Prayer, day 1843: A Time for Everything

O Merciful One,

we know that there is a time for everything,

for our times are in your hand.

Someone's hopeful, Lord--and You are with them:

May they know your presence.

Someone's laughing, Lord-- and You are with them:

May they know your presence.

Someone's crying, Lord-- and You are with them:

May they know your presence.

Someone's troubled, Lord-- and You are with them:

May they know your presence.

Someone's being born, Lord--and You are with them:

May they know your presence.

Someone's dying, Lord-- and You are with them:

May they know your presence.

With the hands you have given us to do your will,

we raise up these names today,

and ask your care to rest upon them.

Amen.

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Embodying Light: Sermon for the Last Sunday After Epiphany (Transfiguration Sunday)

A very wise friend of mine reminded me that we understand our lives by the stories we tell. That’s why I wish that we got more of the story of Elijah and Elisha in the lectionary than just today’s reading. The theme of light, of opening our eyes and minds to the truth of what is around us, comes to a stunning emphasis in our four readings today. Our psalm talks about God revealing Godself in power, fire, and storm. Our reading from Corinthians talks about the pulling back of veils so that true knowledge of God through the testimony of Christ can be seen and grasped.

Many of us may think that these readings and their themes don’t have much in common with our everyday lives. Too often we put blinders on ourselves, to the point that we no longer see what’s right in front of us. That’s why I want to share the early story of Elisha and Elijah—two great prophets in a time when prophets were more readily acknowledged, yet probably resisted as much as they are now.

Once, long ago—3000 years ago, actually-- there was a boy name Elisha out plowing in a field with 24 oxen, plodding along grudgingly. This was the boy’s life—staring at the butts of oxen all day, trying not to slip in their poop, trying to keep them plowing a straight path under the broiling sun, carrying water for them, trying to get them to engage in very un-oxen-like behavior by pulling a plow all day rather than finding a nice mud puddle in the shade and just chilling. This was the boy’s life—and it will tell you something about how different our world is from the world of this boy that that job was actually a pretty good one at the time.

One day, though, a crazy-looking old man came wandering up over the hill, and stood watching the boy Elisha as he was plowing. Elisha was so engrossed in his task he didn’t notice the old man until he was close enough to smell him. But there was a strange blue light in the old man’s eyes. There was a silence and stillness and power within him, and it brought that boy and his oxen to a halt as if they’d dropped anchor. The crazy old man also had on a fine mantle that stood out from the rest of his dust-stained, sweat soaked clothes, thrown over his shoulder casually. That mantle also caught the boy’s attention. Who WAS this old fossil?

The man looked into Elisha’s eyes, and some sort of strange shiver went through the boy as if he had just dived into a cool spring on a hot summer day, and he saw the glorious light of eternity in those eyes. Without a word, the old man threw his mantle over the boy, and Elisha knew. He just knew he had to follow this old man. Dreams danced before his eyes as that mantle touched his shoulders. Praise songs of angels rang in his ears like an echo, even though he was quite sure there was no sound but the sound of the wind and of the impatient oxen stamping their feet. Light and power coursed through that boy like a lightning strike and it was almost painful, contracting his muscles. And in placing his mantle over him, the old man was claiming the boy as his son.

But Elisha was a good boy, and wanted to not worry his parents, so he spoke first, and asked if he could kiss his parents good-bye. The old man turned, almost triumphant at this sign of what he considered to be doubt. “Do what you want. What’s it to me?” the old man hissed, and he whipped his mantle off the boy’s shoulders and turned and stalked off.

This response stung the boy. So Elisha decided to show this old man he was serious. He took those oxen, still hitched to the plow, and slaughtered them, and then fed them to his dumbstruck neighbors, who undoubtedly thought he had lost his mind. But there was no going back to plowing now. Elisha then ran off and followed that crazy old man, serving him and the God the old man served for years, leaving his former life behind without a backward glance. Elisha had seen the light of God, and it had transformed him and empowered him.

