Poems
A PRAYER
To be said
When the world
Has gotten you down,
And you feel rotten,
And you're too doggone tired
To pray,
And you're in a big hurry
And besides
You're mad at everybody
Anyway.
Help!
A Poem
A poem, a page
words trailing thoughts
like ant trails
clumsy yet graceful
and always scurrying
A hand on a page
lifting a thought __
pushing it __ prodding it
until it falls into place
with new meaning
A brain _ somewhere between
pebble and boulder
prodded into comprehension
by ant trails
to the stars.
A Friend
A friend hears the song in my heart
and sings it to me when memory fails.
A friend not only hears the song in my heart,
but gives me the courage to sing it.
A friends hears the discords in my song
and recognizes the deeper harmony.
A friend hears the song in my heart
and makes it possible for me to believe
that the beauty and the terror really is a song.
A friend hears the song in me
and sings me a song in return.
A friend is a song that sings in me.
In the Dark
I worship a God who keeps me in the dark.
How hard I strive to find my way
in a blackness that is eternal.
Glimpses of light appear and disappear like fireflies,
giving promise that my eyes are not wasted, that I can see.
But nowhere has the darkness been more black
than in the presence of God's blinding light.
Why is my soul cast down?
Why is there disquiet within me?
Because I press against the dark
and am swallowed up in unknowing.
I cry, "I am not blind! I have eyes! I see!"
And my very crying alerts God's angels
there is a tortured soul still mired in self,
in me.
Yet God, Almighty God, is not displeased.
The heart that hesitates, the foot that stumbles
can be led, can be taught, can be held until the trembling stops.
It is in the desert,
in the dark,
in the aching chill of the unmeasured depths,
in the blind groping of the thirsting soul
the false self dies,
and God's child can be born.
God calls me into the dark:
to be alone with sacred mystery;
to feel the empty place,
the hollow soul,
the bruised wisdom
the illusion of Almighty Me.
And there I hear:
"Whom shall I send? Who will go for me?"
Prayer for a Gray Day
When the days all look alike,
and people's voices start to sound the same;
when this hour is just like the last,
and probably like the next one, too __
When, in short, the stream of my life
is all still water
with no white rapids of excitement
or glorious waterfalls _
Then, O Lord, I ache for color __
for butterflies,
and sunrises,
and incandescent rainbows in the skies.
When days are gray, then I am gray,
praying for your almighty hand,
to transform the dull hills and valleys of my life
into a Yellowstone,
or a Grand Canyon.
What a shock to hear your cheerful reply,
"May I lend you my paintbrush?"
By Night
There were shepherds keeping watch by night.
It was in the dark of night the Good News broke through.
And it is in my dark nights I finally catch
a glimpse of God.
I seldom bother to look in the daytime.
My path is clearer then; the landscape, familiar;
I trot along content.
But when darkness threatens,
I begin searching the horizon for help.
I seek shelter in old answers;
I cushion my pain with platitudes and bromides;
I hurriedly build fires out of time-worn emotions
and counterfeit visions of fairy-tale Messiahs.
I stubbornly resist the dark.
But it is in the dark that God breaks through.
When old ideas die, when hopes decay,
when my best knowledge is ignorance,
and the path on which I walk is as dark and stifled
as an unopened tomb --
then the light stabs through
and I hear the angels sing.
So I shall keep my watch by night --
for daylight masks the stars.
Through Sun and Shadow
Through sun and shadow,
hope,
and that which has no name _
with faith and dismay
and speechless wonder
so goes your days _ my days.
Would I choose otherwise?
My plans, my hopes, my opportunities
all rainbow_draped and wide
look grand,
seem sound
from my earthbound
view.
And God knows the intersections of surprise
of the unexpected
of the unsurmised
rarely justifies the praise reserved
for novelty.
And yet...
And yet...
Among the shambles of my
uncompleted plans and hopes and dreams
I always find a space
not normally there __
for company
In such times I know a surprising truth __
God is,
and is,
And is my friend.
There Was a Summer
There was a summer,
sun-greened and river-washed,
that birthed me and bathed me
and redirected my road.
It was a Pecos summer,
mountain-topped and air-swept,
where words met touch
in echoing hearts
and I thought I heard my name.
We broke bread and drank wine
and unraveled the tangled skeins
of stories - true and partly true -
and the river washed
and the meadow greened
and we believed we heard our names.
In that summer, a girl danced,
her skin milk white, her hair burnt red,
her eyes star-bright like rain drops
in a rising sun,
and we needed no names.
There was a summer -
sun-greened and river-washed -
a phantom summer,
hushed and perfumed
with sacred smoke,
where I forgot my name.
But not the road.
The Monk on the Mesa
(Ghost Ranch - October, 1991)
There are spirits in the rocks,
forms and visions
only enchanted eyes can see.
They are still, unmoving,
their presence undetectable
until the Trickster light
exposes and betrays them.
There are ghosts in the trees,
Holy Ghosts,
benevolent, sacred,
hidden in leafy stillness.
They smile with silent laughter
and hide themselves again;
as the shadows perform
their titillating dance
across the grainy surface of
the quivering gold
and aspen green.
"I see you," I whisper
"you cannot hide from me!"
"Are you sure?"
they gently tease,
And restless, transmutant,
cloud-like, ever-changing,
they are not what they were.
They challenge me.
Oh laughing spirits, Holy Ghosts.
How infinite in liveliness
the world must be
to accommodate you so completely.
And how miraculous the eyes that see
if only for a moment -
yet captures for all time -
Eternal forms,
- divine presence -
unchanging verities.
God's calling cards!
Goodbye
Such terrible words
meant to comfort and cheer –
but terrible still
for they promise parting
and absence,
and missing you.
Yet speak them we must
and learn to live,
as if each day were a
fresh goodbye
made bearable by the certainty
the last “Hello” and
“Welcome Home”
are still waiting
to be said.
I Saw a Rose
May 4, 1999 after the tornado hit Oklahoma City
A house had been "smashed" into shreds and splinters of wood _ you wouldn't
even know it was a house _ and in the front yard was a rose bush in full
bloom, not damaged at all. The vision of life and death standing so close
together was almost more than my mind could accept. Carolyn Stephens
I saw a rose.
A ray of sun pointed
finger-like amid the ruin
and the color gripped the light
as if it were a spring of living water
struggling to become.
It was a lonely sight
that one lone breathing thing
where all else had been
twisted and destroyed,
despised droppings of a devil wind.
Such courage to stand there
ignored by all around it.
Here a twisted picture frame
and there a tattered shoe,
a Bible shiny new and now dust-free
licked clean by the wild tempest
ever fickle in its tastes.
I did not know a rose could stop one's breath
or free the flood-gate of one's tears
or cause the heart to murmur
its unspoken prayer
"My God, my God, have you forsaken me?"
But those brave petals
comforted and made bold
my timid soul,
for I heard - as Mary Magdalene once did -
"Be not afraid."
And saw that Lazarus smiled
from his reopened tomb.
Lazarus, My Brother
What did you think of that?
That cold sleep, and the unexpected light?
What was it like to let your breathing go,
feel your muscles slacken,
your eyes turn black?
What was it like ... to die?
Your sisters cried,
and your friends, too.
Even Jesus,
offended by their unbelieving, wept.
You could hear the bellow of his voice
all the way to Jerusalem.
What did you think when he called, "Come forth!"
Did you recognize his voice?
