leadinginworship

Last Christmas

To all of us comes a last Christmas.
The cycle of the year, so familiar and dear,
stops cycling for us, but not for those around us.
Some have no idea the end is near,
others look at the calendar,
and know they will not be turning more pages.
And so they enter this season with different eyes.

A last chance to put up Christmas decorations,
enjoying the memories that come with each ornament.
A last chance to taste those specific cookies,
eaten in childhood, made by someone who themselves
are now just a memory.
A last chance to hear the round of familiar songs,
each one a gem, so precious and clear.
A last chance to gather with loved ones
and speak ordinary words with special meaning,
knowing this is the last time.
A last chance to hear the Christmas story,
wondering about the meaning of a Saviour
in human form, whose name was “God with us.”

God with us, be near us now.
Help us to be present and alive,
even if pain is our constant companion.
Teach us how to savour
without bitterness and regret.
Surround us with love and loved ones,
with moments of laughter and peace.
Grow in us a brilliant sense of the beauty of life,
that sparkles so bright, so bright, in this dark time.
Show us how to let go
when we have spent our whole life hanging on.
We don’t know how to do this.
Like the shepherds falling down,
we have moments where we know fear in our very marrow.

Send us angels who lift us up,
who give us words that make our hearts sing.
These words of promise push us forward,
stumbling toward Bethlehem,
heading toward the light of a stable
and a baby whose face
we have lived our whole life to see.
Emmanuel, God with us, at last.

 

God our Provider Call to Worship Prayer

God our Provider,
we walked into church today
needing you in different ways.
Some of us need strength
because we are facing a big challenge.
Some of us need hope,
because we are feel like giving up.
Some of us need love
because we are feeling alone.
We trust that you will provide for us,
whether through words or music,
or in a quiet moment of reflection.
You are here,
you are with us.
Amen.

Dark Imaginings

The advent of darkness brings with it
a host of fearful thoughts crowding;
sickness striking and life changing forever, 
debts looming and bills that can't get paid,
governments floundering and security teetering,
nature hurling storms and earthquakes everywhere,
humankind falling, evil actions blighting all that's good.
Scrolling the news in my cozy bed,
I rehearse this night time litany too many times to count,
adding it all up, building a tower of catastrophe,
and I pace its' floors until the moonlight
touches my cheek, recalling me to life
not death, not death. 
The wind speaks through the eaves of the house,
the distant train whistles that we are on the move,
and there are these warm blankets.
Although I fear the future
the present moment is fine.
I breathe out these dark imaginings 
breathing into this present,
believing it and it's mine.

Constant Calling Congregational Prayer

Great God:
Thank you for the constant call we hear from you every day.
The wind whispering around our ears,
the birds singing to us from the trees,
rain pinging on the window,
the good earth inviting our steps.
We hear that call again and again,
through kind hands and warm hearts around us.
Open our ears to your call, 
which is as expansive as the world,
and as particular as a poor man walking a dusty road
to a cross on Calvary.
Like him, help us to love, not just in word, but in deed:
love for our neighbours who are hard to love,
love for newcomers in our community,
love for people who are cast out by others.
Forgive us for the times we have failed to share your love,
choosing to hoard what is freely given, 
fearful that we have limited resources, limited time...we're too tired.
Thank you that even then, your consoling voice calls us.
Help us to respond with cheerful hearts as we do your work.
Strengthen those among us who face heavy burdens,
who live with pain; physical, emotional, spiritual.
Holy Spirit, bind us together as a community
to sing your chorus of love faithfully, heartily.
Multiply your call in us and through us.
In the name of Jesus we pray, Amen.

