Prayers for the Permanent Collection

All Things New

Teach us the patience to heal

Jesus, 

We love disposable things.

Plastic containers and bags 

filling oceans and landfills.

We tend to replace broken things,

not repair them.

Take a sip and discard;

microwave, eat, and discard.

Something broken?

No problem!

Go to Amazon, click, click, click,

overnight delivery and boom!

Broken thing replaced, not repaired.

The little luxuries that wealth affords

for expediency’s sake and convenience’s glory.

No wonder we don’t know how to heal!

We have no resilience in the struggle,

no patience for the waiting, 

no empathy for those 

who are too far away from wealth 

to hear her shouting

“No problem!” 

and close enough to poverty

to hear her whisper

“You are stuck!” 

But you,

being able to change the world 

faster than a microwave turns kernels into popcorn,

chose the slow path of birth and growth.

Nine months in mom’s womb,

childhood playing and learning Torah,

youth watching dad and learning a craft,

thirty whole years before you announced

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,

Because he has anointed me

to preach good news to the poor.

He has sent me 

to proclaim release to the captives

and recovery of sight to the blind, 

to set free the oppressed

to proclaim the year 

of the Lord’s favor.

You weren’t interested in convenience and expediency;

you wanted re-creation and redemption

because the world is too precious to be disposable

and creation too beautiful to be abandoned.

You died on the cross 

a slow, painful death 

so every part of us

would be healed and redeemed. 

We were fragmented, 

shattered in millions of pieces

by sin’s hammering force.

But your blood glued us together

restoring our souls to reflect you

and re-creating your image. 

Piece by piece you have taught us

that you don’t give up on things;

you don’t give up on us.

We are not disposable! 

You have bestowed on us 

the dignity of redemption,

the privilege of growing slow,

the sacredness of healing well

so that we may show off our scars.

Healer, 

Teach us to love lacquer and glue.

Grant us the patience to be

agents of repair and redemption

and to choose the slow process of growth.

Teach us to mend what is broken.

Fill our cracks with your binding love

and embellish them with your Light. 

Kintsugi our souls that we may Kintsugi the world.

Οur souls need deliverance from apathy.

Our streets need healing from gun violence.

Our sidewalks need healing from neglect.

Our city needs deliverance from systems

that draw red lines around people

and push us further apart.

Tear down the walls of hostility!
Disarm the weapons of corruption!
Break the strongholds that hold us

captive to evil systems of injustice!

Kintsugi our souls that we may kintsugi the world.

Amen

Tenebrae 

Lament of the Wounded

How long, oh Lord, will I walk around wounded?

How long will I don gauze as my garment?

How long will my plea go unanswered?

How long will your face turn away?

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

My soul is crying in anguish,

battered by emotional pain 

it knows not how to name.

My bones ache from exhaustion, 

my muscles are knotted in tension

shaking and sobbing in rhythm,

learning the cadence of grief.

Selah

I sob for me and all the ones donning gauze,

carrying pain’s lonely load

alongside you on Calvary’s road.

I sob with all the wounded

whose gauze is stained red

because their heart has been crushed.

They lay awake anxious,

staring down the night

wishing for sunshine and daytime.

Their eyelids are heavy

but their minds don’t stop racing

the lanes slippery with tears

on worry’s perilous highway. 

Oh, and here comes the storm!

Steady downpour of tears

flowing forth from my soul.

They gush out from my guts 

like water through an opened dam. 

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Selah

Yet I am not crying alone.

You cried with me on Calvary’s mount. 

You showered me with you blood

while crying out to your Father,

“Why did you leave me alone?”

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

You sobbed with me in anguish

as you poured out your blood.

You fixed your gaze on mine;

I saw your tears and you saw mine,

the sacred knowing of all the wounded.

And I hear you faintly whispering 

“I press my wounds against yours.”

Selah

Oh, Jesus, wounded Savior,

teach me to suffer well.

