to be merciful, like God

Luke 6:27–38

We pray for those who oppose us,

who hurl hate our way,

who curse our name,

who hurt, who attack, who abuse. 

We pray for the inner turmoil

that lies behind such harm,

self-loathing turned on others,

insecurities turned to venom,

pain, sorrow, abuse suffered themselves. 

We pray for those who cause harm,

for all in pain, not knowing how

to heal or to forgive. 

May we, your people,

be agents of love that heals,

living your grace that restores. 

We pray for those who act

with violence towards others,

with disrespect for property and person,

with greed, entitlement, selfish disdain. 

We pray for victims of violence

who learn no other way,

for poverty's angry outcomes,

wealth's insatiable appetite for more. 

We pray for those who cause harm,

for all in pain, not knowing how

to heal or to forgive. 

May we, your people,

be agents of love that heals,

living your grace that restores. 

We pray for those who pass judgement,

and for our own tendencies

toward self-congratulation. 

We pray from and for the messiness

of life lived alongside others

different and sometimes oh, too, similar

to ourselves. 

We pray for those who cause harm,

for all in pain, not knowing how

to heal or to forgive. 

May we, your people,

be agents of love that heals,

living your grace that restores. 

Hear our prayers, Holy One; 

may we live love for each other

that will transform enemies

into friends. 

Amen. 

Love abandoned

Mark 7:1–8 

a lament

How often have we abandoned

God's commandment to love

in favour of human traditions? 

Instead of love, we have hated

those of other faiths, or none,

condemning them to hell; 

instead of love, we have hated 

noise and movement and not

welcomed the vibrant, curious, young; 

instead of love, we have hated

drama or drums, teachers or leaders

changing what we like best;

instead of love, we have hated

those of different sexualities, or genders,

dismissing their right to marry; 

instead of love, we have hated

those not pinkish white for not

being pinkish white like 'us';

instead of love, we have hated

political adversaries, vilified,

and criticised, not worked together for good; 

instead of love, we have hated

our embodied selves as if God 

never looked, and saw, and said, 'good.' 

How often have we abandoned

God's command to love

in favour of human traditions

we suffocate without the breath of Love? 

Oh, sigh with us

Prayers for the world, August 2021 

The sea bed shuddered,
rocking the islands cradling
fragile lives not yet restored.

pause

Creator of all, through you
we, too, are breaking again
with the people of Haiti,
with all life on Haiti,
with death and grief and pain
through the land of Haiti.

Creator of all, sigh with us;
then show us how to endure together.


The tanks thunder, guns
flash and bullets rain
on towns still not standing tall.

pause

Sustainer of all, through you
we, too, are breaking again
with the people of Afghanistan,
with all life in Afghanistan,
with death and grief and pain
through the land of Afghanistan.

Sustainer of all, sigh with us;
then show us how to resist together.


Flames engulf forests and the smoke
chokes clouds and all below,
earth groaning, but is the pain rebirth?

pause

Breath of all, through you
we, too, are breaking still
with all creation,
with all life in creation,
with death and grief and pain
through all creation.

Breath of all, sigh with us;
then show us how to change together.


Doors shut us in again, borders
lock us out again, invisible wolf
huffing and puffing the house down.

pause

Healer of all, through you
we, too, are breaking still
under this virus,
life with this virus,
death and grief and pain
with this virus.

Healer of all, sigh with us;
then show us back to life together.


Creator of seas and islands,
Sustainer of justice and peace,
Breath in all that lives,
Healer of all that breaks:
sigh with us and
then show us how to thrive, together.

Amen.

Fellow creatives and ministers, Alex Sangster and David MacGregor continue this mood of prayer, with O God of the Sorrows w. Lord Have Mercy. 

Intercessions for parents and offspring

with David and Absalom, 2 Samuel 18 

Hear, O God, the parent's cry,

the heartache of an offspring's rejection. 

Hear, O God, the offspring's cry,

the heartache of a parent's rejection. 

Hear, O God, 

and weep with us. 

Hear, O God, the parent's cry,

the heartbreak at an offspring's pain. 

Hear, O God, the offspring's cry,

the heartbreak at a parent's pain. 

Hear, O God, 

and weep with us. 

Hear, O God, the parent's cry,

the heartache of distance from a child. 

Hear, O God, the offspring's cry,

the heartache of distance from a parent. 