Prayer to a Faithful God (in Hard Times)

Your mercies are new every day.
When I could hardly catch my breath,
fear clenching my stomach,
and every horizon dark,
you were there for me.
Whether I stood on the precipice
of grief, or pain, or loneliness or despair:
you heard me calling.
My prayers not echoing
in empty chambers,
not ricocheting into nothingness;
you listened to every word.
You come, not always with quick fixes,
not always with the solutions I’ve planned.
You teach me that every road is walkable
with you beside me.
Your steadying voice gentles me.
You are the faithful One,
from generation to generation,
seeking out our sad souls,
picking up the lost and left behind,
taking care of the woeful.
God of great grace,
hear this prayer of thanks
even from the land of broken dreams.

Prayer for Those Seeking Shelter

Today we pray for those among us
who seek shelter every day.
Home is gone for them, for many reasons;
addiction, mental illness, violence,
or they just couldn't pay the rent.
Evicted or just drifting, they wander.
Some live in their vehicle,
holding on to suitcases of possessions.
Others have left it all behind,
and with a bag or two 
go to shelters for a meal or a bed.
Others sleep rough, under bridges,
or in the hedges around the city.
People of no address,
they are forgotten by every social safety net.
No healthcare, no safety, few options.
These are the ones who are precious and loved in your sight.
You don't lose track.
We see them sitting on the park benches,
or avoiding the cold in stairwells or subway cars.
God of miracles, can you change this “us and them”?
Can we call each other by name;
Jason, Mike, Emma, Rick, Carol?
As your children, can we meet and hear stories?
Instead of only a handout, can we sit together, 
lamenting what is lost, acknowledging resourcefulness.
From those with homes,
take away smugness and superiority,
and every hero complex of wanting to rescue those
we objectify into "the homeless".
Open those who have plenty, to share it.
For those who are seeking shelter,
give courage and stamina.
When hope is hard to find,
help them find it.
For safety, for friends,
for community on the way,
we give thanks.
You identify with all who have
nowhere to lay their head.
You are with them this night,
you are with them every night. Amen.

Social Fabric Prayer

The transgender man beaten,
and the woman harassed on the bus.
The disabled student not accommodated,
and the bomb threat at the Jewish child-care centre.
Racial profiling at the border
and another refugee told to go home.
A million tiny teeth
ripping at the webs that connect us,
fissures fracturing the social fabric.
Reading the news my heart feels tattered,
and all that’s good seems lost
and left behind.

Can we defend, say, “Not here!" to hatred,
hold firm to every last strand of civility?
We are not over and done with.
Threads of mercy shuttle between us
and even when we feel like running,
we are being woven, a work in progress.
For every breaking thread,
a new wisp, strong as spider web.

On a night like this,
when darkness looms
and every light seems small,
I stitch a prayer into the night sky.
God of all graces, rip every seam
I’ve sown in hatred.
I want to be stranded in love,
reaching out to touch,
in this material world,
the hem of your garment. 

Holding the Baby

The night God took a deep breath

for all that must be saved,

even the stars outshone themselves

and hillsides gloried with angelic music,

the good, good, good news bouncing down

like boulders, shaking the foundations royally,

announcing the advent of a ruler born

for all who must be saved.

It was the bloody same way

we all arrive on the scene

through the mother of all labour and sweat,

the pain stretching out like tidal waves

for all that must be made flesh.

Love is now newborn, if not exactly

recognizable except to those who know

all must be saved from ourselves and evil

occupying armies whose tramping boots

are aimed exactly here by the bouncing baby news

that will throw even kings from their thrones.

Mary and Joseph and all of us are left

holding the baby,

Is this sensible God?

Jesus doesn’t answer.

He just suckles and sleeps

and wakes to a new day.

 

A prayer for times like these

For a world where lies are accepted at face value;

hear our prayer, God of truth.

For a world where racism in high places is tolerated;

hear our prayer, God of the oppressed.

For a world where people with disabilities are mocked;

hear our prayer, God of the disadvantaged.

For a world where the rich hold the reins of power;

hear our prayer, God of the poor.

For a world where men violate women with impunity;

hear our prayer, God of the downtrodden.

For a world where the earth is ignored and neglected;

hear our prayer, God of the voiceless.