Did you know it was to you he spoke?
(It's too late for that, Lord;
there is no strength or breath in me,
I am used up; my body stinks.
Leave me to my death journey
and forgetfulness.)
But he didn't leave you, brother.
We saw:
You came forth
a birthing out of time.
How did it feel, Lazarus,
to taste again
the fresh air and the wedding wine
the throb of hope,
and the burden of desire?
How did it feel
this eternal life He gave you
at the tomb?
How will it feel,
when he calls my name
and offers it
to me?
Joseph
Silent he stands, the other father.
No light for him, no shining star,
No singing choirs, or prophesies,
He stands and watches, witness to a love
He cannot share or understand.
Angels carol the newborn child,
Wise men worship, shepherds adore;
But Joseph hymns no holy songs.
Guardian of Mary and the son of God,
He keeps his watch.
No chill will touch the mother, bride,
While his strong hand and heavy cloak
Can shield her and her God-child.
His the journey, his the ache,
His the guarding of the holy pair,
Keeping safe a family only partly his.
"God-child, part stranger and part son,
I love thee, as my own.
Lean on my arm, its strength is yours.
Who harms thee is no friend of mine."
"Father, forgive them,"
The tortured voice implores.
And as the sky rains down
The other father weeps.
A Shepherd Explains
It was a strange, a ghost-like light
that some say they saw upon the hill that night.
My eyes were busy on the ground,
for sheep are stupid beasts and need attentive eyes
to keep them from the bramble and the cliffs.
The evening air had been so still,
I once thought I heard singing from the tower
that watches Herod's gate;
but soldiers' songs are empty tunes
that dull the ear too soon to be remembered.
The rustle of the grass meant more to me -
that and the bleat of little lambs.
They said it was an angel - a host of angels
and a heavenly song. They said a babe was born.
They said we all must go to see the child
and worship God's Messiah in a stable.
They say they found him too - I cannot tell -
I did not go, for I'm a good shepherd
and kept the flock while they went in search
of wonders too great for humble eyes.
I'm a shepherd and not used to holy visions,
songs of glory, heavenly signs.
I tend the sheep God gives me and will do my all
to see none of his little ones should come to harm.
That's why I marvel
that I left my sheep a little while ago
to help a young man and his wife and child
speed on their way to Egypt, away from
the cry of children and the soldiers' curse
in this cruel place.
What if their child had been the Holy One?
But aren't all little children holy ones?
Perhaps that's why I thought I heard a
"Gloria in excelsis Deo!"
The Innkeeper
She calls me an innkeeper
that woman of mine.
Pretty fancy name for the likes of me.
It's her putting on airs, I say.
Wants to be somebody
like her neighbors be.
But it earns a few coins,
this letting strangers stay
and huddle with the creatures
in the straw.
It can be a nuisance, though,
when they're a noisy lot;
or leave the stable filthy with
their offal or their fleas.
Or if they ask in guests
like that young couple did.
Good Lord, you should have seen
them prancing in all goggle_eyed
shushing and whispering
like they was in a holy temple.
I never saw the like.
And if that was not enough,
foreigners in silks and jewels
came knocking at the door.
The wife was such a lady then
She hasn't been her old self ever since.
But it put me out, believe you me.
All that talk of angels and of stars
and a baby in a manger
that was the Son of God.
Not in my stable.
There was nothing holy
about that family to my eyes.
Just nuisance and an eerie calm
that settled down upon our home.
No, I'm no innkeeper,
that's her idea, not mine.
Let her play hostess to the divine.
On the Road to Bethlehem
Did they ever wonder about that star?
I mean,
that's a long way to go
on an unproven assumption.
Faith can carry one far,
but it can also get you in trouble.
What if you picked the wrong star?
Did they agree,
those mystic magi?
Mystics are tricky guys,
they use a different kind of talk.
How could they be sure they were all
looking for the same thing?
Gods are hard to track down,
and even harder to describe
when you find them.
They must have gotten lost.
I'm sure of it _
You want me to believe they
traipsed right to that stable,
cock proud, with nary a misstep
the whole long way?
No way; no way at all.
Even with a star,
an errant star,
they must have gotten lost.
Must have groped in darkness,
doubled back upon their trail,
lost in the fun house,
with mirrors and dirty glass
_maybe even argued and railed
and tasted gall.
But they kept going.
You must hand it to them on that score.
Kept going, and kept trying,
and seemed satisfied when they found
the little child.
They left the gifts, didn't they?
Or were their hearts so full,
they had no room left for
trifles like incense and gold
to carry home?
I cannot tell,
but I can understand
the wandering.
My star is still too far ahead
for me to trace its homing.
And my path is nothing more
than dusty tracks
beneath a brooding sky.
I wonder if the babe will be surprised
to find my only gift is a questing heart
and a splintered cross?
Gifts From the Magi
Gold
and frankincense
and myrrh.
What on earth
can a new-born infant do
with these?
Put the gold aside
for a college education,
perhaps;
and the incense
might come in handy
some day
for a wedding feast
or a funeral.
But a mangered-child
could scarcely be expected
to laugh with pleasure
at the sight of such
human vanities.
Yet the babe
accepted their gifts
and gravely smiled,
because they were
the very best
the Magi could afford to give.
A King's treasure
for a King.
"Perhaps next time,"
the man-child thought,
"they'll give me the rarer gift!"
And wistfully
he coveted
their hearts.
How Do You Package Love?
A picture book looks nice in gold paper
but how do you package love?
A stocking will hold Billy's ball,
and the Christmas tree is just the place
to cradle Sally's doll,
but how do you package love?
Will it fit in a box?
Or a sack?
Or a sock
hanging by the fireplace?
Can you cover it with lace
like the collar mother used to wear
for dress-up on Sunday Morning?
Maybe a sprig of holly would do,
or mistletoe,
to show
where the heart is.
But can you wrap up love?
Can you write it on a check
or deck it with a wreath?
How many yards of ribbon will it take
to make love warm enough
to break through
the chill propriety
of our good will?
A stable was the best God could do.
Love trembled in a manger
and then lay still,
as disbelieving men,
(they had come so far in search of him)
wondered if this was all.
A babe can be so small!
Love came wrapped in straw
and the marvel of a mother's smile
And though we add our incense
and our gold,
our ribbon red, and Billy's ball,
our stockings, tree, and Sally's dimpled doll,
the marvel of God's love
can still seem small
unless the Mother smiles.
How do you package love?
You wreathe it in your eyes.
In the Boat
The storm had become so fierce
the disciples cried out -
"Teacher, do you not care if we perish?"
For answer, he calmed the storm,
then asked a question of his own -
"Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?"
Now I have faith -
in boats and docks and snug, calm harbors.
I even have faith in miracle workers
who can still the storms I can't control.
What gets me is the thought
that my miracle worker
isn't paying attention to my plight.
What good is a sleeping Jesus?
I've been in some hurricanes of my own -
haven't we all?
And felt the winds batter and the waves roll.
I've cried out,
"Lord, why don't you do something?
Don't you care?"
The gentleness of his answer still amazes me!
"Don't I care?
What do you think I'm doing
in this boat?"
Lost and Found
It must have been a most expensive sheep
if the shepherd risked losing ninety-nine
to search for one.
And Lord knows the worth
of that lost coin
if the woman of the house
would upset the furniture,
tear apart the beds,
topple the dishes from the cupboard
and overturn the wine jars
looking for it.
