring matters of religion. Others note the impossibility of creating a controlled environment or securing viable results. Still others argue these experiments at the outset have a faulty understanding of both God and prayer. The opinions of those conducting the studies are equally varied. One scientist insists the tests are meant to answer practical questions and not religious ones; another thanks God in the official report of his findings. Nearly all involved agree that such studies are difficult, but that the subject is one worth testing, however little we understand it.(1)   

 That one’s prayers are with the sick, troubled, or grieving is a promise often uttered. It is a phrase heard both within and outside of Christian circles: “My prayers are with you.” It is a promise that could perhaps be met with cynicism. Is he really praying for me? Are her words a goodhearted turn of phrase and little more? The well-meaning words are undoubtedly uttered from time to time without much follow-through—or intention for that matter. But more often, the thought is received as it is likely intended. It is encouraging to know that someone is thinking of you, that his thoughts and prayers are with you, hoping or crying out with your own. The late atheist Christopher Hitchens said he was touched by the thought that he was in people’s prayers.(2) The assuring words remind the one struggling that they are not standing entirely alone in the darkness. And certainly that is a powerful thought in the midst of pain and uncertainty, as many scientists and psychologists have discovered.

 But what about the times when someone has told you that they are praying for you, and you know that they are doing exactly that: crying out to God on your behalf. Have you ever heard anyone say that they could sense the prayers of believers moving them through a difficult situation? For these people, the power of prayer moves well beyond encouragement.

 In fact, when uttered on sincere lips, “I’m praying for you” can be as frightening a thought as it is encouraging. Someone is standing before God with your name on her heart, rebelling against the status quo, refusing, like the woman before the judge, to take no for an answer. This introduces an entirely new set of concerns: Is she praying for me the way I’d like things to turn out? Is he asking God for the answer I’m hoping for? When my dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I was livid when someone told me they were praying that God would take him home quickly—despite the fact that in between our cries for healing, we were praying that God would simply be near and real and in control. As someone once noted, prayer requires more of the heart than of the tongue. Knowing that someone is standing before God on your behalf is powerful not because she is standing with you but because she is standing with God.

 The apostle Paul often voiced in his letters gratitude for the prayers of believers on his behalf. In and out of jail, in abundance and in lack, he saw them participate in bringing about God’s purposes in his life through their prayers for him. To the Philippian church he wrote, “Yes, and I will continue to rejoice, for I know that through your prayers and the help given by the Spirit of Jesus Christ, what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance” (1:19). He did not thank them for praying that what had happened to him would be altogether reversed, but that the purposes of God would be accomplished in all things. Paul saw the power in prayers that hope and expect with all boldness that Christ will be exalted whether by life or by death.

 As one has said, “Prayer is not about overcoming God’s reluctance, but laying hold of his willingness.” Perhaps the best studies in prayer are in the lives of those who see that its power lies wholly in the one in whom we pray. 

 Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

 (1) Benson H, Dusek JA, Sherwood JB, et al. (April 2006), “Study of the Therapeutic Effects of Intercessory Prayer (STEP) in cardiac bypass patients: a multicenter randomized trial of uncertainty and certainty of receiving intercessory prayer,” American Heart Journal, 934–42.
(2) Ross Douthat, “Prayers For Christopher Hitchens,” The New York Times, July 15, 2010.

