Caryn Rivadeneira's Blog, page 7

Prayers for a Congregation #2

[Prayer Spark: Thanksgiving. I prayed this at Elmhurst Christian Reformed Church's Thanksgiving Day 2013 service. Putting up a couple days late....you know, the holidays.]

God, we thank you.

We thank you for every last blessing you pour into our lives. We thank you for the blessings we take for granted: for freedom to worship, for warm spaces to gather, for food on tables and in our bellies, for clothes on our back, for coats hanging on hangers. We thank you for the most basic elements of life: for the air we breathe, for the water that washes and quenches, for fire that fuels and heats.

We thank you for the blessings of one another: for each person in this building—from those who sit in these seats for the first time to those who’ve come here their whole lives. We thank you for the vastness of our personalities and our abilities, for the gifts and callings you’ve given each of us. Thank you for pastors and musicians, for elders and deacons, for staff members and volunteers.

And we thank you for the people we love beyond these walls. We thank you for the gifts of friendships and families, for colleagues and neighbors. We thank you that in one other we can see your image in the people we laugh with, cry with, dream with, share with, work with and play with.

But God, we know you are not only a God who give gifts, but that you are also a God who allows them to slip away.

This year, for many recent life experiences make it hard to give thanks. Even for the most basic elements. Many of us have lost loved ones—and lost them far too soon. Many of us have lost opportunities and dreams and jobs and money and health.

For many of us the words thank you ring hollow. Some of us have few words of gratitude, as we suffer. We wish we could thank you for healing or help or for preventing heartache. But it never came. So instead all we can do is shake our heads or fists at you, wondering where you are or what you are up to.

And yet, even in this, even as we bring you our pain or frustration or anger, in all that is our gratitude—our thanks for being a God who accepts broken hearts as a sacrifice, for being a God who hears us, who sees us and who is with us. In the times of giving and in times of taking away, you are with us. And you are good.

And for this, we thank you. Even when we don’t understand, thank you that your goodness prevails. Thank you for loving us through our doubts and through our faith, through our laments and through our praise.

Thank you for the riches and bounty of this life that come—not merely from the daily blessings—but from the abundance of your steadfast, unending love. Of which we are not worthy, but through which we have our only hope. And every reason to give thanks.

In your name alone, Amen.

A Prayer for Those For Whom “It Coulda Been Worse”

[Prayer Spark: Illinois tornado victims]

So God,

I’ve gotten lazy again. Not chatting with you much beyond my daily repetition of three Lord’s Prayers or the prayers with my kids on the drive to school or the ones I shoot up, randomly. Thanks for hearing all those. Thanks for being ready to hear me, to grab my random thoughts and worries.

Thanks for seeing my shaking head and rolling eyes as prayers in and of themselves. But today–now, just two days before Thanksgiving–I thought I’d get official about one worry: the folks who last week, not far from here, where I live, as you know–lost their homes or parts of them, lost their neighborhoods or livelihoods in the tornadoes that twisted and tormented Illinois.

God, you know their physical needs. And I ask that you meet them. That you use us to meet them.

But I can’t stop thinking about something else. Because I’ve probably heard now five times someone say about those who lost homes–or whatever–in the tornadoes: “At least you don’t live in the Phillipines! It coulda been worse!”

Be near those hearing this message–either directly or indirectly–because I imagine no matter where you live losing a home is the worst. Whether or not insurance will come through, whether or not communities rally, and friends and family step up, no one suffering in any way needs to be told they’re “lucky.” That they’re not as bad off.

They need to sit in their grief, in their suffering. They need to cry and complain and whine and moan. Not be told, It coulda been worse.

Thank you, God, for being a God who not only acknowledges this. But commands it, who tells us to turn our laughter into morning and our joy into gloom. Thank you for being a God who doesn’t make us compare our suffering to others’, but who acknowledges that we all will have trouble. Period.

Thank you for being a God who lifts us up in our suffering, who has overcome all that trouble. Who offers peace in the midst of all this.

So today, please be near anyone, anywhere facing trouble, suffering, worrying, despairing. Be with those who have lost everything. And those who have lost one thing. Lift them up, overcome. Bring peace.

Amen.

A Prayer for School Kids

So God,

You know that one of the many (many!) things I love about school and my kids being at school is that I get the chance to miss them. Without them here asking me to make them chai (God, this isn’t normal, right?) or asking for help with homework or to help get a toy out of the dog’s mouth or worse, I have long stretches of time to go to work, to come back home and work. To write in the quiet. Or to put away dishes with talk radio. Or music. To fold laundry in front of a documentary.

But also, to miss my kids and to wonder what they’re up to. And each time I do, it’s a lovely reminder to go to you, to ask that you be with them during their day at school. To ease and clear and open their minds, to instill knowledge along with a love of learning, to surround them with friends and laughter, to let them catch glimpses of you, to hear your whispers in the hallways. To keep them safe. Always, to keep them safe.

