Lord, terror is all around us. As the blood pools in the streets and on the driver’s seat we find fear and fight are swelling in our bellies. We look at our hands, at this kingdom of man and note how very unlike You we are. We Christian bear Your name, but we have yet to rightly
We are a people of lost lament. Pain rips at our chests, loss punctures our hearts. These dark days it seems that violence and death punctuate our communal calendar. We ache for peace, we long for restoration. We miss those we lost, we hate those who took them. And in the midst of our pain,
God of all peoples, We are a broken people with split tongues. From our mouths spout words of aid and solemn sanctuary, and from the same lips fall words of locked doors and border controls. At the table we set a place for You, so as to mark Your presence and we set the deadbolt