For a world where nations interfere in enemies’ elections;

hear our prayer, God of the disenfranchised.

For a world where the church is charmed by false gods;

hear our prayer, God of the lost.

For a world where free speech is threatened;

hear our prayer, God of the silenced.

For a world where hatred is growing by leaps and bounds;

hear our prayer, God of the vulnerable.

For a world where dissent is dangerous and necessary,

hear our prayer, God of those who suffer for righteousness’ sake.

God of hope, we turn to you for vision and courage

as we strive to be faithful in word and deed,

followers of Christ in times like these.

Joy to the World

Joy may be like a fountain,
but it has no on/off switch.
We can’t manufacture joy
or produce it on demand.
Running after joy is
like running after the wind;
you can’t catch it.
Joy is wild and treasured,
like a rare shy bird
that suddenly appears.
It can be fleeting,
or its presence can rest with you,
like a benediction,
for days and months.
It shows up in the strangest places,
and just as quickly disappears.
The moment you try to hold it,
it flees away.
I held the hand of a dying man
all morning
and spent the afternoon
visiting a newborn baby.
Holding that little one’s hand,
my tears kept coming and coming.
Was that joy, or something like it?
In our Good Friday world,
where death is our constant companion,
God holds out a hand
with surprisingly little fingers.
God with us.

A prayer for those contemplating suicide

For each of your beloved children
who this night are poised to take their own life,
we pray this prayer.
For those plagued by despair,
for those haunted by hopelessness,
for those immersed in mind-numbing pain,
for those confused by bewildering delusions,
for those mired in violent memories,
for those pushed to the edge by grief,
for those bullied because of their sexuality,
for those overwhelmed by stress or financial pressures,
for those caught fast in chains of addiction,
for those feeling unwanted and unloved,
for those who can love everyone but themselves,
for those who feel that the world would be better off without them,
Creator of us all, hear our prayer.
Send your rainbow of hope
arching over these dark moments.
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet;
thousands of angels of every hue
surrounding and supporting each dear one
tenderly, lovingly,
away from the brink.
Your presence a bridge to one more day.

The Church United

For centuries and millennia
the church divided.
In fragments,
polarized, incensed
and with bees in their bonnets,
Christian denounced Christian,
sending one another to hell,
or to their graves,
quoting scripture or creed
as the occasion demanded.
Or not.

For centuries and millennia,
churches worked in silos
of their own theological making,
ignoring each other completely,
repeating, “I’m not listening, I’m not listening,”
as songs of praise to God
drifted in through windows
that someone forgot to close.
Or not.

This year, to everyone’s surprise,
the Spirit rolls down Church Street
like an ice cream truck
playing its good news song.
Jesus, like a holy pied piper
who cannot be resisted,
pulls the children of God outside.
With no walls between them,
they meet one another’s eyes,
all lined up smiling,
waiting for God.

Beckoning Benediction

New life beckons,
peace holds out its arms!
Begin your week
knowing that you are walking
straight into the embrace of God.

The Confession of Dirk Willems

What I remember most
is the joy of God’s words on our lips,
in our hearts.
That good news bubbling out,
freely shared with any person we met,
old categories of friend and foe forgotten.
I remember the power of God changing us,
from empty Christians
to disciples full of fire.
I confessed my faith
and chose baptism, freely, consciously,
my prayer as the water trickled over me,
“O my Lord, my God!”
My family and friends,
my neighbours near and far,
they flocked to my house to hear that story.
We read from the Bible,
we prayed together.
And always every meeting,
their words echoing in my ears,
“Can I too be baptized?”

Yes, there was danger.
It was a crime for us to baptize
since we weren’t priests,
and the authorities were out to find us.
But we Brethren were quick,
our feet given godspeed.
So often we escaped
even when escape seemed impossible:
ducking out windows,
fleeing to the fields in the dark,
our pursuers’ lanterns bobbing behind us.
So often God protected us from evil.

