Trinity Sunday Prayer

Three times we sing:
Holy, holy, holy!

Three times we pray:
Mercy, mercy, mercy!

All credit and praise are due to you, O LORD Most High,
for you are mighty and magnificent above all else!
You are stunning in creation and redemption,
beyond our wonder in power and blessing.

Three times we sing:
Holy, holy, holy!

Three times we pray:
Mercy, mercy, mercy!

By your grace we are bold to bring you our prayers:
for hearts that are mourning, for lives that are displaced,
for injustices that seem endless and for love that is,
for the joys and the struggles of relationships,
for opportunities, for doubts, for dreams.

Three times we sing:
Holy, holy, holy!

Three times we pray:
Mercy, mercy, mercy!

We trust in you, O Christ, through uncertainty and hope.
Receive our stories — complicated and faulty as they are;
speak faith and courage to our questions and worries.
Let your Spirit reconcile us to fear for dynamic new life.

Three times we sing:
Holy, holy, holy!

Three times we pray:
Amen, amen, amen!

Cross-posted at RevGalBlogPals.

Blankie Prayers

Just the hem, O my God, just the hem.
Hide your face, turn your back even,
but let the hem of your robe linger
as a comfort through the long night.
Send your visions to one more gifted;
let another more foolish in faithfulness
glimpse the wonder of your wisdom;
for myself, nothing so glorious but
the sight of a stitch in your hem.
Would that I could catch its fibers
and with them knit a consolation
to bind up every aching heart
and bring peace to my own.
One prayer, O God: your hem.

on Isaiah 6:1

Ferocious: A Pentecost Prayer

How great you are, O God our God,
and how foolish are we to call you ours!
Your power cannot be measured,
your holiness cannot be contained.
Without you, we are entirely hopeless …
with you, we are completely unsettled.

How to choose:
between your Consuming Fire
and the embers of complacency?
between your Dance of New Life
and the brittle familiarity of these bones?
between your Righteous Justification
and this world’s systems of injustice?

In the power of your glory,
save us and grant us courage
to draw near to your ferocious grace.
Give us strength to bear down
through the labor pains
of reparation & restoration.
Fill us with visions beyond our wildest dreams,

and as we dream,
we will sing your highest praises
if you will hold our deepest sorrows;
we will remember your promises of life
if you will hold our stories of death;
we will say your name often & loosely as though drunk
if you will hold our names intentionally in your hand.

Be fierce, O Holy God —
the world needs you to be fierce,
and the world needs us to be fiercely convicted
by your power and grace.
We dare to say
that we are ready to be
changed by your Spirit; we are ready.

Cross-posted at RevGalBlogPals.

Awaiting the Return of Pentecost

At long last,
O Mighty God,
will you mercifully set on fire
all that is yours,
reducing to ash & coals
the injustices, the impurities,
while emboldening to brilliance
truth-telling tongues & fiercely-loving lives?

At long last,
O Raging God,
will you set ablaze
complacent hearts & dry bones
until there is an wholly unprecedented
conversion of stubborn perspective,
a confession of false gods,
a radicalization of love?

At long last,
O Most Wild God,
will you break mountains and send whirlwinds,
will you send us into the streets with shouts;
will you toss & turn us with nightmares,
make us blush & burn with daydreams,
make us alive in defiance of death
even now while we groan in despair?


Is that you, God,
peering through the crap?
Is that muck of life truly you in all your glory,
or is it me kicking my dirt in your direction while you
as the gardener examine how to make good use of such shi*?

Is that you, God,
burning within my core?
Is it your holy restlessness that drives me
or is this my own anxiety and fear causing trouble,
keeping me on my toes in a dance of agitation and discontent?

Is that you, God,
leading in the wilderness?
Are you in those clouds I am chasing
or is it an illusion of desire and ambition in my eyes,
a desperate need for the fog to bear some deep meaning?

Is that you, God,
blustering and blowing with change?
Are you the wind that spins and disorients me
or is it just a bunch of hot air: my own combined with
the nonsensical whims and furious cyclones of this world?

Is that you, God?
Will you mind terribly if I choose
to sit here in safe retreat until you become clear?