When my days have come unstitched
and old certainties
prove illusory;
when prayer is a hollow exercise
in sending words up
to be swallowed in the blackness overhead;
when I am most thoroughly confused
and all "shook-up";
I sometimes wonder
if God is turning the house inside out again
looking for me!
I had no idea I was worth that much.
Peter in the Confessional
It began when he said, "Follow me."
That was intriguing and sounded like
something I could do.
Of course, I was better at catching fish,
than fishing for men;
but he had such a way about him..
I began to think I could do almost anything.
Even walk on water.
Then he said, "I must die,"
and "I must go,"
and "what I do, you shall do also."
Lord, it got hard; awfully hard.
I promised faithfulness, and let him down.
I vowed to be there for him, and ran away.
He called me his "Rock"
and I crumbled like sand.
Can Jesus use a soiled
and worn out disciple?
I guess he can,
for I still hear his voice saying,
"Peter, do you love me? Feed my sheep."
I'm not too good at vows and promises,
but I'm learning to listen for instructions.
House Building
Lord, I’d like to build a tabernacle
right here in my hometown–
on my own mountaintop–
and keep you in my temple
all alone.
But you have little liking for my
mountain tabernacles.
You shun their permanence
and choose instead
the questionable comfort
of a traveling tent.
Interesting how every time
I try to house you,
I end up
boxing in myself.
Peace
Shalom, Salaam, Shanti, Vrede, Paz, Mir, Peace -
How many words do you have for peace?
How many times have you opted for peace
and then could find no room for peace in your heart?
How thrilling does it sound to have angels announce “Peace”
for all who have hearts disposed to extend good will to others
when we have forgotten to prepare ourselves for our holy guest?
Some of us can remember Churchill speaking of “Peace in our Time,”
and we cried for joy. We knew the deprivation and pain of war
and peace had been our nightly, daily, constant prayer.
We pray for it again, we hurt for it, we tremble at the thought of its long
delay.
But do we hear the promise of it in the angels’ song?
Do we welcome it gladly in the babe we call the Prince of Peace?
Or has the gift of God been housed once again in a cowshed?
I did an inventory of my week,
the hours and days that have silently slipped away,
and looked intently for that moment
when I prayed for peace,
longed for peace,
offered the touch and sound of peace
in my voice and in my hands.
God forgive me, it was not there.
So many moments, so many opportunities,
and peace had gone ignored.
What I did notice was the prominent place of anger,
stirred to a seething porridge of resentment and rage.
Its fire was well tended, and the mess easily came back to its roiling boil.
Fear has not been the house guest it once was, but its room is ready.
I’ve entertained it far more lavishly than I’ve ever done for peace.
But not as slavishly as that pesky nuisance regret.
Things done and things not done, both have left their baggage
and crowded out the humbler guests
of hope, expectation and shy opportunity. Each Sunday our little church family
recites its litany:
Shalom, Salaam, Shanti, Vrede, Paz, Mir, Peace.
“Vrede” - our pastor is a native of South Africa
and taught us to pronounce their word for peace in Afrikaans.
As we do, we hold hands,
inviting that peace to bless and strengthen each one of us.
But when the circle is broken,
so is the sacred link to the blessed peace we had just invoked.
The orphan peace is once again left behind,
even as the tiny Christmas babe is left behind,
lying forgotten in that rude bed of hay.
I wonder if some angel still sings the good news of peace
for all God’s children today?
I wonder if the hope still shines in someone’s eyes somewhere
that I have overlooked?
I wonder if there is any room left in me
through which that light might flicker and flash out?
Yet as soon as the question has been spoken, I forget.
The real world claims me once again.
But for this one blessed moment,
right here, right now, I have remembered.
For this one brief blessed moment,
the guest has had the seat of honor in my heart.
Around this simple seat, a circle stretches wide,
and I feel your hands touching, holding, warming once again,
the spirit that had threatened to go cold,
snuffed out by the evening news,
paralyzed by the inertia of the commonplace.
Our guest is young, unused to our language and our habits.
We must learn a new vocabulary,
discover ways to paint our dreams;
attention is needed, and rusty knees will require patience
as they learn to kneel in prayer, or join the new dance of joy.
That’s where your steady hands and warm hearts
make joy a living friend, hope a brighter promise
and peace a way of life again for me.
Shalom, Salaam, Shanti, Vrede, Paz, Mir, Peace
Angels are singing the promise,
Pray God we can find the will to listen and hear
their sound and commit our hearts
to embody it in our peace-deprived and quaking world.
God, I Feel so Small
Great God of the Universe
I feel so small
Do you remember us at all?
Do you know when I am afraid?
Have you seen me tremble in the night
groping for a safer space
and just a glimpse of light?
Surely you have heard my cry
when grief was my bleak guest -
and you know the feel of pain,
the ache of loss, the fear of death.
I rushed ahead, not carelessly,
but fast enough I did not see
the tiny creature in the road.
I struck it, and in the mirror
I saw it shudder and die -
If I had slowed
it might not have been done.
But such things do happen,
and I must rush on.
Oh, merciful God; if you rush on,
which of us can bear the pain?
If you forget our agony
we must shudder in our mortality.
The cross stands high,
its love is grand - too grand for us
to understand;
But show me this, and I'll be satisfied:
show me you remember and remain,
that I need not fear the dark again,
for you are by my side.
Fear - Yesterday's Child
Fear is not always a response to real danger.
Often it is shadowboxing with
the ghosts of yesterday.
Like the farmer and his horse,
who one day had to go downstream to ford the river
because the bridge had washed out.
After the bridge was rebuilt
the horse still tried to turn downstream
searching out the shallow water for a safe crossing.
"That horse has a damn good memory,"
the farmer said,
"but not much common sense!"
So we trudge downstream searching for the safer way
long after the danger's past,
not because it makes much sense
but because we remember yesterday too well.
Candle Power
I was looking for searchlights.
Do you remember them?
During the war?
Stabbing the sky,
Criss-crossing,
the sirens blaring, and
the airplane engines droning
ominously?
That's what I looked for.
A life as dark as mine needed all the light it could get.
So I asked big questions -
About the size and shape of God
I didn't want to be impertinent,
I just wanted to know.
Just in case I was praying
the wrong prayers,
to the wrong deity.
I wanted a perfectly clear,
perfectly obvious,
perfectly glorious
Searchlight
to show me I was on the right path.
I didn't get it.
Instead I was plunged into greater darkness;
so dark, in fact, I thought
there was nobody there
and no more use to pray.
Then you came and sat beside me,
while I shuddered in the dark,
and later,
when I began to notice
faith stirring in me once again;
it dawned on me you had carried
a candle in your soul.
How many candles have I missed, Lord?
Is mine lit today?
Ever Ready
Sure wish I was, Lord,
Ever ready -
a cat with nine lives -
so every time life tripped me up
I landed on my feet.
Ever ready -
and never surprised.
But me? I'm always surprised.
I wasn't ready for the broken heart, or the cancer cell;
the birthing bed or the dying sigh.
I'm never ready
for the moment that
crushes the heart
and collapses the lungs.
Every time I need real faith,
my battery's dead.
It's hell Lord, trying to pray
with a dead battery.
When you're scared stiff,
or crying, or in shock, or numb -
and you know the battery's dead.
You might as well be dumb.
How strange,
you never seem to mind
When I am dumb.