Teach me that my tears

water the seeds of your kingdom

amidst thistles and thorns.

One day, the flowers will bloom! 

Teach me to suffer with hope.

For your wounds were healed into scars

and you no longer wear gauze.

Soon I shall hear you shouting

“I press my scars against yours!” 

Amen

Sovereignty

Blown by the Wind

The wind blows where it pleases, and you hear its sound, but you don’t know where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.

John 3:8

Holy Spirit, 

As we enter this place,

free us to surrender

to the power of your Wind.

We give up control

of worries that keep us sleepless

and burdens that make us hunch.

We give up our ideas

of what we think church should look like

and how you should do your work.

We give up the fight;

we refuse to fight Sovereignty 

and resist being transformed.

You are God; we are not. 

We open our hearts 

to your transcendent power

and your immanent presence. 

We invite you to enter

the recesses of our souls no one has ever seen

because we thought them to ugly for anyone to see. 

Blow Holy Spirit! Blow! 

We expect you this day

to convict us from sin,

to deliver the oppress,

to encourage the discouraged,

to be near to the brokenhearted.

There is nothing too big for your transcendence 

and nothing too small for your immanence.

Blow Holy Spirit! Blow!

Disrupt us with beauty

and awaken our souls.

We’ve been asleep for too long

inside theological boxes that confine you

as if we could imprison the Wind. 

Blow Holy Spirit! Blow! 

Shake us out of complacency,

disturb our souls with what disturbs You. 

Disrupts us with beauty 

into your mission and story.

We surrender to the Wind.

Amen

The Shepherd

The Shepherd’s Touch

Good Shepherd, 

I’ve been too mad at you to let you touch me,

throwing punches in the air,

fighting the wind to keep you away.

But the truth is

I. AM. LOST.

I’ve been wandering in your silence’s wilderness,

longing for the Shepherd to find me.

My body and soul are fainting,

yearning for you,

for the sound of your voice,

for the warmth of your arms,

for the touch of your hand.

Come, Good Shepherd,

hear my wandering cries,

rescue me from this futile battle,

where I fight for your embrace

but push you away

throwing punches to the wind.  

I am lost and scared.

I don’t know how to live without you,

I don’t want to learn!

Why is fighting easier than surrendering?

If I fight, you remain at arm's length,

but if I surrender, you come closer than breath. 

Surrender is intimacy’s road.

You come close enough to shear my wool, 

close enough to be smeared with my mud,

close enough to see my naked soul,

close enough to know my truest parts.

The discomfort of intimacy 

makes me throw punches to the air.

But I’m tired of fighting,

and I’m done pretending

that I’m ok on my own

and I don’t need You to care.

Come close my Shepherd, my Beloved!

I surrender to intimacy’s rest

in the safety of your arms 

and the warmth of your touch.

Surrender is the road to joy.

Amen

Job’s answer

God’s Questions

I had heard reports about you, but now my eyes have seen you. Therefore, I reject my words and am sorry for them; I am dust and ashes. 

Job 42:5-6

Pure Wisdom,

We are suffering,

crushed by the weight of life,

burdened by a world torn apart,

tired of the thorns and the thistles. 

Our bodies are covered 

in boils of infirmity and injustice.

Our skin itches with loneliness.

We scratch the itch with fickle flings

that spread the pus and leave a wound.

Our souls are tired 

of breathing heavy and gasping for air, 

longing for solace but receiving unfair,

craving touch but enduring abandon.

So we search for answers

and ask millions of questions,

but receive pad answers 

from so called friends

that we wish would be silent. 

So we flood you with questions

Why me, why that, why now?

But where do we hide when you’re asking the questions?

What do we say to the counsel of Wisdom?

…

You ask me to answer

unanswerable questions

about your infinite mystery 

and unspeakable grandeur.

Where were you when I lid up the world?

Where were you when I spoke plants alive?

Do you know how to water the earth?

