ECCLESIOLOGICAL ETCHINGS
May 6, 2022
Last night, I prayed with an image in my head. There was a face of a child from Ukraine I had seen on a newscast that got stuck in my brain. A sort of cute goofy looking kid, great smile with a couple of teeth missing – like one of the kids I might see around here. My prayer locked onto the image for some reason, and it really became my prayer. There were very few words, mostly feelings that I’m pretty sure God could interpret. As Paul reminded the Romans, “…the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.” My prayer felt sorrowful, yet with comfort; helpless without being completely overwhelmed with hopelessness; deeply angry at the suffering while still clinging to the power of love. There are moments when the Spirit feels like an arbitrator or interpreter. Not that God needs one, but it almost feels like a voice saying, “Keep on keeping on! We’ve got this…”
You are forever present, O Merciful God, even when all the chaos of emotion and upheaval might leave me feeling as if my prayers are going absolutely nowhere. Amen.