Hear, O God, 

and weep with us. 

Hear, O God, the parent's cry,

the heartbreak of grieving the death of a child. 

Hear, O God, the offspring's cry,

the heartbreak of grieving the death of a parent. 

Hear, O God, 

and weep with us. 

Hear, O Divine Parent,

Hear, O Son of God,

Weep with us, Spirit Holy. 

Holy One, we pray

for parents and offspring,

for love and grief and healing.

Amen. 

This dark day between

Holy Saturday 

Lamentations 3:1–9, 19–24 

We know that light will

greet us tomorrow, and yet,

and still, we are here,

in this day of darkness. 

This grief is like a wasting

away of flesh and bone;

a drowning in bitter waters;

a death, somehow, of its own. 

There is no escape over

the walls around us,

the chains upon us,

the silencing of our cries. 

The pain of it, even

the thought of it, this 

kind of homelessness, is galling –

and yet, and still, a different thought ... 

The lovingkindness of Holy One never ceases;

mercy from Holy One never ends,

but renews every morning,

faithfulness to cause awe and wonder! 

Holy One is my nourishment,

my soul remembers, it trusts – 

so I have hope – hope! 

My hope is Holy One!  

palm leaves in the dust

Palm Sunday 

Mark 11:1–11 

we shout Hope! 

we shout Joy! 

we shout Love! 

we shout Peace! 

all the things you promised

all that we have longed for  

riding into town

on a colt we dress in our imaginations

as a war horse

have you wielding a sword

and shielding us from indignity

injustice and oppression ... 

[pause] 

it is a donkey 

his hands are open

we stumble

fatal hesitation

leaving hope and joy

and love and peace fallen

with the palm leaves

in the dust 

The fateful day

Passion Sunday / Good Friday 

Mark 15:1–41 

1. Pilate 

Could I have resisted

the tsunami of jealous rage,

its sharp long intake of fear,

its thunderous crash at my gate? 

Could I have trusted

my twisting, knotted gut

responding to his silence,

his resistance, peaceful, calm, and true? 

Could I have insisted

on punishing the guilty,

letting innocence be free

from their corruption, from the fire? 

It is done. 

I let them win. 

No less fearful than his foes. 

Much less than I could have been. 

2. Soldiers 

on my own,

I thought him noble 

on my own, 

I found him compelling

on my own, 

I keep bindings looser than to cut 

but

with the whole cohort

he was an enemy

with the whole cohort

he seemed a mockery

with the whole cohort

he bled from our own wounds 

3. Simon of Cyrene 

I was relieved

that moment they released

me from the crossbeam 

I was glad

to walk away, aching

but not nailed to the wood 

then I collapsed,

some greater weight convulsing

me with weeping, weeping, weeping 

I was with him

in the walking to the hill,

I'm with him still, though free, though free 

4. Women 

from a distance

we were watching 

bearing witness

bearing courage for each other

bearing love and soul and all

at the tearing of the sky

the tearing of the veil

the tearing of our hearts – 

wail! 

wail! 

wail! 

He is dead.

He is dead. 

He is dead. 

In the clouds

 

A lament 

Genesis 9:8–17 

Lent 1 Year B 

When the bow is in the clouds

do we remember promise? 

Promise Divine, promise that life

will not be drowned out again? 

How often we forget with our floods

of anti-others vitriol we spit

to drown out life we do not like; 

pushing promise under water.

When the bow is in the clouds

do we remember trust? 

Trust in the Word Divine,

covenant established and remembered? 

How often we forget with our turning

to the gods and idols that we make

with the muse that you refuse 

to take away, Creative Spirit. 

When the bow is in the clouds

do we remember hope? 

Holy Hope of green to fill

the fields that rise as waters fall.

How often we let fear

strangle, twist, and tangle

all that's good and full of life,

starve 'us' so we can keep 'them' unfed. 

When the bow is in the clouds,

God has told us we can 

trust the promise and the hope.

Oh, God, help us remember! 

Amen. 

 

Breathe Again

Confession, Thanksgiving, and Praise 

after Psalm 51:1–17 

for Ash Wednesday 

I stop.

Drop to my knees. 

I can see,

I will look,

all the ways I have not

walked Your Way. 

By my shame

I am brought

to my knees; 

in my sorrow

I fold my head low,

for I know

You know

there is nothing left

but to confess. 