Do you know how to confine the seas?

We stand silent before you

in the smallness of unknowing,

unwise as ostriches,

running as fast as we can,

leaving our eggs in the sand.

We have nothing to say;

we close our mouths with our hands.

For we had hear reports about you,

but now our eyes have seen you.

We reject our words 

and are sorry for them;

we are dust and ashes. 

Amen

Humility and Generosity 

No one has greater love than this: to lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants anymore, because a servant does not know what his master is doing. I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything I have heard from my Father. 

John 15:13-15

Teach us to trust in order to love 

God, 

We are lonely,

isolated behind glowing boxes

that promised to build connections,

but conditioned us to build walls,

brick by brick,

click by click.

We are hiding

behind online personas

created from our soul’s wish list,

skinnier body,

flawless complexion,

great vacations,

perfect marriage,

saintly kids,

dream job,

smiling faces,

happy emojis.

We are scared

of revealing our real list

instead of our wish list;

we are afraid that what’s wished

gets more likes than what’s real.

We aren’t skinny; we have love handles.

Our skin is not flawless; we have pimples and wrinkles.

We didn’t go to Bora Bora; we went to Branson. 

Our marriages aren’t perfect; we are imperfect.

Our kids aren’t saintly; they’re prickly.

Our jobs aren’t dreamy; thorns and thistles are stinging.

Our faces are smiling but our hearts are frowning.

Happy emojis hide frustration and sadness. 

WE ARE EXHAUSTED.

Jesus, Our Friend, 

You who hung on the cross

naked, vulnerable, exposed.

You gave your whole self for us;

you never wanted anything other than us, 

imperfect as we are,

love handles and all,

to handle all of us with love.

Our souls are never hidden from you;

The pimples, the wrinkles, the sadness.

Teach us to trust in your love for us.

We need to recover

the trust that abuse eroded,

when we gave ourselves to others,

who treated our loneliness as opportunity,

our insecurities as a place for hiding,

our fear as a security blanket, 

and our exhaustion as if they won the fight. 

Teach us to trust in your love for us.

Let us trust you enough to be generous.

You fully gave yourself to us;

we want to give ourselves to you

in the freedom of perfect love

and the safety of intimate friendship.

Let us trust you enough to be humble,

humble enough to be vulnerable,

vulnerable enough to be intimate.

Rid us of the pride that hides 

our true selves behind our wish lists

and open our hearts to the friendship 

that only humility brings.

And, after all that wrestling, 

learning to trust in your love,

grant us the courage to trust

the love of our siblings in Christ.

We need courage

to give ourselves to each other

with radical generosity

in the sacredness of humility.

Tear down the walls of suspicion!

Break every chain of our pride!

We want to love freely and truly;

we want to extend genuine hugs.

We want to lift up the wounded

and give up our lives for our love. 

We want to say to our siblings

You have to trust in my love.

Amen

Chasing My Dreams Again

The little children were brought to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray, but the disciples rebuked them. Jesus said, “Leave the little children alone, and don’t try to keep them from coming to me, because the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

Matthew 19:13-14

Bless the “little saints”

Jesus,

To you who love children more than we ever could, we commend the “little saints” we cherish and care for. They are growing up in a world that is anxious and angry, confused and callused, a world in desperation and distress. Would you lay your hands on them and bless them?

Bless them with wonder  

To see your hand in each detail

and marvel at the silliest things.

Let their first word be WOW,

amazed by the splendor 

of pretty flowers and play dough. 

Bless them with courage

to color outside the lines

and try new colors and shapes.

Don’t let fear keep them caged,

imprisoned in “what ifs” and regret.

Teach them to walk steady,

especially when they’re afraid.

Bless them with innovation

that dares to scribble on walls

and glue mesh in odd places.

May they sense your delight in their scribbles

and feel your joy in imaginative play.

