Prayer

A Liturgy for the One Who Knows Where They’re Going But Doesn’t Know the Way There

/ Elizabeth Trotter / Leave a comment


God,
I long to follow close behind You,
but I often see dully as through a glass.
I cannot envision what I am meant to be in You,
though I catch glimpses from time to time.

Paul told us to imitate him as he imitated Christ,
and You have set examples among Your people
of what it means to be a living sacrifice,
of what it means to be beloved in Christ.

So make me like Mrs. C.,
who believes in the power of prayer
because it set her free and made her new,
who, like You, does not show favoritism
and believes healing from the Holy Spirit is for everyone,
who has a testimony to tell of Your great power
and won’t stop praying till it comes on earth.

And make me like Father T.,
whose deep knowledge of Your love for him over a lifetime
has settled in his breath and in his bones so deeply that
when he walks into a room, everything changes.
Shoulders relax, souls breathe easier, and
people start to grasp that maybe, just maybe, they really are
as loved as You say we are.

But most of all, God, make me like me,
the me I am meant to be,
the one you dreamed of when you knit me together in the dark.
May I become my true self in You
as You become ever more enfleshed in me.

If it takes a lifetime to become a living sacrifice, 
take my life and daily pour it out.
And if it takes a lifetime to become the beloved one,
take my heart and teach me your incomparable, transcendent love.

I am willing to wait.

(Scriptural inspiration: Psalm 63, Romans 12:1; 1 Corinthians 11:1; 1 Corinthians 13:12; Ephesians 3:14-20; Philippians 2:17)

Liturgy for a Funeral

/ trotters41 / 1 Comment

by Jonathan

Last month, Elizabeth and I attended a beautiful service for my uncle, John. The following liturgy is adapted from the prayer at the end of the service.

Moments of deep pain and loss sometimes erase words, leaving us wanting to pray but not knowing how. So perhaps, for someone somewhere, these words could offer a guide or starting place for praying in the dark…

Gracious God, we are thankful that we got to witness a life.
A life created by you,
a life called by you,
a man loved by you and by many others.

Thank you for your mercy and thank you for your compassion.
Thank you that you call us home,
and you remind us of home,
and you woo us home.
And John is home.

You are a merciful God who knows that we are made of dust and you love us because you have made us.

There is no wrong that you cannot make right,
there is no sickness that you cannot heal,
there is no darkness that you cannot shed light on.

We long for the day we will see John again,
and we will see you face to face.

Sometimes it seemed like John saw dimly through a glass, and although sometimes we see very dimly through glass too, we long for the day when we will see you, we will see reality as it is, we will see so clearly and we will love so well and be loved so well.

Thank you for your everlasting arms.
Thank you for your compassionate heart.

Thank you that you do not break a bruised reed or snuff out a smoldering wick.

We are your children and we cast ourselves on your care;
be merciful to us oh God.

Thank you for this time and thank you for the time we shared with a friend, brother, and uncle; a man loved by you.

Praise your name,
now until forever,
in Jesus’ name,
Amen

A Liturgy for Those Who Know They Are Inadequate

/ Elizabeth Trotter / Leave a comment

Lord,

Though I, like Paul,
feel like the least deserving of all God’s people,
the worst of sinners—
and though I, like Paul,
lament my thorn in the flesh
and must resign myself
that You are not removing it—
help me, like Paul,
to trust in your grace for me
and my many weaknesses
and to boast only in the power of Christ.

Help me, like Paul,
to press on toward the goal
and not get trapped
in ruminations over the past
or over my inherent inadequacies,
but to set my sights on things above,
where Christ is seated on the throne.
And help me, like Paul,
to learn contentment in all situations—
even the situation of being me.

For I am who you made me to be.
You knit me together in my mother’s womb
and saw all my days.
You knew I would struggle.
You knew I would be incapable
in so many ways.
And yet You still made me.
You still gave me life,
still gave me Christ.

You made me complex
even as I wish for simple.
Still, Your thoughts about me are precious.
Help me to trust in your unfailing love,
for You are always with me.
And You are always good.

Though my sins are many
and my regrets are great,
You take them far away.
You remember that I am dust
and fill my life with tender mercies,
renewing my strength day by day,
hour by hour.

In a world that tells us we don’t need You,
I confess that I have always needed You.
All I have been given comes from you.
All I have been able to achieve comes from You.
Even my desire for You comes from You.

Lord, you are Father to your children,
and Your love remains with us forever.
Let everything within me return Your love.
Let everything inside me rely upon Your strength.
Let everything that I am praise You all my days.

Amen.

(Scriptural inspiration: Psalm 13:5-6, 103:1-22, 139:13-17; 2 Corinthians 12:7-9; Ephesians 3:8; Philippians 3:14, 4:11-13; Colossians 3:1; 1 Timothy 1:15.)

A Liturgy for Leaving Work

/ Elizabeth Trotter / 2 Comments

I open my hands at the end of this day
To release the plans I’d intended to make,
All the lists I’d intended to check,
And the sweet relief of finishing it.

The clock ticks later, it’s time to move on,
To leave my lists undone
And transfer affection
Away from work and back toward home.

I won’t fret o’er my troubles or my endless lists,
For You’ll be there with me in every next day that I live.
We’ll pick them up together when the morning comes,
But right now in this moment, I am going home.

Like manna, You give me this day my daily bread
As you have done every day of life.
I trust you with the bread,
I trust you with the work.

But deliver me from overwork, from ruminations
and an endless supply of puzzles to solve.
Help me to choose the better things
As each day folds into night.

I walked in the pastures, I worked in the pastures,
Now I walk to still waters and release unanswered emails.
I pause unfinished work, take a breath, and remember
There are enough problems for each day.

I brought my whole self to this work
And now I take my whole self with it—
To the husband of my youth,
To the children of my womb,
To the life I have been given.