A Prayer For Friday
Ann Weems
§ “When the journey gets too hard,
when we feel depleted,
when our compassion
turns to complaining,
when our efforts toward
justice and mercy
seem to get us nowhere,
it’s time to remember
the humility part—
that it is God who has made us
and not we ourselves;
that the saving of the world
or even one part of it
is not on our shoulders.
It is then we can come unto him,
and he will give us rest.
With rest we'll remember
what it is we are about.”
§ The Refugees
Into the wild and painful cold of the starless winter night
came the refugees, slowly making their way to the border.
The man, stooped from age or anxiety,
hurried his small family through the wind.
Bearded and dark, his skin rough and cracked from the cold,
his frame looming large in spite of the slumped shoulders;
He looked like a man who could take care of whatever
came at them from the dark.
Unless of course there were too many of them,
One man he could handle, two, even … but a border patrol…,
they wouldn’t have a chance.
His eyes, black and alert,
darted from side to side, then over his shoulder,
then back again forward.
Had they been seen?
Had they been heard?
Every rustle of the wind, every sigh from the child,
sent terror though his chest.
Was this the way?
Even the stars had been unkind—
had hidden themselves in the ink of night
so that the man could not read their way,
Only the wind … was it enough?
Only the wind and his innate sense of direction …
What kind of cruel judgement that would be,
to wander in circles through the night?
Or to safely make their way to the border,
only to find the authorities waiting for them?
He glanced at the young woman, his bride.
No more than a child herself,
she nuzzled the newborn, kissing his neck.
she looked up caught his eye and smiled.
Oh how the homelessness had taken its toll on her!
Her eyes were red, Her young face was lined,
her lovely hair matted from inattention.
her clothes stained from milk and baby,
her hands chapped from the raw wind of winter.
She’d hardly had time to recover from childbirth
when word had come that they were hunted,
and they fled with only a little bread,
and the remaining wine,
and a very small portion of cheese.
Suddenly, the child began to make small noises,
the man drew his breath in sharply:
the woman quietly put the child to breast.
Fear … long dread-filled moments….
Huddled the family stood still in the long silence.
At last the man breathed deeply again,
reassured they had not been heard.
and into the night continued
Mary, Joseph and the Babe.”
§ “In the godforsaken, obscene quicksand of life, there is a deafening alleluia rising from the souls of those who weep, and of those who weep with those who weep. If you watch, you will see the hand of God putting the stars back in their skies one by one.”
§ Ann Weems’ son Todd was murdered on the night of his 21st birthday. Her grief and bewilderment ran deep. Her good friend Walter Brueggemann once ventured a question to her which he said she did not need to answer if she did not want to. The question was from the Psalms. ‘Will Rachel finally be comforted?’ Ann thought and finally responded, “No.” Not until God wipes away every tear from our eyes.
“When You Hear of My Demise
When you hear of my demise
Don’t believe a word of it!
Our God is the God of the living
And I am living still!
If it were not so
He would have told us!
Don’t believe a word of it!
And whatever you do
Please please please
Don’t eulogize me!
Gather instead for worship!
To celebrate God
Who gives each of us Life Abundant!
Turn mourning into morning
Turn tears into laughter!
Turn sadness into joy!
Turn somberness into celebration!
Remembering that Jesus is
The way, the truth, the life.
Gather to celebrate life with scripture and prayer
With jazz band with choirs, with pipers with dancing
Follow with faithfulness the life you have been given!
I left this earth in Alleluias
Dancing with the angels of life
Among the stars of God.”