My silence gives you no offense,
You are ready,
And prove that faith
is not so much a knowledge
of what's certain,
But a constancy,
A habit of the heart,
That goes on caring, goes on trying
No matter what may come.
All Praise to You My Ever-Ready God!
Buddy, Got a Match?
I like to think my life will be summed up
as the giving of a match to one in need of light.
For what light has shone in my darkness
came as a borrowed faith -
a slim match from a friend
who was willing to share with me
when I could not find God on my own.
Now -
though I cannot make you see God -
I can lend you a match,
so that you can go out into your darkness
a little less afraid.
Prayers
For many years
I have depended on visits with God to sweep away
the cobwebs and shadows that plagued my life.
Sometimes the cobwebs were nothing more than sloth:
more often they were scars and adhesions,
memories of battles and surgeries I had mercifully survived
but had been unable to forget.
The shadows were the demons that had chased me in my dreams
and continued to chase me through the cluttered alleys
of my mind.
As I prepared for Morning Worship
my prayers reflected these visits.
I sought to make my prayers speak of human things
and reflect the lives of my congregation.
I did not know how much more personal they really were.
Yet paradoxically enough, the more personal I became,
the more they heard and felt
and recognized themselves in my words.
They asked for copies of these visits,
and collected them,
until the collection was quite large.
I, meanwhile, mislaid my copies and thought they all were lost.
Now, amazingly, they have come back --
gifts from friends who kept them,
cherished them, and returned them to me.
Here are a few, my spiritual diary.
I offer them to you to do with as you wish.
Perhaps some will sound familiar to you.
Most are from the past, but not all.
The visits still continue.
God is a most faithful and attentive guest,
when we take the time to be at home!
I’ve been wondering God,
what is the best way to entertain your Spirit?
I've thought much of how to get ready for your coming,
but what do I do after you arrive?
Must I watch my language - put a guard on my temper;
pray more frequently - and be more loving of others?
I ask because I found you beside me this week;
and I didn't know what to do or say.
How often I've prayed for your presence;
pleaded with you to walk beside me;
cried out for your spirit to keep me company on my road.
And then you were there.
No fanfare, no blinding light, no thundering voice - only a calm presence,
as quiet and comfortable and natural as if a very good friend had joined me.
You still are with me.
I am humbled by your graciousness and warmed by your presence.
But I'm embarrassed too.
How small my problems seem when you are near.
How foolish my frantic prayers for help.
So much I vowed I'd tell you, yet when you came, I had nothing to say.
I should have made you welcome, but you did that yourself.
I don't know what else to do -
unless it would be to grasp your hand and confess
that, though I'm just a little nervous,
I'm awfully glad you're here.
Now, grant me one more blessing, please:
help me to stay close to you this day.
I pray in Jesus' name. Amen.
Prayer for New Words
Lord, give me some new words to pray with;
I'm tired of all the God words,
the comfortable words,
the Church words that drip off my tongue like oozing oil.
They have a musty taste, as if they were tinged with mold.
I need some new words, Lord, words that stab and hurt,
words that sparkle and flare up, words like clean windows
that will let you see into my soul.
Surely there's a word to describe how I feel,
as if I were going to burst apart
like a steam boiler whose safety valve is broken.
Joy and anger, hurt and happy, pride and shame--
oh so many things seething inside me trying to get out.
At the same time, I want words that are safe.
Words to hide behind.
I want to be proper, polite, well thought of:
keep me cool, Lord, calm and cool.
Do you hear what I'm telling you?
I feel so much, I'm afraid of my feelings.
It's like there was a different me inside clamoring to get out.
And the more it clamors, the more cool I become.
I feel like I'm surrounded by a wall of ice that nothing can melt.
You see why I need new words?
Yet words won't really help me, Lord.
My words don't need changing: I do.
Melt the wall, Lord.
Warm me and free me.
Teach me how to bear the fear of being me.
Then perhaps I won't need to be cool any more.
I won't need words with double meanings.
I won't need polite lies and half truths.
Oh Lord, please, help me be me. Amen.
Prayer for a Fearful Man
Oh God,
how I long to trust you -
to really trust you - in everything!
I know you are our good God,
I know you are our loving Father,
I know there is no need in me you do not already know
and provide for;
but I am an anxious man.
I cannot see beyond my own nose.
I am fearful about the next day,
the next hour,
even the next step.
I cling to my anxieties for dear life!
Why do I cling so? I always have to turn lose in the end.
There is nothing I can hold and keep.
My possessions? I cannot take them with me into eternity.
My friend? I cannot hold another's life.
My reputation? People will think what they will think.
Love? Love only thrives when held with an open hand.
My life itself?
I do not own it; I cannot hold it; it was yours
before I knew it; it will be yours again in the end.
So why do I cling, O God? Why am I so anxious?
Grant me the grace to release my grip, if only for a minute,
and learn how it feels to trust you completely.
Grant me the courage to open my grasping hand and rest it in yours.
Grant me the blessing of genuine trust,
and help me to use it more and more.
For only in trust, do I find security,
only in your hand do I know peace,
and only your spirit can give me true hope.
I'm not used to such trusting, God:
It’s scary.
Thanks for listening. Amen.
Pray For Me, Lord
pray for me today, please.
Find the words I cannot find and utter them on my behalf.
Find a new phrase to describe the gratitude I feel,
but don't know how to express.
Sing the song my heart would sing, if it had a voice.
weep the tears my eyes would weep,
if they were not locked with old instructions
learned ages and ages ago.
Whisper the confession my tongue is ashamed to have heard.
Breathe the sigh of wonder my heart feels
but can't speak for itself.
Pray for me with your Holy Spirit,
and help me say what my spirit longs to say.
Help me to thank you for the beauty, the goodness,
the warmth, the love, that surrounds and fills and heals me.
Help me to plead with you for new insight,
new understanding, new resolve,
to walk the good walk you would have me walk.
Help me to listen to you
with care that really wants to hear, and understand,
your will for my life.
Help me to kneel before you,
in obedience and love,
your child this day.
You be my prayer today. Amen.
Prayer of a Difficult Christian
Gracious God,
can you spare me a little love today?
I don't feel very lovable.
I get grumpy when I can't have my own way;
and when things do go my way, I get greedy.
When I have done something genuinely to my credit,
I get boastful.
I presume on your love as if I were entitled to it.
Or I lose sight of my worth and sink in despair.
Where are the good times, God? The good days?
Why doesn't anyone really understand me?
Why doesn't anyone make an effort
to be as kind and loving as I am?
I get filled with self-pity,
and abuse your friendship and love.
So busy, so full of my own plans,
so anxious about my own tomorrows --
How can you love me then, God?
How can you bear the discouragement and pain
of staying close to a prickly cactus like me?
For when my days have gone wrong,
I do become prickly.
Don't tread on me, do not touch,
don't get too close, or I'll hurt you.
Or maybe what I really mean is,
don't get too close or I might love you.
But in spite of the fear,
in spite of the anger,
in spite of all the perversity in me,
love me; please love me.
Love me and stay close to me,
stay very close.
You’ve met other difficult Christians before.
Surely you know what I really want to be.
With your help, someday I just may be.
Amen.
Prayer for a Song
Help me to sing today, will you please God?
I've sung before.
In joy and excitement and expectation;
I've known the wonder of your forgiveness,
been set free by your spirit,
encouraged to hope and dream and grow --
Ah yes, then I sang a mighty song.
But I haven't been singing much lately.
Oh, there's been a few distressed moans
when I couldn't have my own way.