So I ask all this now. For my kids. Today. But I also ask it for all kids. Every day. Be near. Be present. Especially to those who you see crying or lonely, those who may be afraid to come to school. Or to go back home. Reveal yourself to school kids everywhere. Let them see and hear and taste and smell and feel and know you in everything.

Amen.

A Lament for the Philippines

[Prayer Spark: The news...]

God, for days, I’ve wanted to type this out. I wanted to ask you to help the people of the Philippines–to help?us?help them. But I’ve not had words. Only groans. You’ve heard those. But they’re harder to blog down.

I suppose it’s because I’m mad at you–the God of the Wind, the God of the Ocean, the God of the Land, the God of those people. You, the One who controls the waters and the wind and the storm. You, the One who could’ve stopped, re-directed, or lessened this. You, who could’ve spared lives, spared the devastation. You, the One who didn’t.

I have a hard time with this. With this characteristic of yours. Because I believe you are Sovereign. Because I believe this?is?your world. Because I believe you love us. It’s hard to understand how you can be at once present, at once at work in the world, and at once allow this sort of devastation. Time after time and again and again.

Of course, I know this is a broken world. I understand that weather was part of the Fall, that mass tragedy is part of the reality of sin in our world. And I know there’s a difference between?allowing?and?causing.?I get that. But I hate that.

Because it messes with my view of you–the all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving God. It messes with my idea that you can be known and understood. That somehow–somehow–your love for us will always shine through.

For the thousands in the Philippines walking around “like zombies,” for those who have seen loved ones washed away, who grieve and despair, you don’t seem all-powerful, you don’t seem all-knowing, and you don’t seem all-loving. You seem aloof, uncaring. Your love’s not shining through.

Or so I imagine.

But then I know, the great paradox or mystery or whatever it is of you: that even in the midst of horrors, you are there. We hear–and live–the stories, the testimonies that arise of your goodness, of sightings of you. And I know that you–in all this, in my anger, in my doubts–are still good. You are still loving, still near, still at work, no matter how I feel?or what I?think. Your truth is not dependent on my mood sways. Your truth and your goodness is not conditional, not dependent on weather. Thank God. Thank You.

So, here’s what I ask for, today and always: Be near. Be help. Let your love and goodness still somehow shine through the terrors. In the lives of those in the Philippines right now–and in the life of anyone else who needs it.

Amen.

A Prayer for the Weather-Beaten

[Prayer Spark: Reading about the Super Typhoon supposed to hit Philippines]

God,

Be with those in the Philippines who await “the biggest storm ever.”

How terrifying: to do all you can to prepare, to hunker down or head out. To calm children, to pretend all will be well. For their sakes.

I imagine the prayers to you or other gods are deafening. But I add mine as well.

Be near. Be merciful.

Amen.

Prayer for Crusaders

[Prayer spark: Megan Fox's (not that Megan Fox, as this Megan says) speaking out against public pornography viewing in libraries.]

God,

Today I pray for the crusaders–not, as you know, The Crusaders, neither the holy-grail seeking villains (though, please do have mercy on their souls) nor the sports teams with this name (though, be with them as well….). But for people who speak up, who speak out, who take a stand and hold their ground.

Whether or not I agree with–or even totally get–the stands taken, the opposition voiced, I thank you for people will to do this. For the guts it takes to speak out when most of us stick to the sidelines. Thank you for crusaders who speak up against wrongs in politics, in religion, in communities. For those who face persecution in varying degrees for doing so.

To these crusaders, God, to those who believe they are following your voice and your call on their lives:

Grant them courage

Grant them fire

Grant them peace

Grant them stamina

Grant them protection

Grant them wisdom

And God make us all grateful  for people willing to take stands. Give us grace–let us forbear–when confronted with crusaders with whom we disagree. Give us words of encouragement for those we support.

And let us all become willing crusaders for the causes on your heart–for justice and mercy and love.

Amen

Prayers for a Congregation #1

[Prayer Spark: Laziness.... This is Congregation Prayer I offered on November 3 at Elmhurst Christian Reformed Church]

God in heaven,

Thank you for this beautiful day. That we can be together in this space singing your praises, hearing your words, and now bowing before you in prayer. Thank you for warm spaces, for comfortable seats, and for every person who fills this space and these seats.

Thank you for the arms and legs, for hands and feet. Thank you for minds and hearts and souls that do your work in this world, that reach go into the corners and crevices or wide-open spaces of this world and bring your light and your love with them.

God, even though we thank you today for sunshine and blue skies, with November comes days where the weather turns and the skies gray up. Often turning our moods right with it. And the winds blow colder and the days tighten, so do our hearts. And as the leaves wither and fall, we are reminded that death and decay are parts of this life.

