Dear People of St. James’,
This week, I, like many of you, have been keeping up with the news of the war between Hamas and Israel, seeking to reach out to Jewish and Muslim colleagues and friends, and praying, weeping, praying, wondering how to pray, and praying some more.
Sometimes I find myself praying the psalms because they get me. They contain that powerful mix of groaning lament, that fearful sense of being besieged, and that desire to see justice meted out to those who kill the innocent. The psalms also dare to hope for peace and new beginnings: that exiles might return home and be able to rebuild amid the ruins, and that the instruments of war might be turned into the tools of harvest and abundance for all. Sometimes the psalms seeking vindication horrify me, and at the same time, they remind me that I do not know what it is to live a life besieged by hatred and violence so close at hand. What might my prayers then be like? Sometimes the psalms reflect back to me my own lack of compassion or my own lack of hopefulness in God. Howard Thurman writes of the Spirit, “There is something in every one of you that waits and listens for the sound of the genuine in yourself. It is the only true guide you will ever have.” Reading the psalms stirs up the Spirit in me, and it guides me, not always gently, to the places that need healing and to the hope that somehow justice and peace will meet. No matter what, the psalms remind me of how very much we need each other.
When I am not praying the psalms or in wordless silence, my heart moves to litany. Litanies are meant to be prayed in motion, in procession. You might imagine all the others who share your prayer, joining with you and walking with you as you pray and move into the very presence of God. A prerequisite for a litany is listening carefully with ears and eyes and heart to the suffering and hope of the people of God; that is what gets you moving. Here’s a small portion of my own litany that has gotten me moving this week:
For the people of Israel and the people of Palestine,
Lord, hear our prayer.
For those in Israel killed, wounded, and displaced in the Hamas terrorist attack of October 7,
Lord, hear our prayer.
For the hostages held by Hamas,
Lord, hear our prayer.
For those, especially in Gaza, who live besieged of violence, displacement, and loss,
Lord, hear our prayer.
For the weak and the powerless caught in the gathering storms of war,
Lord, hear our prayer.
For the wounded and the dying,
Lord, hear our prayer.
For those who are mourning and those who wait for news of loved ones,
Lord, hear our prayer.
For those killed and wounded in the explosion at the Al-Ahli Arab Hospital, an Anglican hospital in Gaza,
Lord, hear our prayer.
For those seeking to provide aid and care to others under impossible circumstances,
Lord, hear our prayer.
For speedy humanitarian aid for those lacking the basics of life, such as water, medicine, food, fuel, and safe shelter,
Lord, hear our prayer.
For those who bear the responsibilities of decision-making, for our President and legislators and for leaders throughout the world, that they might be guided by those covenants that bring stability to the coexistence of peoples and seek to avert suffering and escalation of conflict,
Lord, hear our prayer.
For those seeking to resist hate and discrimination, particularly the evils of Anti-Semitism and Islamophobia,
Lord, hear our prayer.
Praying a litany always pushes you to remember those whom many forget, such as those suffering in violent conflicts that are not centered by the media on the world stage (e.g. Haiti, South Sudan, Yemen, Nicaragua) as well as those who suffer quietly and near at hand. Litanies are meant to move us away from that human instinct to compare and thereby dismiss certain kinds of human suffering. In litany, all is caught up into the presence of God, not because all suffering is alike but because all suffering pains the heart of God and calls out for God’s healing spirit.
May we persevere in prayer as we mourn, as we seek to hold space for love that stands against hate, and as we dare to hope and to work for justice and peace.
Rev. Eileen