Morning “The cedars of Lebanon which he hath planted.” / Psalm 104:16

Lebanon’s cedars are emblematic of the Christian, in that they owe their
planting entirely to the Lord. This is quite true of every child of God. He is
not man-planted, nor self-planted, but God-planted. The mysterious hand of the
divine Spirit dropped the living seed into a heart which he had himself
prepared for its reception. Every true heir of heaven owns the great
Husbandman as his planter. Moreover, the cedars of Lebanon are not dependent
upon man for their watering; they stand on the lofty rock, unmoistened by
human irrigation; and yet our heavenly Father supplieth them. Thus it is with
the Christian who has learned to live by faith. He is independent of man, even
in temporal things; for his continued maintenance he looks to the Lord his
God, and to him alone. The dew of heaven is his portion, and the God of heaven
is his fountain. Again, the cedars of Lebanon are not protected by any mortal
power. They owe nothing to man for their preservation from stormy wind and
tempest. They are God’s trees, kept and preserved by him, and by him alone. It
is precisely the same with the Christian. He is not a hot-house plant,
sheltered from temptation; he stands in the most exposed position; he has no
shelter, no protection, except this, that the broad wings of the eternal God
always cover the cedars which he himself has planted. Like cedars, believers
are full of sap, having vitality enough to be ever green, even amid winter’s
snows. Lastly, the flourishing and majestic condition of the cedar is to the
praise of God only. The Lord, even the Lord alone hath been everything unto
the cedars, and, therefore David very sweetly puts it in one of the psalms,
“Praise ye the Lord, fruitful trees and all cedars.” In the believer there is
nothing that can magnify man; he is planted, nourished, and protected by the
Lord’s own hand, and to him let all the glory be ascribed.

Evening “And I will remember my covenant.” / Genesis 9:15

Mark the form of the promise. God does not say, “And when ye shall look upon
the bow, and ye shall remember my covenant, then I will not destroy the
earth,” but it is gloriously put, not upon our memory, which is fickle and
frail, but upon God’s memory, which is infinite and immutable. “The bow shall
be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, that I may remember the everlasting
covenant.” Oh! it is not my remembering God, it is God’s remembering me which
is the ground of my safety; it is not my laying hold of his covenant, but his
covenant’s laying hold on me. Glory be to God! the whole of the bulwarks of
salvation are secured by divine power, and even the minor towers, which we may
imagine might have been left to man, are guarded by almighty strength. Even
the remembrance of the covenant is not left to our memories, for we might
forget, but our Lord cannot forget the saints whom he has graven on the palms
of his hands. It is with us as with Israel in Egypt; the blood was upon the
lintel and the two side-posts, but the Lord did not say, “When you see the
blood I will pass over you,” but “When I see the blood I will pass over you.”
My looking to Jesus brings me joy and peace, but it is God’s looking to Jesus
which secures my salvation and that of all his elect, since it is impossible
for our God to look at Christ, our bleeding Surety, and then to be angry with
us for sins already punished in him. No, it is not left with us even to be
saved by remembering the covenant. There is no linsey-wolsey here–not a
single thread of the creature mars the fabric. It is not of man, neither by
man, but of the Lord alone. We should remember the covenant, and we shall do
it, through divine grace; but the hinge of our safety does not hang there–it
is God’s remembering us, not our remembering him; and hence the covenant is an
everlasting covenant.

I will remember my covenant. Genesis 9:15

Note the form of this promise. God does not say, “And when you shall look upon the bow, and you shall remember My covenant, then I will not destroy the earth,” but it is gloriously put, not upon our memory, which is fickle and frail, but upon God’s memory, which is infinite and immutable. “When . . . the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant.” It is not my remembering God—it is God’s remembering me that is the ground of my safety; it is not my laying hold of His covenant, but His covenant’s laying hold on me. Glory be to God!

The ramparts of salvation are secured by divine power, and even the minor towers, which we could imagine being left to man, are guarded by almighty strength. Even the remembrance of the covenant is not left to our memories, for we might forget; but our Lord cannot forget the names of those whom He has graven on the palms of His hands. It is with us as it was with Israel in Egypt; the blood was upon the lintel and the two side-posts, but the Lord did not say, “When you see the blood I will pass over you,” but “When I see the blood I will pass over you.”

My looking to Jesus brings me joy and peace, but it is God’s looking to Jesus that secures my salvation and that of all His elect, since it is impossible for our God to look at Christ, our bleeding Surety, and then to be angry with us for sins already punished in Him. It is not left with us even to be saved by remembering the covenant. There is not a single thread of human effort in this fabric. It is not of man, neither by man, but of the Lord alone. We should remember the covenant, and we shall do it, through divine grace; but the hinge of our safety does not hang there—it is God’s remembering us, not our remembering Him; and hence the covenant is an everlasting covenant.

Family Reading Plan Jeremiah 41 Psalm 17