God of every country, of every nation, of every land; We come to you this morning with our hearts in our hands. We woke anxious, slept uneasy, and rise to meet the day with worry tucked inside our chests. We are not a people of easy trust, and yet, we find we have placed
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 wake early … or late. We rest easy … or restless. We make coffee … and breakfast and plans and petitions. Our requests before You are quaint, at best. We ask to secure and protect and retain and gather in. Grateful for privilege, and then grappling for more good and hording it. We ask
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,
You behind. You before. You all around and on every side and in every crevice. We’re swimming in a sea of You and yet find the joy of child-like play on Your shores. Deep enough to never plumb the depths, safe enough to come in our youth and innocence and feeble ways. We find You
We are a world of waiting people. Waiting for the bus. Waiting for the next available teller. Waiting for them to find a cure. Waiting for the light to turn green. And we are not a patient people. We tap our feet fumble with our keys and roll our eyes to hurry you along because
God of the world of unknown mysteries… God of the realm tucked deeply behind that horizon… God of the land yet untread on this journey… God of our home still seen, We seem not to know you well. We call you by familiar names, names of dominance and triumph and victory, but we know little
Christ has risen! “Indeed,” we cry routinely enough. Christ has risen indeed. On this cold, pale blue morning we recite our affectionate gratitude for Your plans beyond our expectations for Your life beyond the grave for Your promises beyond our hope. The morning scene is serene enough to sentimentalize us, and for even this we are
The orations roll off our tongues with tradition and ease. We believe, we do. We believe. … in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ His only Son, our Lord … We believe, we do. But Sundays have a way of hastening to end,