I've chanted dirges over lost hopes
and muttered requiems for friendships that have died,
projects that never got off the ground,
and dreams that took more effort than I wanted to give.
But as for happy songs -
when was my last Hallelujah?
I suppose I could make excuses for my silence
because of my busy schedule.
Who has time to sing these days?
Besides, people might get tired of listening to cheery voices.
It's not possible to be happy all the time.
People would no longer take you seriously.
But does a song of joy always have to be happy?
Even in doubt and sorrow, you've breathed your spirit through me.
There's joy in stillness and triumph in a faith that holds on
no matter what.
So help me to sing again today, please.
Not to impress anyone,
but because I am alive, and glad of it.
What a miracle that is.
And what a glory it can yet be.
Hallelujah, God. Hallelujah!
Thanks for the Sunshine
Thank you God, for the sunshine on my path.
Thank you for new friends, for happy hopes,
for glad memories, for your mercy and your love.
I remember the night times, the anguish of uncertainty,
the loneliness and the fear.
I remember how I could not trust myself,
and dared not believe in you.
In those dark nights,
I was angry and spiteful
and unwilling to be helped.
But sunshine came in spite of my anger and doubt.
Hope returned, and happiness, too.
Not because I deserved them,
but because you are gracious and loving
and never cease to care.
Thank you.
Darkness may come again.
I may not have tasted the last of my night times.
I may have to go in doubt and anguish.
When I do, help me to remember
the sunshine days.
And more,
give me the grace
and the faith
to expect the sun to shine again.
Be light for me, and the promise of light.
I pray in Jesus' name,
who was the light of the world.
Amen
Prayer for a Mislaid Vision
I had a vision this morning God,
so beautiful and pure and clear
that it filled my being with joy.
But now it's gone.
I don't know what happened to it.
It was so bright just minutes ago,
I could hardly wait to share it.
Now I look in vain for sign it.
How like me!
I get all enthused,
and in my excitement,
forget what it was I glimpsed.
Like Peter, proudly striding across the Sea of Galilee,
I run and dance in the excitement of my private vision,
and get so carried away,
I lose sight of you
the source of my power and joy.
Peter looked down and saw his feet sinking in the waves.
I look down and see my spirit sinking; and I feel so foolish.
Bless all who see for a little while,
and then forget what it was they glimpsed and understood.
Bless us with a mind to remember those good moments -
when the less good comes upon us again.
Bless us with a quiet assurance
that though the vision has faded,
the reality has not gone.
We do not need to see the sun behind the clouds,
to know that it still shines.
So, too, faith and hope and love abide,
whether I feel them in myself, or not.
So bless the eager ones who long to be what you would have them be.
For such a one am I.
Bless me, as I remember a vision I can no longer see,
and give me faith to believe that, one day,
I shall see it again! Amen.
A Prayer in a Tempest
O God, my God, what can I do when I can't find the words I need to pray?
Do you read hearts - and understand anyway?
I hope so.
There are times I have no words,
no thoughts, no feelings - I am dumb
But I want to speak.
I want you to know how I feel.
I want to know that you hear me - and care
I want to know that it makes a difference when I pray.
When Jesus slept in the boat, in the midst of the storm
his disciples woke him and demanded that he pay attention.
And that's what I want to do too.
Pay attention, God!
Jesus did.
He woke, and listened, and acted. He was there.
Are you sure you are here?
My boat gets badly shaken by a tempest
and I need your calming voice - your confident smile -
your reassurance that I am in your hands and all will be well.
But I can't find you. My faith falters.
My eyes stare blindly and my tongue is dumb.
O gracious, loving God, help me.
Where faith falters - give courage;
where vision dims - give light;
where words are useless - speak for me.
Do for me what I cannot do for myself,
what I've never been able to do for myself.
Love, cherish, preserve and keep me close to you
in the midst of my dark storm,
and help me to find my way this day,
I pray in Jesus' name. Amen.
God, you are Love
In love, you created me good.
Through love you see the possible in me,
and with love you redeem and restore me
that I may show your love in all I do.
I thank you for your love,
and depend upon it.
In times of sickness, I need your healing;
In times of doubt, I need your hope;
In times of sorrow, I need your companionship;
In times of trouble, I need your helping hand;
In times of confusion, I need your steady presence;
In times of anger, I need your voice of gentle reason;
In times of temptation, I need your protection;
In times of worry, I need a vision of your sure victory;
In times of laughter, I need your lightheartedness;
In times of creativity, I need your perseverance;
In times of loving, I need your inner wisdom;
In times of fear and bondage, I need your liberation;
In times of lonely pilgrimage, I need your Holy Spirit;
In every time of my life, I need to live
conscious that you are with and for me,
both as protector and friend,
inspirer and redeemer,
judge and savior.
I need so much, O God.
Help me to remember that
you have met all my needs and more,
and will meet them now,
if I will but open myself and accept it.
Thank you for your faithfulness and love. Amen.
Prayer for Palm Sunday
Forgive me, God, when my faith is too weak. I know what I ought to do,
I know what you want me to do, but I haven't the faith to do it.
Will you still love me when I have failed you?
I remember Christ's faithfulness today.
I see him coming to the City to face death, and I know he goes before me,
praying that I will follow.
I am honored by his invitation and proud of his faith in me:
but I can't find that confidence and faith in myself.
I fear what others will think. I doubt my own capacity.
I see too much effort and difficulty ahead.
I want to concern myself with more pleasant things.
But just when I've made my excuses, when I have shirked my responsibilities,
I see you going ahead without me. And I don't want to be left behind!
Why do you keep asking more of us that we dare ask of ourselves?
Don't you know we are Weak? I am Weak.
I can't save the world; I can't even save myself.
Each time you beckon me to some new challenge, I'm afraid.
Afraid that I will fail, afraid I will displease you when I fail;
and worst of all, afraid to disappoint you when I refuse to try.
Why do you ask so much of me, God? Do you really believe in me that much?
How strange that you can see in me more than I can see in myself.
When I am still and listening for your voice, I almost believe you.
Then make me still, and help me listen.
Hush the clamor of my mind; put to sleep my doubts and fears.
Show me instead the courage of the Master,
and let me so love him, I will follow him wherever he might go.
And if possible, as I walk my pilgrim's road,
let me see a new and clearer vision of myself -- the self you see.
Not for pride or boasting, but for faith to continue down the road
you've stretched before me.
I ask in Jesus' name. Amen.
Prayer for Maundy Thursday
On a night like this, O God, you sat with us.
You blessed cup and bread, offered words of peace and hope,
and gave yourself to us.
Some, like Thomas, were puzzled by your acts.
Others like Peter were alarmed.
Who knows if any understood what you were doing?
Yet they remembered.
And I remember.
Tonight I break bread and share the cup, remembering you.
It will mean many things to us;
a memorial, a sacrament, a common meal, a holy time, a time of fellowship.
But more important than all, it will be a meeting -- with you.
Yet where shall I find you, God, where will you be?
Some say touch the loaf and gaze into the cup
to see and feel your body and blood;
symbols of life-giving food, simple and yet so basic,
this is your life given completely for any who will receive it.
Others tell me to open my heart to my neighbor and seek you
in the eyes, the touch, the love of friends.
How much clearer is your spirit and your presence
brought to me in the living flesh of my neighbor.
I've even learned to search within myself to find your majesty
and the power of your presence, alive and at work in the world.