That old man was the prophet Elijah. And that boy was Elisha. Elijah was one of the greatest prophets in all of Israel—which means he was also one of the most hated and most feared men in the land, because prophets tend to be seen by many as bearers of bad tidings and ill portents. Yet what prophets really do is call for us to transform our ways of seeing, and help us to see a better way of living, reminding us that we are God’s own beloveds. They pull back the veil of fear that keeps us divided and distracted, especially as communities, from the real sins of injustice and oppression within those communities. That’s what prophets do.

Even after Elisha was at Elijah’s side, Elijah kept pulling back the veil and telling truth to power. He kept rebuking the rich and powerful for their idolatry, for their worship of other gods—gods like Baal, a local storm god. And there are gods that still lead us into darkness today, like racism, and sexism, and economic exploitation of the poor, and our indifference to violence when it’s not right in our faces.

This is also another one of those great “call” stories we get in scripture, and I think it’s important to remember, as we ready ourselves for Lent, that Lent is not just a time of darkness and penitence only after we have spent the last six week talking about light. Lent is also a time of hopeful discernment and renewal, a time to remember God’s call to us to commit ourselves to continue to transform by ourselves --and our communities. Lent is not just about giving up things like chocolate or caffeine—which for some people is like lighting a short-fused firecracker in a room full of fainting goats—but about committing ourselves to taking more seriously the call to transformation and renewal, to honest examination of our sins and then moving to reconciling with those who have been affected by them.

This is the backstory for our first reading from 2 Kings for today, which tells the story of Elijah leaving Elisha for good. Elisha has given everything up to follow Elijah, and not just follow Elijah, but take up the unfinished task of ministry and truth-telling that God still needs embodied in the world.

The reading from 2 Kings closes with Elijah being taken up to heaven by a chariot of fire, even as Elisha struggles to keep his eyes on the old man as he disappears into the clouds in a dazzling display of light—and light, of course, is a theme of the season after Epiphany which draws to a close today. 

But the light we have been praising and witnessing to in these last few weeks is meant to be carried forward into the season of Lent that approaches. The light Elisha sees as his adopted father Elijah is taken up into heaven is known in the theology trade as a theophany—a visible showing of God’s presence. There is a theophany in our gospel account of the Transfiguration, as well. We hear another claiming of a son by a father in the voice coming from the heavens. We even see the reappearance of Elijah in our gospel reading. In all our readings today, we see a drawing aside of the veil of hopelessness and helplessness that keeps us from seeing each other and Jesus as we really are: beloved, holy, glorious.

Moses, Elijah, Elisha, and Jesus all were sent by God to speak light into darkness, to reveal to us God’s abiding love for us and desire for us to live into our full glory as children of God. To recognize within ourselves the divine spark, and to be changed by that knowledge so that we will be eager to work for the establishment of God’s justice and true peace in the world.

In our reading from 2 Kings today, when the glare from that theophany wears off, Elisha looks down and sees the old man’s mantle—that same mantle Elijah had draped on his shoulders back when he was just a farm boy plowing the fields—laying at his feet. And so a final decision: should Elisha take up that mantle, and thereby also commit himself to continuing speaking truth to power? In the verses immediately after this reading, we learn that Elisha says yes. He undergoes his own transfiguration of his understanding, and of his role as the one who now doesn’t just follow, but bears the mantle himself.

Now, here we are living half a world away and thousands of years beyond the stories of the ancient prophets of Israel. What have we got in common with characters like Elijah and Elisha living in their dusty backwater?

Maybe nothing. But isn’t it possible, that for all our modern context, many of us still walk around in circles like that boy in his field, doing the same thing day after day, going through our daily lives, adjusting ourselves to the scenery, no matter how disgusting or appalling it might be? There are powers within us and around us that seek to deny the light in ourselves and in others, who seek to keep us divided and in denial of our true nature? That the worst poison that affects our communities is the belief that nothing will change—and to ensure that by our inaction?

Times like these call for people who can speak those truths about justice, equality, and hope—people who can dream dreams, and point the way, and pull back the veil on the divine spark within us. People who know that reconciliation can never happen without the light of truth.

God still is speaking to us today, regardless of what some might say, whether from fundamentalism or atheism. God has thrown God’s mantle over us and claimed us as God’s very own children. But that also means God is calling for us to throw off the convenient claims of powerlessness that make it all too easy to become part of the very systems we acknowledge as being broken. Silence in the face of oppression is assent, my friends. It also denies our Redeemer’s mercy and grace at work in the world. 

