A Prayer During Lent
O Lord
I no longer know how
To pray
When the world
(Some of it literally)
Is burning.
Should I start with my neighbor
Suddenly without healthcare
And struggling to afford groceries?
Or with immigrants
Arrested for their complexions
Afraid to leave their homes?
Do I lament the defunding
Of education
Or the funding of war,
One whose purpose—
Eight days and eight billion dollars in—
Has yet to be determined?
It’s hard to pray
With so many competing atrocities.
How much time
Do you have, God?
This could take awhile,
And my senator is not available.
(My messages
Go straight to voicemail.)
When a response does come
There are reassurances instead of reform,
Platitudes in place of progression.
Sometimes I am gifted with “concern”
When no twist of words
Can adequately disguise our own implosion.
All the meanwhile
There is this matter of personal selfishness
When I find myself nostalgic
For stability, for security
For leadership with integrity.
(Privileges, as I am now acutely aware.)
I have run out of words for both anger and sorrow
And for a world on fire
Articulation without action seems inadequate.
So I will use my voice, my hands, my feet.
After all, Lord, didn’t you teach us
A prayer is something to be embodied?