Prayers of the People #
The new day dawns and You, eternal, greet it, nurture it, birth it, as pleased with this as with the very first.
God in Your mercy,
Receive our prayer.
Halfway across the continent on the Mississippi fog boils up at the touch of the sun, those wide waters racing to the ocean loosing a mist of themselves into the trees, the fields, onto the bridges and barges and waterworks that hem the river into its course for a time. Not long, not long. Do You stand there on the shore, eyes taking in the diffuse light, feeling the wet chill of the night recede, declaring the all good, or do You alight in the fog itself, watching with pleasure the tumble of the new day?
God in Your mercy,
Receive our prayer.
Overhead, the sun. The furrows of the fresh planted field warm, the year’s new wheat gathers into itself, still yet as seed, only lately sprung forth. “Take and eat,” You taught, breaking bread and giving it, “this is my body” and is it the bread alone, in itself, or too the wheat and yeast and water and the bakers and the farmer and the field hands and the good, rich earth that you speak of? In those first portions of bread, oh Jesus, how many hands labor could you feel, what joys and what sorrows, what days of rain and what days of warm sun came down in those mouthfuls?
God in Your mercy,
Receive our prayer.
In the afternoon clouds gather, obscure the sun, blanketing the mountains and the tallest of the hills with snow, water for future days. We, here, closer to the ocean see rain, see it refresh our gardens and our public parks, see too the tents of our neighbors take on that water, absorb it. In the hills there are paths that are good and pleasant to walk. Do You see our footsteps there overlayed one on another? And there, too, footsteps, but to shelter, to places secluded, low and rude in some cases but many better camps than I have every pitched. All are hidden, safe for that. Remind us for a moment, where did You, Joy of Man’s Desiring, rest Your head? Isaiah spoke woe to those mighty that drive the poor from their homes, cut them off from their sustenance, comforting themselves in their fine mansions by the weeping and groaning of the mass. See us, oh God, even the housed, how tenuous the cord that binds us to our homes in this age. Purify our mouths, with a coal from your brazier, unbind them, that we might speak plainly of what is, speaking Your words of communion, of friendship, of love, that our mouths overflow and speak your doings into being for all.
God in Your mercy,
Receive our prayer.
It is the gloaming and the hills of our home pull on their evening dress, the turkey return into their roost, deer settle into grass. See us, Son of Man, sharing meals, considering the day and our doings, see us tending to our sick, preparing ourselves and our children and our elders for sleep. Bless, oh God, those ill among us, those that suffer, whether their wounds are obvious to the eye or lay hidden within. Turn to them wrenched with pity, heal them as it is Your will, comfort those for whom healing will not come until that day when all are made new again. Almighty One, we raise to you now aloud, or in our hearts, those we tend to and fret for.
God in Your mercy,
Receive our prayer.
Night falls, the stars speak of Your glory, proclaiming it for all with eyes to see. We pray as You have taught, not for others to marvel at but in private, earnestly, seeking communion with You. You know the prayers that stir in our hearts before even we think to form the words of them. In prayer You teach our hearts their needs. Please, friends, for what else do the people of God pray for?
God in Your mercy,
Receive our prayer.
In the depths of the dark of night our souls whisper to You, oh God. You speak back to them. Night by night, carefully tutored, we are transformed. Reflect Your brilliance from us, oh God, as we are able, for the comfort and the care of all Your holy creation.
Amen
Concluding Introduction #
When originally read for service I interspersed readings from Rilke whose poetry I very much enjoy. Unfortunately I did not stick to my notes and read as the Spirit moved in the moment. I write this now six months on and do not know which poem goes where.
Do read Rilke.