Times like these call not for silence in the face of fear, nor soul-killing numbness to violence, racism, sexism, and economic oppression, but for those who are willing to speak and act in hope—hope that we can be better, hope that we can be transformed by God’s abundant love. How often do we despair, waiting for a sign from God, refusing to believe that God will actually show up in our lives, when really our Savior is knocking at the door of our hearts, and we are too comfortable in our cynicism to let him in?

If Jesus’s very best friends spent much of their life being unable to really see who he was, but for this brief moment on the high mountain recounted in our gospel, can we be surprised that we are any different? Yet each of these stories reveals to us that God’s presence surrounds us, if only we can marshal the will to pull back the veil, to see with new eyes the light that surrounds us even when life itself is difficult?

If we can dare to be vulnerable enough to be astonished, and filled with wonder. If only we will let the light and glory of God into our hearts, and then let that love and healing flow through us, we are not only transformed for our own sakes, but we then become the prophetic witnesses that peels back the veil that keeps the world from seeing God’s reconciling presence all around us. That’s what listening to God’s beloved Son really means.

Times like these call for transfiguration and transformation of ourselves, and our communities, to reject and resist the ways of darkness and hate around us.
Times like these, especially as we continue to celebrate Black History Month, call for telling the truth about our history, so that we understand that the role of history is to remind us that it is OUR history, all of ours, and not just for one month, because we are one people. That’s prophetic work, indeed. 
Times like these call for us to embody God’s truth into the world, even if that truth may seem to be the last thing the world wants to see or hear.

Dare we consider taking up that same mantle of transformation and reconciliation today, and embody Christ’s light?

We can if we can hear again in these readings the reminder of Christ’s unfailing presence and abiding faithfulness with us, and that we receive God’s grace in order that we may reflect God’s light faithfully.

We can when we examine the thousands of little ways we ourselves believe that what we say and do doesn’t really matter, especially here in our most beloved fellowships—for instance, when we criticize more often than we praise, when we complain more often than we rejoice, when we say “that won’t make a difference,” rather than fully opening our hearts to try anyway.

We can take up that mantle when we empty ourselves of our self-absorption, cynicism, and negativity, so that we can join together as the Body of Christ, beloved and whole because we seek to exclude no one.

May we have faith enough in the promise of God to be with us, and have our way of seeing transfigured so that we embody and testify to the beauty and wonder of each of us as children of God.

Readings:
2 Kings 2:1-12
Psalm 50:1-6
2 Corinthians 4:3-6
Mark 9:2-9


Preached at the 8 am service at Christ Church Cathedral on February 11, 2018.

Prayer 1842: Last Sunday After Epiphany (Transfiguration Sunday)

Lord, we arise to answer your call to us,
to open our eyes to your light and truth
that we may be transformed and uplifted by your love.

Gathered around Your altars, Blessed Jesus,
may we become your witnesses
in truth and grace,
unified and resolute as your Beloved Community.
When we pray that your way be known on earth, O God,
let us remember that our actions
are the means for that revelation,
and ourselves embody your holy light
of love and hope with each other.

We worship You, Lord Christ:
but may we also love You with our whole heart,
and draw You near as our companion and our hope.
May we allow your reconciling and healing love
to transform us, O Holy One,
and draw us together in joy and praise,
compassion and tenderness.

Gather within your embrace all who seek You,
and send your Spirit to comfort and strengthen those we now name.

Amen.

Prayer 1841: In the arms of Christ, our Mother

Most Merciful God,
the rising light of dawn pulls me to wakefulness,
and calls me to seek You,
drawing deeply of your abundant love
as I come to You in prayer.

By your compassion and mercy
my soul is revived, O Holy One,
as when the dry ground gratefully absorbs fresh springs,
as when winter fields are blessed with warming rains.