May they sense your Spirit’s nudging

to paint with colors they rarely use,

try a dance move no one has seen,

solve equations with unconventional methods,

cure diseases with God-given lab techniques.

Bless them with a heart for prayer 

to listen to you in the stillness 

of a spirit quieted by Love. 

To pray with boldness 

that matches your grandeur

and faith that believes you are able. 

Let your arms be their home.

Let your presence be their safe harbor

in the midst of life storms that will surely come.

Bless them with unbridled trust

to say yes to your mission 

and obey you with haste.

Let them march to the rhythm

of the drum in your heart.

May they be compelled

by the Beauty beheld. 

Amen

Jesus, 

Will you bless us too? 

Bless us with humility 

to be trained by the children

in the ways of your kingdom.

Our faith needs renewal; 

make us like children!

May we marvel at the smallest detail,

may we have courage to fail and to fall,

may we look at the world with curiosity,

may we dare to scribble on walls

and color outside the lines.

Make us like the “little saints”

so we may grow into kingdom saints.

Amen

Big Bang / Kingdom of God

Uncontainable and Uncontrollable

Now to him who is able to do above and beyond all that we ask or think according to the power that works in us - to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen. 

Ephesians 3:20-21

God,

You who no temple contains

and fills the whole earth.

You who reclines in heaven

and rests his feet on earth.

Expand our imaginations

to your unmeasurable dimensions,

that we may pray “able to do” prayers

that we may ask for what’s “above and beyond.” 

Our prayers are often weak 

because we make you too small.

We read that no temple contains you

but reduce you to what we can read

and models predict.

But you, uncontainable God, 

you defy every formula 

and break every box. 

Your kingdom can’t be contained

because your Spirit cannot be tamed. 

He is not our pet!

We can’t keep him on schedule.

We can’t train him to follow.

We can’t teach him our tricks.

How arrogant have we been!

To think we can keep you contained

in carefully crafted boxes

that present as presents 

but are wrapping prisons. 

The prisons of control 

that shout inside of us, 

“This is the only way to do this.” 

“That is not of God;

it is too weird, too wild.”

But you, uncontrollable God, 

you beckon us to pay attention

to the city growing sideways 

in the bottle without lid.

She is breaking out to fly

to lands near and far,

growing your kingdom in places

that books do not mention

and experts ignore. 

Help us, oh God!

Free our minds from the prisons 

that come wrapped in gift boxes.

We want to march with your Spirit,

in sync with your heart.

We want to pray

“Your kingdom come, your will be done”

without crossing our fingers behind our backs.

We want to burst the walls of our kingdom

so that yours can go forth!

Give us the courage to throw out the lid

and tip the bottle to spill 

by praying “above and beyond”

to the One who is “able to do.”

Amen

Beauty Intended

The Rhythms of Beauty

Let us, then, make every effort to enter that rest so that no one will fall into the same pattern of disobedience. 

Hebrews 4:11

Creator and Beauty, 

On day one 

you turned on the lights 

in a world that was dark, 

filled with empty space,

in timeless disarray, 

but pregnant with promise

for your Spirit was hovering.

On day two

you made a home for the sky, 

dwelling for the color blue

and blanket for the waters below.

On day three

you gathered the seas

and made land appear,

a canvas for shades of green

accented by fun-colored flowers

announcing the fruits for our food. 

On day four

you hung the sun from the sky

to greet each day with delight.

You sprinkled twinkling lights

to dance away through the night.

On day five

you sent the fish to swim 

and the birds to fly,

large creatures playing in the sea,

winged animals gliding across the sky.

On day six

you filled the earth 

with herds of all kinds. 

Crawling creatures and wildlife

adorning the shades of green. 

You fashioned humans on day six;

your very hands molding clay

to mirror your very self,

to steward the earth and subdue it. 

All that you made was good.

Beauty created 

for your pleasure and ours,

a playground to care for, 

a communion garden.

The beauty created was good.

