Tag Archive: prayer


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I will whisper to the roaring wind
and wrap my arms around you tight
tell me your darkest, fiercest fear…
I know it all will be alright.
Let me share my blanket,
light your own candle from mine.
We’ll vigil here, the long night through,
and pray tomorrow might be fine.

Talitha Fraser

God, did you see the news today?

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God, did you see the news today?

We’re killing one another.
We’re killing in places killing has gone on so long we don’t know how to stop…
We’re killing next door.
We’re killing one another.

God, did you see the news today?

We’re laying waste to the world
to consume, consume, consume
an appetite “stuff” cannot sate.
Our elders know. Our elders tell us.
We ignore their wisdom.

God, did you see the news today?

People are saying hateful, hurtful things
what is right, what is wrong
what is holy, what is profane
…as if we know. As if we could know.

God, did you see the news today?

Were you there when we turned the boats away?
We are denying people food, electricity, sanitation, shelter, medical care…
We are denying people their basic human rights.

People are grieved and weary.
Longing for a world that is different
but not knowing where to start.
Not knowing how to start.
All victims, variously blind.

I’m not pointing fingers, I’m raising my hand.
I need Your help. We need Your help.

Amen

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The prayer of the martyrs ought to be outlawed, forbidden on our lips.  In the middle ages, popes placed whole towns under interdict. No public prayer, no eucharist, no baptisms, no burial service for the dead – until public crime was expiated.  The Church could not continue the work of Christ while the will of Christ was violated, despised.  In somewhat the same way today, the pope should order all churches closed, all services suspended in those nations which prepare nuclear war.  A universal interdict! For the nuclear arms race threatens the greatest crime since the crucifixion – the Hiroshimizing of all the earth, a firestorm, the finis of the human adventure…

…The moral void precedes the cosmic one, and prepares for it.

…What could be more contemptuous of the God of creation than the presence of the Beast in the sanctuary?

…”Every time a bomb falls in Vietnam,” wrote a Catholic from Saigon in 1966, “every time a village is burned or a child maimed, all your fine Christian words, your words about peaceable Christian intentions and good faith, are put to naught.”

…His works are otherwise…

– His works are performed in the desert, where people are at the end of their rope, without armies, weapons, protection, money, self-assurance, magic rites, strange gods.
– His works are a liberation. They unmask our inward slavery, out fitful wills, our egos, our violence.
– His works are penitential. They include a willingness on our part to endure his absence, his silence, his furious anger.  They will not allow is our fifty-fifty compromise; so much for Caesar, so much for God. (For those who serve God, there is nothing left for Caesar.)
– His works are gracious, in the root sense of the word. His favour does not wait upon our “ups” and “downs,” the narcotic of our moods, nudged this way and that by the tides of this world. “Turn to us that we may turn to you.” His is the first move. Indeed how else could we be moved?

…when we pray, we pray to an exiled king, a renegade among the peoples, a raging holy one, steeped in dishonour.  He is the sport and mockery of all, pushed to the edge of the world, edged out of consciousness.

…Grant us at least the presence of your absence.  Let us taste that void, at the heart of the raucous yelling of prisoners, the void between the bars, between the hours that hang around like days, the days that stand like years. Touch our hearts that die in your absence. Bitter, bitter.

 

excerpts from pages 50-68, Beside the Sea of Glass, Daniel Berrigan

A stunning invocation to authentic practice and expression of faith both for non-violence/nuclear disarmament but also any other issue of justice.

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“It must be our prayer. In spite of the fact that the prayer is denied, reviled, contradicted, made sport of, mistranslated every hour of every day – by the powers and dominations, by Church and State, by law courts and schools and think tanks. Yet, the prayer needs to be verified, insisted on, repeated, persisted in, learned by heart, shouted in unison, enacted, pondered. It exists indeed only to the degree that it makes sense to Christians, that they stretch their wills and voices to its understanding. To make of it their credo; to make of eternity their native ground.

…At every hour his angel of deliverance comes to us. In noise and stench and foolish anger, and the ever-flowing spate of damaged lives. In the evidence of breakup all around – broken bones, broken hopes, splayed carcasses of sound beginnings. In this jail. Where we must dwell. Not a lake of glass, you understand. But in a desert of fire. The ever present demons within. enticements. Despair. Depression of spirit. Disabused hopes. And even with one another; a certain paralysis, outreach cut short.

…The prayer would deny it.  “All manner of things shall be well.”  We must, by sheer grit of faith, live in that future, live it until it is as vividly present as any beloved possession, any loved one, could well be.  We join those for whom all manner of things is well; they join with us, for whom all manner of things is intolerably unwell. The future and the present join hands – barely, but truly. The meeting is incandescent, an ecstasy in the midst of torment.
You can understand the prayer, its audacious character, only if you understand this: the prayer is everywhere and at all times denied.”

 

An excerpt from Beside the Sea of Glass by Daniel Berrigan

 

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The Oratory glows golden for a moment. Lit by wintery midday sun. Behind the lids of my prayerfully closed eyes it seems the light filling the room is the same light filling me and I turn my face to Your warmth.

We light candles. Mine is a confession.

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The Rev. Daniel Berrigan and some friends hold a vigil at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York on July 25, 1973, while fasting to protest the bombing in Cambodia. | AP

 

This has been a year of vigil and rally and protest and placard and march that sometimes feels like a long walk. It’s good to be reminded it’s all been done before, in whose footsteps we follow, and what wisdom we can learn from their journey to encourage our own…

 

  1. Call on Jesus when all else fails. Call on Him when all else succeeds (except that never happens).
  2. Don’t be afraid to be afraid or appalled to be appalled. How do you think the trees feel these days, or the whales, or, for that matter, most humans?
  3. Keep your soul to yourself. Soul is a possession worth paying for, they’re growing rarer. Learn from monks, they have secrets worth knowing.
  4. About practically everything in the world, there’s nothing you can do. This is Socratic wisdom. However, about of few things you can do something. Do it, with a good heart.
  5. On a long drive, there’s bound to be a dull stretch or two. Don’t go anywhere with someone who expects you to be interesting all the time. And don’t be hard on your fellow travelers. Try to smile after a coffee stop.
  6. Practically no one has the stomach to love you, if you don’t love yourself. They just endure. So do you.
  7. About healing: The gospels tell us that this was Jesus’ specialty and he was heard to say: “Take up your couch and walk!”
  8. When traveling on an airplane, watch the movie, but don’t use the earphones. Then you’ll be able to see what’s going on, but not understand what’s happening, and so you’ll feel right at home, little different then you do on the ground.
  9. Know that sometimes the only writing material you have is your own blood.
  10. Start with the impossible. Proceed calmly towards the improbable. No worry, there are at least five exits.

Sit, empty cupped hands

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Sit
empty cupped hands
outreached in supplication
for the daily bread
that feeds and sustains you.
Everyday you must
acknowledge your own hunger,
acknowledge your own emptiness,
acknowledge your own longing…
in this weakness
lies your strength.
Freed from all you cannot do
you are released to do what you can
and it begins when you sit
empty cupped hands
outreached in supplication.

Talitha Fraser

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God, I trust You are holding all these chats and more. You encompass all that is possible beyond any limitations of my mind and imagination to dream of. “Prepare ye the way”… Who prepares for who? You are not a God of poverty and scarcity but love and abundance. The answer is in the story and the story is still unfolding.
I want to know how it ends.
Amen

I dream

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