You are my peace and my shield, Lord Christ:
gentle my ways,
and smooth the corners of my heart,
for like a mother You bear me
and keep me in your arms as your precious child.
Strengthen me to follow You, O Beloved Savior
in humility and lovingkindness,
in witnessing with joy
to the power and grace of the healing love of God
which seeks to reconcile us to all creation.
By the power of the Holy Spirit,
consecrate me and my labors to your glory.

Lord, You know our cares and our trials:
and we gather in your name as a community of prayer
to lift each other up in hope before You.
Grant your peace and holy respite
for all whose needs we lay at your feet
 knowing You are with us all, in joy or in trial.

Amen.

Prayer, day 1840

Most Merciful God, we thank You for the protection of your holy angels through the watches of the night. O Comforter, shelter and shield all those who are in distress, and grant them strength and perseverence. 

Enfold us like little children in your mercy, Lord Christ, and forgive us our sins and offenses, we humbly beseech you. Make us gentle and faithful caretakers and friends, seeking to serve others as we serve You. 

Grant us wisdom and patience, O Holy One, that we may replace our hearts of stone for hearts of tenderness and grace. Guide us in pathways of peace, and give us the humility and compassion to follow, we pray. 

Send forth your Spirit of healing and comfort over all who call upon You, O God, especially those we now name.

Amen.

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Prayer 1839: Within the embrace of God

Holy, Holy, Holy Lord,
gathered within your embrace
we arise to greet the beauty of this day,
eager to walk in love and faithfulness,
led by the light, grace, and reconciling example of Christ.

Almighty Creator,
You have woven the night sky and morning clouds
into a tapesty of beauty,
reminding us of your promise of faithfulness,
You who call the stars by name
and have inscibed each of us on your hand.

Sustain us with your word, Blessed Jesus,
that our hearts be transformed in love and compassion
 that we tenderly care for each other
in witness to all You have done for us.

Renew us, O Holy Spirit,
in generosity and lovingkindness,
that we may see and know our mutual dependence
as one body, one spirit, one creation.

Merciful One, pour out your grace and healing
upon all for whom we pray.

Amen.

Taking Up the Mantle: Speaking to the Soul, February 7, 2018

2 Kings 2:1-12

Once, long ago—3000 years ago, actually-- there was a boy out plowing in the field with 24 oxen, plodding along side by side in 12 sets of two. This was the boy’s life—staring at the butts of oxen all day, trying not to slip in their poop, trying to keep them plowing a straight path under the broiling sun, carrying water for them, trying to get them to engage in very un-oxen-like behavior by pulling a plow all day rather than finding a nice mud puddle in the shade and just chilling. This was the boy’s life—and it will tell you something about how different our world is from the world of this boy that that job was actually a pretty good one at the time. This kid was actually pretty lucky. He had a mother and father. He had a home. He had a field—which needed to be plowed and planted and harvested. But this was a good life. It was as secure as any life in the 9th century BCE could be. I mean, if worse came to worse, you at least had a field, and had oxen, and had a job.

One day, though, a crazy-looking old man came wandering up over the hill, and stood watching the boy plowing. The boy was so engrossed in his task he didn’t notice the old man until he was close enough to smell him. And--phew! The crazy old dude smelled worse than the oxen! But there was a strange blue light in the old man’s eyes. There was a silence and stillness and power within him, and it brought that boy and his oxen to a halt as if they’d dropped anchor. The crazy old man may have had hair that stood out all over his head like a halo, but he also had on a fine mantle that stood out from the rest of his dust-stained, sweat soaked clothes, thrown over his shoulder casually. That mantle also caught the boy’s attention. Who WAS this old fossil?

The man looked into the boy’s eyes, and some sort of strange shiver went through the boy as if he had just dived into a cool spring on a hot summer day. Without a word, the old man threw his mantle over the boy, and the boy knew. He just knew he had to follow this old man. Dreams danced before his eyes as that mantle touched his shoulders. Power coursed through him like a lightning strike and it was almost painful, contracting his muscles.

But he was a good boy, and wanted to not worry his parents, so he spoke first, and asked if he could kiss his parents good-bye. The old man turned, almost triumphant at this sign of what he considered to be doubt—what any of the rest of us would consider to be good common sense. I mean, this kid could have ended up side of an ancient equivalent of a milk carton! “Do what you want. What’s it to me?” the old man hissed, and he whipped his mantle off the boy’s shoulders and turned and stalked off as if he had won a bet with someone and wanted to collect.

