leadinginworship

The God Who Calls

You are the God who calls.
You are hiding in the pauses of the winter wind
whipping around the corners of my house.
You are present in the space between the opening petals
of the first spring crocus.
You are there in the silence behind
the crickets chirping on the hot summer evening.
You are in the autumn aching for what’s been lost
when all is fallen.
You call to us from the other side of Eden,
your voice emanating from deserts, dreams,
whirlwinds and burning bushes.
And always on the mountaintop we find you;
in wide vistas and clear air,
whispering to us as we look down on all we know.

I want you to be the God who calls me.
Here hear my late night late life lament.
I’ve missed the train for glory 
too many times to count,
a no-show in the parade of saints,
absent without cause in the angel army.
I’m here today to say, “I want to hear,
help my unhearing.”
Let the words of my mouth
speak out the meditations of your heart,
truly, clearly, faithfully,
today and always.

 

 

Emmaus Road Call to Worship

Our call to worship is from Matt 18:20
For where two or three are gathered in my name,
there am I in the midst of them.       

Let’s pray together:          
We need your presence on the long road, Lord.
The road between fear and hope,
the road between the place where all is lost
and the place of resurrection.
Like the disciples walking the road to Emmaus,
we are in need of your company!
Jesus, stand among us, in your risen power,
let this time of worship, be a hallowed hour.

Congregational Prayer for Doubters

You call us to be people of faith,
yet we are often people with doubts.
We doubt that love can grow again in relationships
where anger and bitterness reign supreme.
You know the strength of love and the power of prayer:
help us to be faithful lovers.
We doubt that peace can come in Israel and Palestine;
where hatred and racism are so powerful.
You know that peace is growing there:
help us to be faithful peacemakers.
We doubt that the hungry can be fed in countries that are experiencing drought,
and that children will continue to perish.
You know that there is enough food in the world;
help us to be generous and faithful.
You specialize in impossibilities;
you walked on water, you heal the nations,
you forgive sins, you set the captive free,
you set us free from our captivities.

This morning we pray for people here who are filled with doubts,
who wonder whether you exist and whether you are listening to our prayers,
who wonder what this whole community is about.
We pray for people who doubt the purpose of life,
who wonder whether to end it all,
who face feelings of meaningless and despair.
Even when we have that sinking feeling,
give us the wisdom to turn to you.
Jesus, we want to believe, help our unbelief!
Finally, we ask for good news for people in our community,
people who are sick, or who are grieving,
who need your help in practical ways--
empower us to show that love.
Give us faith, small as a mustard seed,
so that we can be your faithful people,
believing in your power to save,
believing in your power to reign supreme,
believing that we can share this good news
with everyone we meet.
We ask all this in Jesus’ name, Amen.

People here at worship

We are people here like Peter sinking.

We step out in faith because we want to follow you,

    but we fall short.

We are afraid of what other people think of us.

We are not sure we have the ability to do what you ask us.

We think the job is too big for us.

 

We are people here like Thomas doubting.

We are not sure what it means to be a Christian.

We are not sure what good it does to come to church.

We are not sure what you can do in this world that is so wounded.

We won’t take one step until we see the whole way ahead.

 

We are people here like Mary weeping.

We stand at the foot of the cross, where sin’s power does its worst.

We weep for people who are persecuted for the colour of their skin.

We weep for people whose lives are shackled by poverty.

We weep for people who hear the sound of gunshots aimed at them.

We weep for all who are tortured.

 

We are your people here at worship.

Fill us with grace and power to be your disciples,

to be faithful, to be true, to be filled with love to the end.

We ask this in your name, Amen.

Down Day Prayer

On the other side of the mountaintop experience

on the day I lose my footing

on the quick way down

when nothing I grasp at holds

when all the world’s a blur

when all I can feel is this steep descent

here is where I need you most

here is when I call Your name

here is where doubt and faith collide

can your hand stop

this quick slide

can your arms restore balance

can you plant my feet on firm ground?

oh God, hear the prayer of this cliff

hanger.

Doubtful Prayer: Don't Go

Blank disbelief was my reaction

the day faith disappeared into the black hole.

My life’s experience of God,

a rich storehouse of meaning--

suddenly and inexplicably empty.

There was no painful grappling

with an angel from God,

no kicking and screaming as religious certainty

was dragged out the door,

no intellectual duels agonizingly lost,

no moral crisis to point to

and say there, that is what happened,

that is where I stopped believing.

It was nothing like that.

One morning I woke up to no God at all.

A reverse rapture

where I was surrounded by the faithful

while the presence of God in me

was snatched away.

Nothing left behind, not even

the possibility of the presence of God.

 

First, a period of coasting,

frantically checking all controls,

trying this, trying that

all the while muttering

“This can’t be happening.”

Next, there’s trying to pass for normal

in the congregation of the faithful,

mouthing prayers and hymns

as lifeless as cement.

Scripture lying dead on the table.

Finally, the bleak realization

that I was exiled,

unchurched in the land of the living.

 

Why did God disappear?

How did God disappear?

A long dark year cannot be forgotten

even though slowly, imperceptibly

faith dawned again.

One morning knowing,

I was again a believing-in-God person.

 

God, out of my dark night

you have graced me with your presence.

Don’t go.