Liturgy

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

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.)