This response stung the boy. So he decided to show this old man he was serious. He took those oxen, still hitched to the plow, and slaughtered them, and then fed them to his dumbstruck neighbors, kind of as a parting gesture that probably made them think he had lost his mind. There was no going back to plowing now, though. He then ran off and followed that crazy old man, serving him and the God the old man served, leaving his former life behind without a backward glance.

That old man was the prophet Elijah. And that boy was Elisha. Elijah was one of the greatest prophets in all of Israel—which means he was also one of the most hated and most feared men in the land, because prophets tend to be bearers of bad tidings and ill portents. God usually doesn’t send prophets around to proclaim that everything’s rosy. Prophets are called to speak God’s word to the powerful who have shut their ears and their hearts to anything but their own desires, their own lust, their own muscle, their own bellies. Responding to God’s call to preach and prophesy like that probably would at least give most people pause. Prophets like Elijah literally gave their lives to God, which didn’t mean that things were easy for them. Even after Elisha was at Elijah’s side, Elijah kept telling truth to power. He kept rebuking the rich and powerful for their idolatry, for their worship of other gods—gods like Baal, a local storm god. Gods like greed, and oppression, and prejudice, and malice. And Elisha was swept up with along with Elijah, spending his life staring at the back of a crazy old man, and doing the old man’s dirty work, all on the old man’s say-so.

This is the backstory for our first reading from 2 Kings for this coming Sunday, which tells the story of Elijah leaving Elisha a few years after Elijah called Elisha away from his plow, his oxen, and his home. Elisha has given everything up to follow Elijah, and not just follow Elijah, but take up the unfinished task of ministry and truth-telling that God still needs embodied in the world. Elisha knows that Elijah is going to be taken from him. He is concerned he is not up to the task. Elisha has been faithful—and even stubborn in following Elijah as his protégé and disciple. Three times, Elijah tried to shake off Elijah in our story—and three times he flatly refused to turn back. Yet how can he go on by himself? He betrays his worries by asking for a double share—the eldest son’s portion- of Elijah’s spirit. Elisha asks for this double portion because he is afraid he is not up to taking up Elijah’s ministry—and he knows he is going to need help.

The reading from 2 Kings closes with Elijah being taken up to heaven by a chariot of fire, even as Elisha struggles to keep his eyes on the old man as he disappears into the clouds in a dazzling display of light. When the glare wears off, Elisha looks down and sees the old man’s mantle—that same mantle Elijah had draped on his shoulders back when he was just a farm boy plowing the fields—laying at his feet. Ad so a final decision: should Elisha take up that mantle, and thereby also commit himself to continuing speaking truth to power?

Now, here we are living half a world away and thousands of years beyond the stories of the ancient prophets of Israel. Most of us no longer worry about whether the harvest will be good, or if an invading army will sweep in and carry our loved ones off into captivity. The only oxen most of us see are in the zoo or as a piece of meat in a really expensive bowl of soup. What have we got in common with characters like Elijah and Elisha living in their dusty backwater that literally ends up being the nowhere at the corner of three great empires—the 9th century BCE version of “flyover country?”

Maybe nothing. But isn’t it possible, that for all our modern context, many of us still walk around in circles, staring at the ugly ends of the brutish animals in front of us, going through our daily lives, adjusting ourselves to the scenery, no matter how disgusting or appalling it might be? Isn’t it possible that some in our society go around engaged in extolling themselves to the oppression of others, and others look away rather than work for the common good?

And isn’t it possible that times like these call for people who can speak those truths about justice, equality, and hope—people who can dream dreams, and point the way, and pull back the curtain on our divine spark to encourage us to act on a faith that we as a society can be better?

Times like these call for prophets.
Times like these call for healers and workers of miracles, even if one of those miracles is simply loving the people others say are unlovable with everything you’ve got.
Times like these call for someone who can speak God’s truth into the world, even if that truth may seem to be the last thing the world wants to hear.

Dare we consider taking up that same mantle today?