I confess. 

Hear me fairly, 

look through Your eyes

of lovingkindness

that see 

and then choose not

to see

so I may breathe 

again. 

I stop. 

Drop to my knees. 

I can hear,

I will listen, 

in the chamber of my 

secret heart – 

oh, meet me there,

Merciful One, 

and whisper joy,

promise grace

as you have of old,

and I will lift my eyes,

throw wide my arms

and let you in

where You – to my surprise

and my delight – have told me

You will dwell! 

I thank you: 

this freedom,

this life,

this begin anew. 

I thank you

as I breathe

again. 

I stop. 

Drop to my knees. 

I can speak,

I will sing,

Your story 

and your glory

shining, shimmering,

sparkling glass of bubbling gold 

that overflows! 

Come near,

people dear: 

come sing the Song of Life,

the Song of Joy! 

We praise You,

Source of Life;

we praise You,

Way of Life;

we praise You,

Breath of Life,

and we breathe

again. 

Christmas Lament

Isaiah 9:2–7 

Though he has come,

this wonderful counsellor, 

still we walk in darkness

searching for the light,

still we wander, lost, 

searching for the Way. 

Though he is born,

this child of God, 

his might we turn 

back into war-like heroism,

even while You burn

warrior boots, add blood-

soaked garments to the fire. 

Though he brings peace

to last forever, still

we wait; still we are weighed

down with burden, with

oppression, while our neighbours

are not free. 

Though justice comes through

him, and restoration

of relationships and wholeness,

we have not upheld this way

with You, with the child

born of You, gift to us. 

Our season of waiting is done,

Christmas has arrived,

and still we wait

for justice, healing, peace,

to be born again in us; 

still we wait, for light,

Your light to disrupt the dark. 

Sometimes the Story tastes sour

Judges 4:1–7 

Holy One of the Sacred Story,

sometimes I do not understand. 

That you hear the cry of Israel

oppressed in Canaan, twenty

years oppressed by cruel hands – 

I do see you, Merciful One. 

That you speak redemption

through prophet-judge Deborah,

end to misery by their own hands – 

I do see you, Faithful One. 

That you promise to deliver

the oppressor through battle,

ten thousand swords in hand – 

I try to see you, Justice. 

That you choose to work 

through human ones, women

as well as men – 

I do see you, Holy Partner. 

But must I see you descending Tabor

before Barak and ten

thousand solders' swords,

leaving not one of Sisera's 

men alive? 

Must I see your hand in Jael's,

rending peace with tent peg

and hammer, not 

one left? 

Is that really you, subduing

one army through the weapons 

of another, redeeming some

humans, rejecting others? 

Holy One of the Sacred Story,

meet me here as I know you, 

Justice, Mercy, Steadfast Love; 

meet me in my confusion

even if this story must remain 

Where we stand: stories of liberation

Exodus 14:19–31 

a confession 

Oh, Holy One,

we understand the need for stories

of vanquished enemies,

of victory for 'us' and defeat for 'them'; 

the need to name the feeling 

that we have escaped, 

to feel certain those who chase

can no longer pursue – 

we need to know that we are free. 

We understand the need for stories

that shout our anger,

release our fear,

inflict our desire for vengeance,

enact our hope for justice – 

but, Holy One, we also know 

that these stories paint you 

into a box of vengeance,

wrath, violence, 

and we are content to leave

you there so we may follow

our anger through to action

and feel justified, verified,

holier than we may actually be. 

So, Holy One, we are sorry

we keep you wrapped in anger,

and we are sorry for looking 

back angry ourselves without

seeking a path to peace. 

Holy One, as we tell the stories

passed on to us through time,

help us find you in the stories,

truly, fully, Holy One of liberation, 

of promise, of presence, with the oppressed; 

and help us to see 

clearly where we stand today,

which may be on the other side

of the parted, enclosing waters. 

Come, Spirit, come near

Lament in a pandemic 

How long, Holy One? How long
till we find a cure
till we can stop its spread
till we can be protected
till it causes no more death –
how long, Holy One? How long?

How long, Holy One? How long
will we remain bound
will life be unwound
is work to be suspended,
learning upended –
how long, Holy One? How long?

Come, Holy Spirit, meet us here,
in turmoil, in fear,
come Spirit, come near.

