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The lights of the approaching train grew as we stood on the platform. A small hand reached up and gripped mine. My goddaughter had picked a light-rail ride into downtown to get donuts for our adventure day. In the clutch of her little hand, I felt the tangle of excitement and nerves for a day in a big city. I can't bear imagining what she would do if she were on this platform alone. The very things that brought excitement would turn terrifying. But with her hand in mine, trains and traffic and strangers seemed manage- able, fun, even. Anytime she felt unsure, a grab of my hand told her I was right there with her—knowing the way, making sure she was cared for. It was a delight- ful day of donuts, rainstorms, stories, and giggles all shared together. Little ones have taught me much about prayer. Not in exhaustive theological explanation, but with their hon- esty, they've simply shown me what it looks like: Nervous whimpers while reaching for a hand or grabbing onto a pant leg. Big cries of pain or disappointment and collaps- ing into a loving embrace. Exclamations of, "Look at that! Did you see it??" with excited taps on the arm. Prayer looks like these ordinary times when we reach our hands out to God. The Book of Ephesians says to pray "at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication" (6:18). The Psalms offer a wide range of interactions with God, poetic or basic, in thanksgiving, sadness, and a whole lot of regular moments too. We see this come to life in children. I long to pray to our triune God just as a child relentlessly wears out the word mom. Happy reasons, sad reasons, for no reason at all, just for that connection. Just to know we're do- ing this—whatever this is—together. Reciting Celtic Morning Prayer regularly in chapel during college tucked its plain, ancient words into my memory for moment-to-moment fellowship with God, describing Christ as a light and shield within and all around me. Those words became the hand I grab in times of uncertainty or fear—everyday words that help me embrace God's presence and my dependence on Him in all things. Taking a deep breath on a single word, like grace, peace, wow, thanks, or shalom, or ask- ing, "Holy Spirit, what are You up to here, and how can I join you?" have become other familiar hands to hold. Isn't it easy for us to go through life thinking we are alone on the platform? Often oblivious or overconfi- dent, we forget God's caring presence in heights and depths. We miss that Christ's whole reason for coming was because He wants to be with us now and forever. Prayer is talking to God, who invites us to pray as Jesus taught us. God has promised to hear us, and He does answer our prayers. Even as we seek God's presence and the power of Christ, we can know that He has al- ready provided. We have His Word, the Holy Scriptures. Jesus, the Word made flesh, gathers us around His table and says, "Take, eat. Take, drink. This is My body and blood, given and shed for you." Each day, our Bap- tism reminds us that God has drowned our old Adam. Baptism is not just plain water but the water with the Word that has Christ's power. His power over sin, death, and the devil—for you. We need these continual gifts of God to keep us mindful of the good news that Christ's presence is not separate from ours, nor our mission separate from His. This is why my friends Andy and Abi and I started Griefs + Graces (@griefsandgraces). It is a prayer project that is more of the doing than dissecting, voicing more questions than answers. It is engaging in the gracious presence of God in all things—in times of great grief, immense grace, and when they're all tangled up to- gether. While we don't need someone else's words to pray, sometimes it helps us when our words run out, like Abi's "a prayer for those who've lost something this year." Another person's words may also give us new insight into God's activity or beautifully capture God's character or our own feelings, like Andy's "a prayer for when we don't know what the Lord is doing." Perhaps we're invited to see ordinary things with a sacred view, such as "a prayer for weeding and confessing." Collecting a range of prayers for various occasions, spo- ken across generations, has given the gift of permission and language—a hand to grab onto. God is here, even here. It is in the gift of prayer that we are reminded we are not alone. Christ, the all-powerful Lord, comes to us in His Word and Sacraments. No matter what grief, grace, or task may come, God hears us with mercy. We are not alone. We can talk to God, and a scarred hand is ours to hold in all things. w Lutheran Life 29

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