How marvelous, and how humbling,
to know you give dignity and worth to my life,
by making your home in me.
So when I come to your table, I touch you in bread and wine.
I touch you when my fingers feel the hand of my neighbor
and my eyes look into the soul of a friend.
I touch you when I search my own heart.
And around me or within, I find you, my gracious and loving God.
Make me ready for our meeting this night, by making me open and aware.
I pray in Jesus' name. Amen.
Good Friday Prayer
Was it lonely for you God, watching your son die?
We know about such loneliness.
Our arms remember the feel of loved ones
who are gone.
But they were not despised or hated, as was he.
We did not hear the bitter words you heard,
nor feel the mockery and shame
they heaped upon your son.
Do we still despise and mock him now,
and make of him a stranger
out of step and out of time?
Or is it worse than that?
Do we not think of him at all?
Does he hang forgotten
in the closet of our memory;
a good man dead and gone;
a refugee from Calvary?
Here, in the silence of this awful night
we hear the weeping of the years,
and know how little we have known this man,
seen this man, heard this man, felt his hand.
Yet, in as much as ye have done it
unto to the least of one of these, he said,
ye have done it unto me.
Then we do remember, do touch and feel and see;
your son has walked among us, been our son;
he walks here now and makes himself new known,
as we remember those who hurt and those who grieve,
those who stumble and those who cannot heal.
We pray for them and pray for him
a blessing and a hymn;
still beggars at your table,
yet heirs of your son.
Then hold us in your hand, O God,
and calm us with your breath.
As the night grows darker
please, O God, hold on, hold on.
May we trust you with our loved ones
as you once trusted us with your son.
But be for us the far, far better friend.
An Easter Prayer
It's Easter morning, God. We stand outside Christ's empty tomb
and marvel at what has happened. What does this mean?
Centuries ago a man lived and died and then lived again, and we sing
Alleluia! Why?
I try to put myself in that far off, long ago morning, and I can't do it.
I imagine the stone that has moved; I see the carved steps;
I feel the hushed expectancy of the dawn breaking,
and hear the sound of birds greeting the morning.
But the emptiness of the tomb, the amazement of the missing body of our God
-- these are beyond me.
Instead, I find myself thinking of the empty tomb inside me.
I remember the man who was, and is now mercifully dead and gone.
I remember moments of discouragement and defeat,
and by your grace now turned to victory.
I remember impatience and anger touched by your spirit and transformed.
Most painful of all is the memory of a dead faith,
when all my dreams were shattered
and all hope for my future was dead and gone.
I tremble before those memories.
But the marvel is that they are memories.
Just when hope was most hopeless
and faith most impossible, the new came into being.
Life did not end in that tomb; it has come most gloriously alive.
And astounding as it now seems;
my new dreams are better than the old.
I know Easter morning, God.
I know what it means to have the old, the wasted,
the useless, the diseased and dead cover me.
I have seen the black night when there were no stars,
and I have heard the sound of wind chilling my soul.
I have also known the warmth of sunlight,
the sound of laughter, the feel of love.
I tremble now at the thought of what is yet to be.
I do not need the memory of cold tombs, O God: I've been a living tomb.
As I sing Alleluia for the Christ who rose long centuries ago,
I breathe my gratitude that I am now alive.
Thank you God; I love you. Amen.
Calm Me Down God,
My world got crowded this past week
and I went out of control.
I told myself it was because I had too much to do.
But that wasn't the real problem.
I've done more in much less time,
and never given it a thought.
Then I blamed those around me
who expected too much and pushed me too hard.
Only that wasn't true either,
I was the one who was pushing, wasn't I?
I couldn't seem to let up.
The truth is, I wanted to feel important this week,
juggling all my projects with unceasing agility.
Clever, conscientious and above all, indispensable:
I was sure being good.
I was also getting tense.
By week's end I was moody and out of sorts,
unwilling to talk to people,
(or listen either, for that matter!).
My family had to tiptoe around me while I withdrew into a shell
and pretended they weren't even there.
Now it's Sunday morning: a day of rest and gladness;
a day for communing with you and affirming the goodness of life.
And I feel hung over!
Still dragging from my week of self-inflicted torture,
I'm too tense and exhausted to enjoy it.
I want to alibi and say, "It's all their fault!"
They pushed me too hard; only "they" is me.
So calm me down, will you please?
Give me a moment of blessed self-forgetfulness.
Ease my shoulders of the burden of being
so earnest and clever, and very, very good.
With the sparkle of new sunshine
and the freshness of the morning breeze,
let me relax and renew my spirit in your Spirit.
That's what I like about your mornings, God;
they're all new, every one of them.
With your aid I have a fresh start
the very moment I ask for it --
morning, noon or night.
And I'm asking right now.
Please, may I have a good day, God?
Okay? Thanks. Amen.
Prayer for the Spirit
God, it is quiet here.
I have peace around me, and, by your grace, I have peace within.
I wish I could pray for important things, things that matter,
things that stir me, drive me, disturb me.
But my words are too weak, my thoughts too vague,
to carry my concern into your presence.
But there's really very little I need to say, is there, God?
All my worries and desires are familiar to you.
My needs stay much the same.
I need the fire of your spirit to burn away the guilt and hypocrisy
that corrodes my life.
I need the cool water of your Spirit to wash away the dirt and grime
that smudges my life and offends my neighbor.
I need the warm sunlight of your Spirit to dry the tears of those I've hurt,
and the tears I've shed in self-pity and regret.
I need the enriching love of your Spirit,
need it to take root in my life and transform the arid desert
into a garden.
I need the quiet urging of your Spirit,
need it to receive my imperfect prayers, purify them
and make them sing with passion and devotion.
It seems I need so much, God,
yet you have given me so much more than I can ever accept or use.
Your gifts are boundless.
Here, in this quiet place, this place of peace,
I place my needs in your hands.
Grant me the grace to receive and accept
the help that you keep so near in your Holy Spirit.
Amen.
Loving God,
Please remember all your needy ones this day.
The sick, the weak, the troubled, the suffering.
Be with them all, and help them please.
May they glimpse the reality of your Spirt
and know your goodness and your presence,
and trust in you more than they believe
in the reality of their present pain.
And as we pray for them in their distress,
remember us too, please.
When trouble disturbs us,
show us the unshakable confidence of St. Paul
When life is a tempest,
let us see the calm figure of our Lord
at peace in our rocking boat.
When our eagerness has made us hasty
and we run - like St. Peter - beyond our faith and abilities,
be our steady guard, and understanding friend.
When temptation makes our lives ungovernable,
and we despair of ever doing what you would have us do
remind us of your willingness to welcome back
the Prodigal Son - no matter what.
When we need love, and despair of ever really loving
Bring us to your cross.
Let Christ's open arms reach round us -
his words of forgiveness be for our ears -
his faith, even in the depths of despair, our faith.
Remember us, O Lord,
by helping us to remember you!
We pray in Jesus' name. Amen.
Prayer for an Empty Day
Sometimes I'm empty, God. Empty of everything.
I look for things to pray about and nothing's there.
Instead I long for peace and to be left alone.
Do you know what it's like to want and want, until you hurt from the wanting?
I don't mean things, exactly, I mean goodness, wholeness--perfection even.
I stumble through my days trying to make sense out of stupid things,
thinking things will get better; I'll understand soon;
light will flash out of the darkness and I'll finally see.
