Moving Mountains

Think of a person learning to sail. The first lesson is often about reading the wind, feeling its direction and strength on your skin. But the second, more difficult lesson is about the currents—the invisible, powerful forces moving beneath the surface. A novice sailor can have the wind perfectly in their sails, pointing their boat exactly where they want to go, yet find themselves being pulled sideways, or even backwards, by a current they never knew was there. They can trim the sails, wrestle the rudder, and exhaust themselves fighting a force they can't see, all while wondering why their best efforts are leading to nothing but frustration and drift.

This gap—between our conscious efforts and the unseen forces that seem to sabotage them—is where many of us live in our spiritual lives. We say the right words, we follow the right steps, but we feel like that novice sailor, stuck and wondering why nothing is changing. It was from this very place of personal frustration that John Eldredge wrote Moving Mountains. A bestselling author and counselor known for his work on Christian spirituality, Eldredge found his own prayer life had become tired and ineffective, a duty rather than a powerful connection. He embarked on a multi-year journey, not just into scripture, but into his own experiences, to rediscover what it truly means to pray in a way that engages with the unseen currents of the world and actually changes things.

Module 1: The Real World We Pray In

Before you can pray effectively, you have to understand the environment you're operating in. Eldredge argues that our prayers often fail because our view of reality is too simple, too sanitized. We tend to operate with a naïve model: God is good, we need help, we ask, and the rest is up to him. When that fails, we get disillusioned. But this model ignores two critical facts about our world.

First, God is actively committed to our spiritual maturation. He is a Father raising sons and daughters. Eldredge uses the analogy of teaching his son to drive. He was delighted with the initial, clumsy attempts. But he would be deeply disappointed if his son's skill never improved. In the same way, God delights in our first simple prayers. But he is calling us to grow into mature, capable allies. This means he will lead us into challenging situations, what C.S. Lewis called "perilous missions," because that is where we develop strength and true faith. Life is a training ground for spiritual maturity.

But there's another piece. We are living in the middle of an active spiritual war. Eldredge is direct about this. He points to the story of Daniel, who prayed for 21 days before an angel arrived. The angel explained that God answered on day one, but he was blocked by a demonic "prince of the Persian kingdom." This story reveals a crucial truth. Unanswered prayer can be about active spiritual opposition. This war isn't just an ancient story. Eldredge points to the brutal "Massacre of the Innocents" in the Christmas story, where King Herod murdered children to eliminate the infant Jesus. This violent reality is the true context of our lives, yet we often sanitize it, turning the nativity into a peaceful pageant. Jesus himself said he was sending his followers out "like sheep among wolves." This is a description of our position in a hostile spiritual environment.

So here's the synthesis. God is training us for maturity, but he's doing it on a battlefield. It’s like sending a third-grade class to take the beaches at Normandy. It seems insane. But this is the reality. This context explains why simple, passive prayers are often inadequate. A soldier needs to know how to use their weapon. And for the believer, that weapon is prayer.

Module 2: The Heart of Prayer—Your Gaze and Your Identity

Now that we understand the context, let's look at the posture of prayer. Eldredge argues that where you fix your gaze determines the power of your prayer. It's a simple but profound shift.

The core insight is this: You must fix your gaze on God, not on the problem. When we are overwhelmed by a crisis—a terrifying diagnosis, a financial collapse, a relational breakdown—our natural tendency is to fixate on the problem. We stare at the "waves," like Peter did when he tried to walk on water. And just like him, we begin to sink. Eldredge shares a story from the film The Hobbit, where the hero Bard is facing the dragon Smaug. His son, Bain, is frozen in terror, staring at the monster. Bard grabs him and says, "Bain! Look at me—you look at me." The moment the boy turns his gaze from the dragon to his father's face, he finds calm. This is the essential move in prayer. We must turn our gaze from the terrifying problem to the face of our Father. Jesus modeled this. Before feeding the 5,000, he "looked up to heaven." At Lazarus's tomb, surrounded by death and grief, he "looked up." He was actively orienting himself to the resources of God, not the limitations of the situation.

To do this, you must actively recall who God is and who you are to Him. Our default images of God are often too small. We see him as a distant, preoccupied executive. Eldredge encourages us to shatter these small images. Contemplate the sun, a nuclear furnace, and then remember that scientists estimate there are four hundred billion billion other stars. This is the God we pray to. Power is not an issue for him. But more than power, we must remember his love. The fixed point for understanding God's love is the cross. Romans 5:8 says, "God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." We are praying to the One who sacrificed himself for us.

And who are we? We are sons and daughters. Eldredge uses the parable of the prodigal son. The son rehearses a speech of unworthiness, an "orphan and slave" speech. But the father runs to him, embraces him, and throws a party. This is how God sees us. When we pray, we are walking into the throne room with the full rights of a beloved child. This identity changes everything. It moves our prayer from a posture of begging to a posture of confident expectation.