The
news around the world feels exceptionally dire lately. I know terrible
things (and much that we never hear about) happen every day, but this
morning -- even before I heard of Robin Williams' death -- I watched
part of a news broadcast -- going back and forth from the riots in
Missouri over the police killing of an unarmed black teenager (it was to
be his first week at college) and the increasingly disturbing wars in
the Middle East. I saw footage of an air drop of food & water to the
refugees trapped on Mount Sinjar in Iraq. The helicopter landed for
just a couple of moments and was immediately swarmed by desperate
people, some who boarded in a raw panic. The copter crew took as many as
they could, then lifted off. Soldiers on board had to shoot at nearby
militants on the ground to protect the helicopter. Then the camera
focused on a girl passenger -- perhaps 14 years old -- crying and
flinching at the sounds of machine-gun fire. Later in the afternoon,
that image returned to me as I was pondering a passage from Isaiah that I
am to read aloud in church next Sunday, including the line "I will bring
[them] to my holy mountain" -- I recalled the terrified girl on the
helicopter, and burst into tears. What a hell this holy mountain of our
world can be. These tears are my prayers of grief and of mercy for this
world, and for all who are grieving, suffering, or struggling with
the vicissitudes of life.
Within this sadness, the tears are also a gift. I feel paradoxically grateful when a brief image or a personal story hits something deep within and releases a torrent. It keeps my heart open and enables me to respond with a deeper tenderness to the people and situations I encounter day-to-day. For me, it is frequently something very specific -- like the raw footage of that girl -- that opens my dam (which can be hard to open!)
I think this is just one way in which "prayer" -- or however one prefers to phrase it -- "works." We are struck by a moment, an event -- we allow ourselves to be affected, or it sneaks past our defenses -- and a spontaneous cry, a wordless yearning, a gutteral summoning, percolates and flows up from the soul. This interior spring then softens any dry riverbeds within and spreads outward, through the heart and body and mind, in tears, in love, in creativity, or in action. In touch with this saturating stream, we incarnate ("give body to") prayer: the word becomes flesh. Thus prayer is literally able to contact and affect others, in ways that we may never consciously recognize.
(Might this mean that the news media -- despite its manipulative aims -- occasionally triggers prayer and the beginnings of compassion...?)
Within this sadness, the tears are also a gift. I feel paradoxically grateful when a brief image or a personal story hits something deep within and releases a torrent. It keeps my heart open and enables me to respond with a deeper tenderness to the people and situations I encounter day-to-day. For me, it is frequently something very specific -- like the raw footage of that girl -- that opens my dam (which can be hard to open!)
I think this is just one way in which "prayer" -- or however one prefers to phrase it -- "works." We are struck by a moment, an event -- we allow ourselves to be affected, or it sneaks past our defenses -- and a spontaneous cry, a wordless yearning, a gutteral summoning, percolates and flows up from the soul. This interior spring then softens any dry riverbeds within and spreads outward, through the heart and body and mind, in tears, in love, in creativity, or in action. In touch with this saturating stream, we incarnate ("give body to") prayer: the word becomes flesh. Thus prayer is literally able to contact and affect others, in ways that we may never consciously recognize.
(Might this mean that the news media -- despite its manipulative aims -- occasionally triggers prayer and the beginnings of compassion...?)