But I don't see; I don't understand:
and I get tired of trying, of hoping
-- sometimes even of praying.
That's when I feel empty, God;
empty and tired and longing for rest.
Goodness is too hard, too far off.
Can you understand that? Do you know how it feels?
Perhaps you do.
Perhaps the cross hurt with longing;
hurt with a wanting beyond anything I've ever wanted.
It's strange, God, how I strain so hard to get the best,
and in my straining only uncover the worst.
I've had the best, the only good, and I crucified him.
I wouldn't settle for love, even if it was divine.
It wasn't enough.
And so I wear myself out wanting more,
never knowing what that "more" might be.
Perhaps when I'm tired and empty,
I can stop my striving and meet you in peace.
I can stop looking and see,
stop straining my ears for the exotic sound, and hear.
Perhaps in quietness and rest I can find you -- and be found.
God, fill my emptiness with your Spirit and I'll be satisfied.
I pray in Jesus' name. Amen.
Prayer for a Seeker
God, I looked into the heavens to find your face.
I saw lightning and heard thunder,
I felt the power and knew my helplessness,
But I did not see you.
I looked into my soul to find your face.
I found doubt and confusion and felt despair,
But I did not see you.
I looked into books written by wise ones.
I found traces of their path, and courage to continue my own search,
But I did not see you.
I looked into the soul of a friend,
I found quiet, and acceptance, and the courage to believe
that all was well.
And in that love, I glimpsed the beginnings of your love.
Now I look into the heavens and feel the shape of your hand
holding all creation in your power.
Now I look into great books and discover
signposts for my own pilgrimage.
Now I look into the heart of my friend,
and discover beauty only you can give.
Now I look into my own heart --
and know you are alive in me.
Give me keen eyes and a daring heart, O God,
that I may keep on searching,
no matter how often I have been disappointed before.
And as I search, let me discover
that it is your Spirit that moves us to seek ...
and your Spirit that finds us wherever we are.
Amen.
Thank You God
Have I remembered to thank you lately, God?
thank you for ... everything?
I started to make a list, but just remembering all my blessings
makes me feel selfish and greedy.
You've given me so much,
more than I deserve, I'm sure.
But I wasn't just thinking of my blessings,
Have I remembered to thank you for my growing pains
that push me forward?
Just when I get comfortable with the way things are,
you jog me out of my complacency
and show me a new and better way.
Your jolts are uncomfortable.
I get upset, worried, even frightened
at the thought of change.
But finally I pray
"Not my way God; your way, please."
And wonderful things begin to happen.
So thank you for the tight places in my road
that pinch and hurt and make me move - and grow.
thanks most of all for keeping me company on my road.
You have surrounded me with love,
I find it in the patience and good will of friends
at every turn.
I am blessed God, so very blessed.
It's really true, isn't it?
I need never fear evil,
for you are with me.
Thank you, God. Thank you.
Amen.
A Prayer for what I Really Need
I asked for toys, God, and when I got them, I only broke them
with my impatience and neglect.
I asked for friends, and when they came, I wearied of them and their faults.
I asked for peace of mind and complained because I was bored.
I asked for faith and became a fanatic, eager to force my vision on all those
around me.
I saw where I'd been wrong, and I asked for forgiveness,
only to plunge myself deep in self-pity.
I decided to reform and set my house in order
and found myself obsessed with my faults and shortcomings.
So I asked for new joy - but that was a mistake:
if I felt good, I felt guilty.
And if real joy touched me, I was only frightened.
I could not bear its exhilaration.
So I asked for mercy
only to retreat into a religion
that was lifeless and gray.
I ask and ask, God, and with each new prayer I pray,
my spirit is left more hungry, more frightened and more alone.
What is there in me that will not let you love me?
For that is all that I really wanted all along - your love.
I ask for it in countless different ways.
I pray for blue skies and bright songs,
for friends and work and a stronger faith.
I pray for peace and quiet in the inner places of my heart.
I pray for prayer itself:
and in all my praying I am still searching for that one magic prayer
that will release me and give me what I long for most of all - your love.
But God, I don't know how to pray for that.
I can only tell you of my need. And wait.
Come wait with me, please.
Sit beside me and share this moment for a little while.
And as I go about my tasks this day, go with me.
Not in bright glory, nor in awful solemnity, but inwardly, at home.
Whatever I might be doing or wherever I might be going, come be my guest.
There's a whole day yet to live today.
It would make me very happy if you would live it with me, please.
For that is really the only thing I ever wanted after all.
Amen.
Prayer for Quietness
Grant me, O God, the gift of quietness.
When days hurry and hours speed by,
when voices clamor and urge and demand,
when times are unhinged and my spirit quakes in fear;
give me the gift of quietness.
When I feel called on to do more, or to be more
when I am anxious about tomorrow and ashamed of yesterday,
when I face mountains without strength to climb;
hush me into quietness.
When resentments build,
when pride and self-esteem are bruised,
when friends prove forgetful and I go alone and friendless;
please, God, quiet me.
When I am so convinced my days are all a burden
and the times are out of joint,
when all I see within are signs of weakness
and uncertainty and decay,
when I have found it easier to despise myself
than to affirm the goodness you have placed in me
by daring to love myself as you have loved me;
Oh God, hush me into quietness.
Quietness and stillness and a single moment of deep calm
that is my prayer.
Give me quietness and release from the incessant noise
of my own spirit.
Hush me, and let me hear - if ever so faintly -
the rush of winds and the trill of song
and the pulsing of my veins,
all sounds of your life within me, and around me.
Grant me the gift of quietness, O God,
that your spirit may sing through me!
Amen.
Prayer for the Weary Soul
Sometimes I wish I had new words to pray with, God.
I've used the same old words so many times, I lose faith in them.
"Give me patience, give me strength, give me understanding" I pray;
as if I were ticking off items on a shopping list.
Or "Forgive my lack of faith, forgive my intolerance,
forgive my neglect, forgive my sins."
So old, so familiar, and so tiresome,
I need new words, new prayers.
What I really need to pray about is an uneasiness inside me that has no name.
A sense of need for something that goes beyond my grasp that will not let me
alone;
and an uneasy conscience that remembers sins I would rather forget.
I don't know how to ask for what I cannot name,
and I can't find forgiveness for that which I am ashamed to confess.
So I long for new words, God.
Only new words aren't really what I need, are they?
You know the truth about my life.
You've seen deep into the secret places of my heart
and know my need even before I know it.
You've read my thoughts in the lines of my face;
you know the weight of my conscience by the slope of my shoulders
and the way my head bows down. My life's an open prayer.
Could it be a prayer for the world too, God?
Let my life be a prayer that speaks without words.
Make it an honest prayer so others may trust me,
and keep it fixed on you, that others may see hope of you in me.
When I pray this life of mine, let me pray it to others:
in kind words, generous words, words of help and love.
Let it be a prayer of deeds as well as words,
with hands that help, ears that listen and a heart that cares.
I don't need new words, God, I need a new me.
Help me, please,
Amen.
God, Were You Talking to Me?
Gracious God,
you have a way of asking more of us than we dare ask of ourselves.
I like to act big and strong and very wise,
but I know all too well how weak I really am.
Are you quite sure you haven't over-estimated my abilities?
I wish I could see for myself the strengths you see.
You ask us to love one another, as if this were a thing I could do.
Yet what a heavy burden that can be.
Love bears, believes and hopes all things:
my patience grows short, my faith falters, my optimism has limits.