The persecution became more severe.
First one brother, and then a sister,
another and another,
arrested, tortured, brought to trial,
made an example.
They were an example to us,
so many, so faithful,
freely bearing their cross, like Jesus.
A witness to God’s glory even in death. 

And then it was my turn to be arrested.
They were there waiting for us
hidden in the darkness as we gathered,
no time to run, just a quick whispered prayer,
“O my Lord, my God!”

Into the prison, and there I had time
to sit and think and pray,
to prepare myself for the ordeal to come.
I was more surprised than anyone
when the opportunity arose
for me to escape.
God works in mysterious ways,
and like Paul before me,
the way was open and I took it.
I ran like the wind;
I could hear shouts behind me
and I knew I was being pursued.
Over that wintry river I fled,
the ice creaking ominously below me.
Even as I ran I prayed,
“O my Lord, my God,
let me run on water this day,”
Cracks formed with every step I took,
and like Peter I doubted.
I pictured them fishing
my frozen body with a hook
out of the cold river.

But God be praised,
my feet reached solid land
and running still, I spared a glance behind me.
I saw my pursuer stepping on the ice,
one of the guards sent to catch me.
I doubled my pace along the river
but my eyes were drawn to him
lumbering, lumbering along.
Suddenly there was no figure at all.
My legs kept running
but my whole attention shifted.
I saw the arms and head appear in the watery pit
bobbing and grasping, ice breaking, splashing.
I could hear his frantic call for help.
I stopped, and looked to his friends.
They all hugged the shore,
afraid to venture to him on the ice.
They were not going to help him.

Having just crossed that wide white river,
having feared that icy grave,
my heart went to him.
I turned around.
It was I who would be a fisher of men this day.
Running back toward my pursuer this time,
I reached that treacherous surface,
and when the cracks seemed louder than my heartbeats,
I dropped gently down on my stomach, sliding sideways,
arms spread wide, reaching for him.
Him reaching for me with freezing fingers,
and then our hands locked,
and the slow, slow, pull to safety.
We did it. I saved him.

We both lay on the ice for a long moment.
Me totally spent from the chase and the rescue,
he totally spent from being immersed in fear,
dazed at returning to the land of the living.

The voice of the burgomeister shattered the silence,
calling from the safety of the shore:
“Arrest that man. 
Arrest that man right now! 
Do your duty.”
I looked at him,
my companion on the ice.
Our eyes held each other,
frozen there on that hard river.
We both watched transfixed
as his hand slowly reached out
and grasped my elbow.
I closed my eyes,
“Oh my Lord, my God.”

And so I am here in the prison again.
They have convicted me,
and today I am to be burned.
In the icy river or in flames of fire,
I am not alone.
Jesus is with me as I take up my cross.
Be with me now,
Oh my Lord, my God.

 

Kindred Spirit

I want someone to love me just as I am,
someone who calls me when I need calling,
hugs me when I need hugging,
cries with me when I am crying,
laughs with me when I am laughing,
someone who dances with me
and matches my walk stride for stride.
I want a companion who sits companionably,
watching the world go by with me,
happy to be quiet or silly or thoughtful
as the moods chase us together.
Whether they live near or far,
I know they are with me in heart,
my bosom buddy, my kindred spirit. 

God of great gifts,
grant that I may not so much seek to have kindred spirits
as to be a kindred spirit.
Give me ears to hear the needs of those around me,
arms to hold them when they need holding,
eyes to see their pain or their joy,
and a heart to feel it.
God grant that I may not so much seek
to be comforted as to comfort,
to be loved as to love,
to be enjoyed as to enjoy,
to be thought of, as to think of others.
And most of all help me know
that You are the Kindred Spirit
whose love we can count on,
time in and time out, time after time.