Today we think of those we love who are no longer with us, we remember relationships that are no longer what they once were. We mourn dreams that have not come to be, opportunities that are long past. We consider what illnesses or addictions have robbed us of. We bristle at the sins we’ve committed even as we flinch at the sins committed against us.

Lord, in all of this, we crave your comfort. We long for your peace and warmth to fill our souls, to surround our anxious minds, to hold our broken hearts in your healing hands.

So today God we ask that you grant us your comfort. We ask for signs that you are with us, that you remember us; that you forgive us; that you await us with your mercy, with arms ready to hold us close or lift us up.

But God we know that you have called us to comfort one another; to offer each other our arms as extensions of yours. That you call us to speak words of encouragement and kindness into one another’s lives. That you’d have us remove masks, to be vulnerable in our words and deeds, to tell the truth about difficult areas of life, as a means of comforting one another, as a way of showing others none of us are alone in our struggles or disappointments, in our doubts or with the demons we wrestle. Let us all understand that we all walk this road together—at different times, in different ways. No one escapes the trouble of this world.

God, as we seek to comfort one another, let us be people who commiserate, who empathize, who remove masks of perfection, who come clean with the brokenness we all share. Let us do this in love, in an act of hospitability, so that no one here feels alone, beyond your hope and your healing. So that no one here is crippled in shame.

Let us offer this to those who sit here today worried about the week ahead: those awaiting health news or job news; those worried about finances or families; those worried about homework or housework; those worried about bullies or friends; those worried about death, those worried about life.

Give us eyes and ears to see and to hear those who need to feel you today. Open arms and conversations and arms.

As we sing the words of St. Teresa now, cement in us the knowledge that we are your body. Make us willing to reach out and reach in to one another’s lives with your grace, your peace and your comfort.

Amen.

A Prayer for the Down

[Prayer spark: November gloom]

God,

I love November. I love this weather–the crisp air, the gray sky, the green and gold and red leaves waving and dropping in the wind. I love the ook and spook of it all, the creativity it sparks.

But not everyone does. For many, the bleak and the grim weather only mirrors what’s inside. (And I get that. Some days it does for me too.) They (we, sometimes) long for sun–its warmth and light–in their days and in their souls.

So today, Lord, be with those who are down. For whom this weather depresses and saddens. Be with them in this. Use it, redeem it, for them.

Amen.

Prayers for Trick-or-Treaters

[Prayer Spark: Duh. Halloween!! Boo!]

God of All Things Bright and Beautiful, All Creatures Winged and Creepy,

Be with the little goblins and spooks, cartoon characters and animals, witches and angels who trick-or-treat today.

May there be safety and laughter,

Camaraderie and joy,

Delight in the fright,

Peace in the rushes,

Friends for the lonely,

Conversation with the recluses,

Gratitude in the abundance, and

Love and memories made among packs of kids.

God, bring your presence and your goodness to the trick-or-treaters. Invite them in to your mystery; into the thrills and chills of life with you.

May this Halloween, every knock on a door, every chat with the neighbors, every spooky decoration, every hilarious costume, every bite of candy glorify you.

Amen.

Prayers for Dog Fighters [Ugh]

[Prayer Sparked by: Carolyn Custis James' recent HuffPo piece on the lack of grace afforded Michael Vick]

God,

One of the best and worst things about you is grace, of course. It’s so the best when you shower it on me, a million times a day, when I eff up. Royally or tiny-ly. So the best when you show it to my kids, my husband, my friends. When you let us wallow in it, practically drown for all the gulping of it that we do.

But then it’s so the worst when you extend it to the monsters. For instance, to those who abuse and taunt, torture and taint dogs to be used to fight one another. Grace stings when I remember you offer fresh mercies you offer even those who’ve left pit bulls for dead in rings, for those who bring dogs to vets to have their bitten-off ears patched up, to those who chain dogs to trees, who offer muzzled “bait dogs,” who take money for the torment of sweet, sweet dogs.

Your grace is for them, God. And some—most—days I hate that. But since it’s true whether my rotten self likes it or not, God, I pray for the dog-fighters. For those right now who cheer on horrors, who laugh at a dog’s pain, who cause a dog’s suffering.

Be near those folks. Be good to those folks. In the midst of the cruelty, shine through. Reveal your goodness. Break their hearts. Change their minds. Bend their wills. Let them see as you do. Turn their eyes from profit and toward their actions. Let them cringe at the suffering they inflict.

Let them seek to soothe their own pain—whatever monstrous hurt inside them leads them to this kind of brutality in the first place—in a new way. Be a balm to them. Let today be day one of their turn-around, of the redemption story you are so good at, of the redemption stories you write and work out every day. Let these dog-fighters drown in your grace and your mercy and your love and your healing. And give them hearts to love you. And the dogs.

 

Amen.