You ask us to be agents of reconciliation in the world,
as if I were the hands you use to help and heal your suffering ones.
But I'm only human, God; I have my limits.
I can't always be forgiving, always understanding;
there are times when I have to strike back.
You ask us to be just and merciful,
as if nothing were more simple and obvious.
But what is just in our upside-down world;
and what is merciful in our confused and contradictory society?
God, you have more confidence in me than I have in myself.
You know, God; I once hungered for your love, your approval,
your acceptance of me just as I am.
But I am beginning to see that it is a fearful thing to be loved by you.
Your love makes more of me than I am willing to be.
Your affirmation challenges me to greater efforts than I bargained for.
I may not need your love as much as I need the courage to accept your love.
Then give me that courage, please. Help me to dare the unbelievable.
Inspire me to test my resources by trying to be responsive to your will.
Perhaps there is more strength in me than I knew.
Maybe I don't need to pretend after all.
Your love has worked miracles in many lives before;
let it work miracles in me as well.
You ask much of us, Oh God; let me ask only this;
your abiding Spirit as I seek to do your bidding.
Amen.
When the day is too busy and the voices too loud,
When there is too much on my mind and too little in my heart,
When I plan too much for tomorrow
and explain too much about yesterday,
When faith is a Sunday word
and "Let's be practical" my motto through the week,
When I have hidden my true feelings inside
and then been tempted to complain of being lonely and misunderstood,
When I am quite hopelessly lost
and don't even have sense enough to know it,
Be my good shepherd and my friend.
Gather up my jangled nerves,
My tensed muscles,
My anxious and fluttering heart.
Gather up my fearful heart and hold it warmly in your hand.
Warm it with your spirit and set it glowing.
Send life pulsing through it like an irresistible flood;
Quicken me to a quivering blaze,
Excited and alive!
But show me how to be quiet too, please.
Teach me to be still as the forest pool;
In the deep stillness let me rest.
Let silence surround me like a friend,
Calming me and instructing me
With your wisdom from within.
When my day is too busy and the voices are all too loud,
Be my good shepherd and my friend.
Through fire and water let me be blessed
That I may be your living benediction
in the world. Amen
Lord of the Morning Times,
remember me.
When I stray off your path and need new guidance - remember me.
When I am lonely,
whether others have shut me out, or I have cut myself off from them -
remember me.
When I grieve and can see no light in the thick gloom around me - remember me.
When I am hurt and angry because I believe others have neglected me,
or taken me for granted - remember me.
When I am most fearful that I will never find my way
and can never hope to know true peace;
please, dear God, remember me.
In all my moments of need,
surround me with an unshakable sense of your Spirit and your presence.
Where my eyes see only troubles and worries,
show me again the dependability of your promises and your help.
Though I am tempted to enjoy my misery,
convinced no one understand how difficult life is for me,
guard me against such noxious self-pity.
Lord, I am needy, I cannot find my way alone.
But show me the infinite riches that you have stored within me -
in my life and health,
my experiences and knowledge
and help me to trust both your good gifts and your abiding presence.
Lord, remember me, and help me to remember you!
I pray in Jesus' name. Amen.
God, grant me a special measure of your loving grace.
If I have allowed the troubles of the world to sicken me,
if the thoughts of tomorrow have obsessed my mind,
and the ghosts of yesterday shrouded my path
so that I lose my today in uncertainty and regret,
Grant me a greater portion of your grace.
Reach deep into my heart and electrify it with your Spirit.
Stab me awake with a searing vision of beauty,
make me breathless with awe
at the sight of a flower petal,
and let me feel life catch in my throat
at the sound of a chord of music.
But better than color and song,
stop me short with the tone of a human voice
speaking with unfeigned honesty and love.
Startle me into awareness by the look in another's eyes _
a look of admiration and jubilation _
a look of trust and gladness,
a look of love!
Oh love me God.
Love me with a passion that makes me breathless;
love me until I tremble with fear at so much loving,
tremble to think that I could be
so valued, so wanted, so necessary in your universe.
Grasp me in your love until I am no longer afraid,
no longer doubtful, no longer needy of further reassurance
of my worth.
Grasp me God, and hold me close.
I pray in Jesus' name. Amen.
I keep getting life backward, God
I'm so good at remembering what I don't need to remember,
and forgetting what I shouldn't forget!
I remember the cutting word,
and forget the word of appreciation and praise.
I remember the hurt, but forget the pleasure.
I remember the salary and forget the work.
I remember you are love,
but forget your love judges me as well
Could you help me turn these around a bit?
Old slights and stale hurts;
the memory of sins long past and mistakes others have forgotten;
don't let me keep them alive in my memory any more.
They have died and need to be buried
once and for all.
At the same time,
fill up the empty space their absence leaves
with new resolve to hold the good in honor,
to remember the lovely,
to cling to the healthy and the strong,
to be a memory bank of all your blessings.
I don't suppose I'll ever get it all straightened out,
the way you would like me to be.
But surely I can improve,
and with your help,
I can do more to grow in your image.
For a start, help me to turn loose of one bad memory this day
and replace it with some new appreciation of your Spirit of love.
When tomorrow comes, help me to do it again.
Perhaps with your guidance, this may become a whole new way of life.
Amen.
Thanks for the Surprises, God
even when I wasn’t looking for them
Just when work had grown stale,
you opened my eyes and I saw
new reason and hope for my efforts.
Just when friendships grew dull and routine,
you gave a moment of shared wonder
and I felt alive once again
Your best gifts always come as surprises, don't they God?
Your love was carried to us in the life of a mortal child,
and most of the world missed it completely.
Your salvation has worked its way into our lives almost in spite of us,
overcoming our indifference, skepticism and feeble faith.
And just when I thought I had it all figured out,
thought I was in charge,
thought that I knew all there was to know
with nothing more to learn:
Yes, even then I have been surprised by joy.
Keep on surprising me, God, Please?
For Jesus' sake. Amen.
Prayer for Christmas Morning
The packages are all opened, God.
The tree is stripped and the lights have been turned out.
The carols no longer sing,
and the turkey bird lies half gone in the refrigerator.
The excitement of Christmas dies quickly.
Will the good will, the joy, and the light die quickly too?
Keep it alive in us, please.
The star that shone can go on shining,
if we will be one of your beacons of light in our dark world.
The song of the angels can still be heard,
if we will let laughter and truth sing in us.
And the gifts of the Magi can still be given
if we bear honor and hope to the growing Christ child
that lives in our neighbor.
Help me keep Christmas alive all the days of the year.
Amen.
Prayer for a New Year
Thank you for this new day, God.
The old year's gone. With it have gone old friends,
old memories, moments of triumph
and moments of shame.
There are memories of joy
and recollections of pain.
All are gone. A new year has come.
A new year with a clean slate.
A new year with a chance to start over again.
A new year that promises such good things.
A new year -- it sounds like a whole new life!
Yet my life is old, God.
I haven't changed a bit.
The same fears and insecurities live in me;
the same attitudes I had yesterday
are inside me today.
The date may be changed, but I am not.
So what are you going to do with me, God?
Love me?
Is that your message - your special word,
your New Year's greeting today?
I can make it quite a ways down the road of any year
with a gift like that, God.
I could even make it all the way through this day.
With joy and glory!
Then give me your love, and walk at my side.
I'm ready to try once again.
Thank you God. Amen.
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Three Tiny Tables
6 years ago