May we have faith enough in the promise of God to be with us, and put our feet on the warm dry ground of that pilgrim path. Take up your power. Step out in faith and hope. Sing out the glory of God’s loving-kindness that walks alongside us even when we feel most alone. Take up your mantle. It’s laying at your feet for a reason.


This was first published on February 9, 2018 on Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul.

Photo: 14th century Russian icon from Wikimedia commons

Prayer 1838: a vow of discipleship

You, O God, are our light in darkness,
a lamp to our feet as we rise from our rest
and prepare to walk the pilgrim path today.

Our spirits are revived, Blessed Savior,
by the gospel of hope you have prepared for us;
sweeter than honey,
it strengthens us to love and joyful faithfulness.

We make this vow before You, O Creator:
by the power of the Holy Spirit,
may we be guided by your wisdom
to seek reconciliation and justice in all our ways.
May we renounce the casual evils and systems of exploitation
that deny the full humanity and worth of others,
and take bread from the hungry.
May our hearts never be divided
but may we proclaim your goodness and healing
as testimony to the world,
and bear your truth in humility and kindness.

Receive with tenderness, Lord Jesus,
our supplications and prayers we lay before you.

Amen.

Photo: Window at St. Augustine's Episcopal Church, Wilmette, where my dear friend and littermate Andrew is curate.

Prayer 1837: Seeking peave through justice

Almighty God,
You have set the stars in their courses
and placed your seal on our hearts:
shine the light of your countenance upon us today
as we live more deeply into your word.

May we be peacemakers and seekers of justice,
empowered by the Spirit
to stand alongside the outcast and the suffering.

May we draw deeply of your grace, mercy, and love, O Christ,
that we seek to restore and reconcile the broken spaces
within ourselves and between others.

Grounded in your truth, O Merciful One,
may hope and healing trail behind us
in our journey through this day.

Precious Savior, bless us to walk in your ways this day,
and grant your abundant peace and light
to those whose needs we lift before you.

Amen.

Prayer, day 1836

Lord Christ, you were born into the world
to lift up and save us in our weakness:
we raise our hearts to you in thanks and praise.

May we seek to make ourselves holy in all we do today.
May we place our intentions upon the altar of blessing,
that all we do may be good and pleasing in your sight.

May we seek to mend the spirits of those
whose hearts have been battered and bruised by trouble or hurt.
May we seek to love others
rather than use them,
rejoicing in the presence of Christ within each other.

May we allow ourselves to be wholly yours,
that we may reflect into the world your peace and justice.
May our prayers ascend to You like the scent of jasmine
on a warm southern breeze.

Spread over us the cloak of your mercy,
and place your hand of blessing upon those we now name.

Amen.


Photo: Yesterday was the 112th anniversary of the birth of Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

Prayer 1835: The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany

Before your altars, O Lord,
we place our offerings and prayers:
all that we are, and all that we can do
we offer to you, O Holy One,
as your children and beloveds.
May we know and look on high and praise
your wondrous works among us, O Creator.

The stars in their glory, singing your praise
in concert with the celestial spheres
and all the host of heaven,
call us to praise and worship.
God Almighty is renewing the face of the earth
calling all creation to reconciliation and harmony.

Let our hearts trace the pilgrim path
and embrace the Way of Jesus:
walking in unity and compassion,
standing for justice for and lovingkindness,
rejecting the powers of fear and darkness.

Holy Trinity, Eternal One,
strengthen us in bonds of empathy
that we may live in communion with each other.
Anoint all who seek You, O Spirit of Healing,
with the oil of mercy and gladness,
especially those whose concerns we bring before You.

Amen.

(Inspired by Isaiah 40:21-31)

Images: The Rev. Richard Wiskus, ordained to the transitional diaconate last Friday; The Milky Way from Chile, from Wikimedia Commons

Prayer, day 1834

Almighty God,
whose Love came down to us
in the gift of your Son to lead us to truth,
we bow before You in prayer.

Send your Spirit of Peace and Wisdom
to pull back that which veils our hearts,
that we may stand before You in thankfulness.

