Category Archives: prayer

A litany for the last Monday in July

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Leader: Our God, it’s Monday.

All: Hear our prayer, O Lord.

A: I’m empty, O God, as empty as the heart of the widow walking next to the coffin of her only son. Do remember her, Jesus? No options? No hope? You healed her son. Please raise my heart.

All: Hear his prayer, O Lord.

B: I’m full, O God, thrilled with the adventure of a new week, a new morning. Yesterday was wonderful, the community, the worship. Let me remember the awareness of your presence all week long.

All: Hear her prayer, O Lord. And bring them together.

C: We are certain, O God, of the direction you are taking our family. We know that it will be hard, that love that gives up stuff and family is confusing to many, confusing to us. But we know that you are here and we know that you will be there. And we are grateful.

All: Hear their prayer, O Lord.

D: I’m so confused, O Lord, and then I hear that family and I am even more confused. How can they be certain of hearing you? How can I be certain of you hearing me? How can they pick up and leave and say that it’s you? I’d take just a whisper. Just an echo. Just a word.

All: Hear his prayer, O Lord.

C: And answer, please.

E: I am grieving. I admit it, O God. I know that you are with me. I know that. But he isn’t, not anymore. Not til forever. And I am trusting, that I am. But I am alone.

All: Hear her prayer, O Lord.

Leader: We are here, God, as different as apples and transmissions. Our fullness and emptiness grate on each other. So grant us your peace. No other will do.

Where to go first

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My wife has hit some challenging stuff lately. And as a result, I have too.

When your little kid wanders off and you find him twenty minutes later, you get really mad at him. “Ben, I’ve told you a ton of times to never to wander off like that!” But what you really mean is, “Ben, I love you so much and am so glad that you are not lost!” The heat of emotions gets us every time. Recently, we have tended to get angry at those who have done things to harm themselves and us, needlessly.

So one thing we’ve been pondering – and seeking to apply – is that it’s great to first go to God with our anger and frustration. After then we can go to others.

Are we weak and heavy laden, cumbered with a load of care?
Precious Savior, still our refuge, take it to the Lord in prayer.
Do your friends despise, forsake you? Take it to the Lord in prayer!
In His arms He’ll take and shield you; you will find a solace there.

That is from an old hymn, written in 1855: What a Friend we have in Jesus.

Yes, we don’t talk like that anymore, but just as you would read Shakespeare, look beyond the language to see the depth of truth and meaning there.

This is such a simple truth, but it’s something that I have to keep remembering, re-learning and applying again – over and over. Maybe a way to expand our thinking on this is to think of new ways that we can do this today. Share your idea in the comments to help all of us move forward in this. Or share a story of how you did this, to encourage the rest of us. Thank you!

(Paul Merrill writes here every First Friday)

Because sometimes you can’t do two things at once.

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A few weeks ago in our weekly staff meeting, our boss walked over to one of our staff members. He took a red marker and drew a line on Kelley’s arm. He said, “The artery is cut. What are you going to do.” I was sitting closest. I immediately put the palm of my hand on the red line. I put pressure on it. I kept that hand on his arm while someone else helped him lay down. I kept that hand on his arm while someone else “called” 911.  All I could do was keep my hand on the red line to stop the bleeding.

I don’t think I’ve talked to you about what I think it means to pray for someone, but that story is a perfect illustration.

I have this idea that “praying for” can mean “praying about” or “praying with” someone. So when someone says, “pray for me” they might mean “pray about this situation that I’m in.”  Or they might mean “pray with me and ask God to fix this because if we get enough people asking him, he’s bound to pay attention.”

However, I’ve got this idea that “praying for” might  mean “Would you talk to God because I can’t right now.”

It’s like, while I was holding my hand on the red line, I couldn’t make a call. But that didn’t mean that I was doing something wrong, it meant that I was engaged.

I said to Nancy late last week, “I’m looking forward to being able to pray again.” I wasn’t ignoring God. I was as aware of his presence and peace as I have ever been. But I didn’t have time for conversation. I was holding my hand on a red line to stop the bleeding. I had friends who were calling 911.

morning coffee with Jesus.

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(video version of this post: morning coffee with Jesus)

Jesus, I want you sitting here.

I don’t want to have to be patient. I don’t want you to be invisible. I want that relationship fixed. I want that heart healed. I want that brain to start working again, just like it was.

I want to know what to say.

I want to be able to say, “Jesus loves you and is praying for you and cares more about that person than you ever will.” I say it, Jesus, because I know it’s true, but, with all due respect, it sounds cliche.

I’d rather have five smooth stones in my hand, to fling at the towering Goliath of despair and watch it come crashing down. And still have four in my hand.

I’d rather … you know what I’d rather have, Jesus? I’d rather have you. Sitting on the deck. By the lake. With a cup of coffee in your hand in the early morning. The two of us looking at the calmness of the lake and you saying,

“See how smooth that is? I made that. And there was the time that there was a another lake, and a boat. And guys exactly like you who wanted to know that I was awake, that I was paying attention. They yelled at me above the noise of the storm. They thought I didn’t care. They thought I was ignoring them. They thought, well, they thought the storm was going to be too much for me. But it wasn’t.  The storm was easy. It always is. Them trusting me was hard. It always is.”

That’s what I want. Instead of the ache that I feel right now. I want that coffee and that calm and you.

And what I know is that you do too.

I mean coffee and calm and me.

A prayer for Monday

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“Oh God.”

That will be our prayer, God, many of us as we look at the clock for the first time on Monday morning, as we roll over and slap the alarm, as we feel the crush of realizing we have no idea where we left off in whatever projects are facing us.

Hear our prayer O Lord.

We spent Sunday in church / not in church / with people we love / with people we hate / alone / working / laughing / crying / wondering / wandering / lost.  We don’t have to tell you that, of course, but there is something about telling you about our weekend as we remember it with delight / regret / confusion that helps us find it.

Hear our prayer O Lord.

We start the new week, weak. We worship coffee this morning, some of us, with the same reverence and greater craving than we shared a cup of wine or juice yesterday. We mean you no disreverence in this, Lord Jesus.

You yourself knew first days of the workweek. You yourself had to wake up and face John’s bad breath and Peter’s bad temper and Judas’ cheapness when it came to the disciple’s coffee fund. And though you had already created the coffee plant long before, no one had yet discovered how to roast it when you got up and went off to spend the early morning in conversation with your Father.

Were those conversations with him more real for you than our conversations with you are real for us?

Would you be willing, perhaps, today, to let it feel not so much like Monday? To help us more quickly remember where we are and why? To hear “Oh God” as less oath and more affirmation? To know that it’s to you alone we can hope to turn?

Here.

Our prayer:

“O Lord.”