my prayer for my friends

Jehovah Rohi, 

Lagos, 

Rabuna,

There is a kind of pain without language. A kind of pain that can only be expressed by the Holy Spirit’s wordless groans (Romans 8:26). Because it is of too much width, and depth, and breadth to be quantified by the human tongue. 

God, my people are hurting.

My people are hurting.

And, here, at this altar, I find some of them- kneeling, weeping, desperate.

I join them, here, at this altar.

I come in place of the ones not present.

And I don’t know what You’re doing. I’m not big enough or smart enough to give you some plan of action. For I am also kneeling, weeping, desperate- on my own behalf, for my own pains. I am feeble. I am weary. I am hurting.

And if I’m being honest, God. Sadness feels warm. There’s something about the darkness that feels so inviting- so welcoming. And I’m afraid for my people- for my self. That in our waiting for you, we would get tired. We would give in- give way to the loud lies that say, “make yourself comfortable for this is how things will always be.”

Give us something to hold onto, Jehovah-Rohi. Give us something to hold onto. This is my prayer. Give us something to hold onto. 

And in this stillness, I feel You speak, 

“But I have.” You say, 

“Look to your right, and to your left. 

Hold your neighbor. 

Look behind you, in the distance, away from the altar. 

Go, and hold your neighbor. 

Hold each other. 

And in this tense, communal waiting You will experience a kind of joy. 

A kind of joy without language. A kind of joy that can only be expressed by the Holy Spirit’s wordless grounds. Because it is of too much width, and depth, and breadth to be quantified by the human tongue.”

This is the word of God for the people of God

Amen