We have been marked as your own, O God:
may we lift up our voices in unceasing praise.
Hold us fast within your safekeeping,
O Rock of Salvation,
and guide us into holy fellowship as your children.

Bless us and preserve us, Lord Christ,
and give ear to the prayers of those we now name.

Amen.
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Photo: the gorgeous baptismal font at the Church of St. Martin, Davis, CA.

Prayer 1833: Our Home Under Your Wing

Merciful God, we give thanks for your love,
for You have searched us out and known us,
and drawn us to your breast
with the warmth and safekeeping of your mighty wing.

Accept our prayers and praises, O Holy One,
for we are your children,
fledglings in wisdom and compassion:
we turn our faces to you in hope and assurance.

May we gather together in love
within the mighty branches of your truth and grace,
and make our home before your alabaster altar
like a sparrow building her nest in safety.

May we extol the beauty of your works, Lord,
greeting each moment with joyful melody,
swooping and trilling our praise
within your cathedral of creation.

Give us wings of faith, Blessed Savior,
to lift our thoughts and desires always to You, Almighty One,
that we may seek Your will with joy
through sunshine or storm,
knowing You are ever beside us as we pray.

Amen.

(Inspired by Psalm 84:1-4)

Photo from Youtube.

Prayer, day 1832

Loving One, You are our strength and our savior,
and we praise You from the depths of our souls. 

O God, be our refuge and our shelter,
our proof against the chill wind of anxiety and trial.
Give a thirst for justice to your people,
that we may remember the love we owe You and each other.
Set us high upon the rock of compassion;
with your right Hand cover us
from the blast of cruelty and hardness of heart.
Help us to open our hearts to You and your gospel,
longing at all times to be guided by your Love. 

Incline your ear to hear us, O Holy One,
and look with favor upon those whose needs we bring before You.

Amen.
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Prayer, day 1831: In memory of those we have lost

Merciful God,
let us still our hearts and breathe deep your love.
Holy One, give us healing hands
and compassionate hearts for all today.
Let us join together to praise your Name
and proclaim your good news throughout the world.

Almighty One, we give You thanks
for the love of family and friends,
especially those who are gone from us.
We thank You for being with us
in sunshine and in shadow,
for Your Love never fails.

Give us the wisdom to follow your paths
as we seek to love each other as your children.
Give rest to all who are heavy laden with regret or sorrow,
and reconciliation for all who seek forgiveness.

Loving God, we ask that the hand of your blessing rest especially
upon those we now name.

Amen.
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Photo: My Dad, his twin brother Cordell, their cousin Arnold, and many other of their cousins in elementary school in (probably) Roosevelt, Oklahoma, in the early 1930s. My Dad died twelve years ago today.

Prayer, day 1830

Holy One, we thank You for watching over us through the night
and bringing us to the undiscovered land of this day.

In each step we take,
may we be mindful of our God beside us.
May we hear You call our names,
lovingly and tenderly,
whenever we feel lost or adrift.

Make us bold to call upon You, O God,
and accept the joys of discipleship.
Let us treat this Earth with love and reverence,
that we may honor your creation
as gift and blessing.
May we heed your call to justice for all people,
and tear down the walls of fear that divide us.

We thank you for preserving us
through the trials we encounter,
for You are with us always.
Send your Holy Spirit
as a source of respite, healing, and comfort,
especially to these for whom we now pray.

Amen.
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Photo: Cross with insets about various economic activity, Christ Church Cathedral chapel, reminding us to dedicate our work to the benefit of all.

Prayer 1829

Creator God,
we marvel at your wonders all around us.
This day is your gift to us:
guide our path through each hour,
that we may testify to your mercy and lovingkindness
and bear your love into the world.

Come, Precious Lord, Reconciler and Friend,
place your hand of wisdom upon us.
Let the works of our hands
be always works of our hearts,
that we may praise and glorify You with all we are.

Come, Fairest Jesus,
place your hand of compassion among us,
that we may forgive as we have been forgiven,
that we may honor your image in each other
and truly walk in unity, kinship, and love.

Come, Holy Spirit,
and place your hand of healing upon us,
especially all whose cares we place before you.

Amen.


Photo: The labyrinth at the Church of St. Martin, Davis, CA.