On day seven,

you rested.

[Pause]

Then the lying serpent 

crawled between you and us. 

Holy communion 

between God and his image

disrupted by crawling sin.

The lights went off in our souls

when beauty created 

became beauty intended. 

Now all of our ailments 

bear footnotes,

“That’s not what our Creator intended.” 

We feel it every day,

creeping up our souls,

the rebellion of our humanity

against pure Wisdom and Beauty.

Now, like animals

we’re eating each other.

Sin has made us cannibals;

our words are as sharp as molars. 

Like the world on day one,

our souls feel empty and void. 

Hearts in disarray, 

longing for peace and hope.

So you sent us your Son

and the serpent was crushed.

Your very self in the flesh

transformed beauty intended

into beauty re-created.

Now all of our ailments 

bear footnotes of hope,

“One day Jesus will come

and everything God intended

will be finally consummated.”

Beauty intended,

re-created through Jesus,

fully consummated

when he comes to wed us.

Perfect sabbath at last! 

Jesus, our Bridegroom,

Help us strive to enter your rest,

make us long to your beauty behold,

grant us peace in communion’s embrace,

help us clasp the grace in your rest.

Amen

Ascension, O Death Where is Your Sting

Dry bones and rainbows

“The hand of the Lord was on me, and he brought me out by his Spirit and set me down in the middle of the valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them. There were a great many of them on the surface of the valley, and they were very, very dry. Then he said to me, ‘Son of man, can these bones live?’ I replied, ‘Lord God only you know.’ He said to me, ‘Prophesy concerning these bones and say to them: Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord!”

Ezekiel 37:1-4

Resurrected Lord, 

Dry bones and rainbows

are a seeming paradox,

a contradiction of the imagination,

a square peg in a round hole. 

How could rainbows 

arise from dry bones?

Dull and ivory white,

too hard for penetrating light.

Dry bones fill valleys of hopelessness,

but rainbows announce newness and hope.

Jesus, 

Where are the prophets?

Where are Ezekiel’s heirs,

the ones whose souls are prisms of hope?

Shine on them so the colors come forth!

Holy Spirit, 

Blow from the four corners

and summon the prophets

to paint rainbows in war zones

and speak flesh over dry bones.

Amen.

Painters arise!

Let your soul’s prism bend Light

so the angle’s just right

to paint resurrection lilies 

amidst weeds of injustice.

Ballerinas on pointe!

Skip your Grand Jetés of hope, 

painting rainbows over ruins,

where children skip over grenades 

hoping for lilies and rainbows.

Dance your arabesque to resurrection! 

Musicians come forth! 

Gather your fiddles and flutes,

blow the Spirit's reconciling notes

in spaces where only sirens blow.

Poets, gather your pens!

Paint rainbows of hope with words of peace.

Speak forgiveness into dry bones,

and tendons into tedium.

Rhyme the world to resurrection! 

Teachers, have courage!

Tell young hearts that math makes rainbows.

Divine Light refracted on living water 

that turns souls into prisms

painting the world with hope. 

Doctors, gather your stethoscopes!

Listen carefully to hurting hearts

to bring healing with skillful hands,

and minister presence to the soul’s chambers. 

Bedside manners also paint rainbows!

Resurrected Lord, 

Here are the heirs of Ezekiel.

We stand amidst this world’s dry bones,

hearing your Spirit’s cry inside us

“Prophesy! Prophesy you sons and daughters of Ezekiel!”

Here we are, 

Imperfect but ready

to paint rainbows over dry bones.

We say, “Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord!”

Here we are

painting resurrection lilies, 

dancing Pirouettes in the wilderness,

playing reconciling notes,

rhyming the world to resurrection,

teaching rainbow mathematics,

listening to hearts with stethoscopes.

In unison we say,

“Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord!”

We will paint rainbows over dry bones

until the only dry bones around

look like a serpent and smell like sulfur.

Amen