 

Spring Congregational Prayer

Thank you God for the sound of geese high in the morning sky
being pulled northward by the call of spring.
Thank you for the way you are pulling life out of the ground.
You call and all life answers,
up from the brown earth,
up through last year’s dead leftovers;
new life greening all around us.
Thank you that you call us in the same way,
pulling us towards life.
As sure as plants are pulled towards the sun,
we yearn for you.
Forgive us for times we have leaned in other ways,
preferring to stay buried, preferring to do nothing,
preferring to lean towards evil thoughts and actions.
Your love calls us, yearns for us,
rejoices every time our thoughts stray towards you,
rejoices with every loving thought we have,
rejoices at every loving action.

God of grace, fill us with your call.
We long to be people who communicate that call to others.
We want to draw others out, encouraging them to grow and blossom.
Thank you for the children in our church, tender sprouts,
thank you for our youth and young adults, strong and sturdy plants.
Give us wisdom as we guide and nurture.
Today we pray for friends we know who are suffering,
whether in mind, body, or spirit.
Especially today we pray for people with mental illness,
who are trapped in the winter of depression
as everyone else moves towards the happiness of spring.

We also pray for places in the world where violence is growing;
give strength to peacemakers everywhere,
that our strong and gentle presence may turn the tides of war
as we envision a harvest of peace, in your name,  Amen. 

The Fights of our Lives: A Poem of Confession

God, we invite you into the fights of our lives;               
fights with the ones we love the most,
our brothers and sisters, our partners and parents, our children.
Despite all our promises and hopes to honour and cherish,
we drop the ball and all hell breaks loose.
Words explode like grenades on the home front.
“You never,” “You should,” “You always.”
“I’m sick and tired of,” “Not this again,” “That’s it.”
Anger spews out of us,
fear and rage rumble inside.
We know how this plays out,
and it’s not going to be pretty.
God, you are the Referee who calls a time-out.
You’ve seen every move, followed every play;
the blood, sweat and tears are all too familiar.
At first we pray fervently,
trying to get you into our corner.
“Father, there are snakes and vipers,
and look at all the foul things done against me!”
We become aware of your eyes on us.
It dawns, slowly, that you have beloved children
on each team here.
With firm patience, you explain the rules again.
“No hitting.  Play fair.  Love one another as I have loved you.”
Jesus, help us review and remember.
Be with us as we take a deep breath
and enter again into the game You are calling—
a match made on earth as it is in heaven.

Great webs of connection

Great webs of connection circle the earth.

They burrow in cables under the ocean,

they permeate the air with radio waves,

they bounce off satellites in space.

The world is teeming with nets of interaction,

a global feast of signals, prepared and digested

each and every minute of every day.

Byte by byte, God scans the fragmented world.

Comfortable with every platform,

fluent in every operating system,

God follows every thread to its ultimate conclusion.

God knows where you log on,

when you are off-line and on-line.

God knows your usernames, your passwords,

your physical and virtual memory.

God can hack through every firewall you build.

Maybe you want to think of God as a Webmaster,

so you can choose to surf a different site.

Or maybe you see God as a great Provider

that you’ll log in with someday.

It doesn’t matter if you didn’t look at the readme files.

Someday a window you have never seen will open,

showing you something so fleeting and beautiful,

it will capture you completely.

You will glimpse the power source between us

that has nothing to do with keyboards and electricity.

Great webs of connection circle the earth.

You won’t want to press control alt delete ever again.

 

God chooses face-time

We’re always calling God.

Where are you God?

Why don’t you pick up?

The phone rings and rings,

echoing in that heavenly chamber.

We check the number,

this has got to be right.

Finally God’s answering machine clicks in.

We hear God’s voice,

“Why are you calling me?

I’m standing right beside you.”

The Wrong Good-bye

This is the wrong good-bye.

At thirty, death stands on the threshold

ghoulish as an x-ray

staring straight through all our hopes and plans.

We will not welcome this grim usher

who comes before the play’s half-done.

 

Against the injustice,

against the desperation,

against the running out of time,

against the fear of my body’s demise,

against all these,

Love stands.

We crave your presence, Lord,

even in the wrong good-bye.