How long, Holy One?
How long will we hold
to the wisdom we have gained
the presence, the simplicity,
the compassion and kindness –
Holy One, help us to hold on.

How long, Holy One?
How long will we remember
the stories and songs?
Help us not to forget
the poems and pictures
that held us in our need,
but to carry them and remember
the better story we sought to live.

Come, Holy Spirit, meet us here,
in hope, in yearning,
come Spirit, come near.
Amen.

Mother's Day

Prayer of Celebration and Lament for Mothers' Day 

As a community, we take time to pause and give thanks for the gift of mothers.
Shining a light on the gift, shadows fall, and we acknowledge the shadows, too.


We celebrate and give thanks, each of us, for our mother. The woman who carried us in her womb, gave birth to us, brought us into life.


We lament, each of us, separation from our mother at different times, through conflict, distance of place, death. We lament, seek to forgive and be forgiven.


We celebrate and give thanks, each of us, for those who have been as mothers to us; our aunts and pseudo-aunts, big sisters, friends, mentors and teachers. The women who have nurtured, taught, encouraged, shaped us with love.


We lament, each of us, the women who have caused us pain, who have abandoned or neglected us, mistakenly or intentionally caused us harm. We lament the hurt we have caused to women, our friends, colleagues, neighbours, sisters, aunts and mothers. We lament, seek to forgive and be forgiven.


We celebrate and give thanks, together, for the women in our communities. That women and men are different invites us into partnership, invites us to share the burdens and the joys of life. For the many strengths of women, their gifts of peace-making, nurture, education, entrepreneurship, healing, wisdom, creativity, endurance, collaboration, physicality – and so much more, we are grateful.


We lament, together, that women are still discounted because they are women, in our culture and in others. That the difference between women and men is seen as threatening, a power struggle, a competition or a hierarchy, is not, we know, your dream for us. We lament, seek to forgive and be forgiven.


We celebrate, those of us who are mothers and grandmothers, the joy and privilege it is to collaborate with you in the creation of life. We give thanks for our children, their uniqueness, the delight we find in watching and helping them grow.


We lament, those of us who are not mothers and want to be, or who are mothers of children who have died. We lament, and have no words for our grief.




We celebrate, we give thanks, for you, our mothering God, whose wings enfold us like those of a mother hen, who gives birth to all that lives, who loves fiercely, protectively, and with great delight. We celebrate what we know of you as like a mother.


We lament our turning from you and causing you pain, our rejection of your gifts of life and love in so many ways. We seek your forgiveness again and again.


Again and again, God welcomes us home, as a mother welcomes her children.
Again and again, God celebrates us, God’s children, and delights in watching and helping us grow.
Come, now, under the wings of God; come, now, into the warmth of Love.

You are forgiven. You are loved. Precious child of your Mothering God.


[Sarah Agnew] 

previously published on sarahtellsstories.blogspot.com and in In Prayer and Protest (Ginninderra Press Pocket Poets)

Lament and thanksgiving for broken bread

Luke 24:13–35 and Acts 2:36–42
in a time of suspended gatherings 

sarah tells stories · Lament And Thanksgiving For Broken Bread

we cannot ‘break bread’ with others, now,
beyond those in our homes. For many of us,
we cannot ‘break bread’ except alone.
We lament, for there is much we miss
with the seats at our tables empty;
there is much we miss, unable to receive
from others, hospitality.
we lament, feeling the sorrow,
the loss, the emptiness of ‘breaking
bread’ away from the community.

pause

and yet, somehow the empty
tables, empty chairs remind
us of the people who have sat
here, have laughed with us,
have cried, debated, wondered,
with us; for the stories we
shared here, for the food
that nourishes us still,
and the company that will
again; we give thanks
for the phones and tablets,
the satellites and wires that bring
our loved ones to our tables,
though it is not the same,
for now, it is enough, reminds
us to hope for bodies to fill
these chairs again, for tables
to visit again, for company embodied
once more in the ‘breaking bread’
and sharing.

pause

in our sorrow, in our making
do, in our thanks for what has been
and hope for what will be
again, we see you,
Holy Friend, we feel
you, present in our lonely
days, never leaving us
alone: you are with us,
and we will sit with you,
broken bread of life. Amen.

Return with all your heart

Joel 2:12–17 
Ash Wednesday 

Return to me with all your heart: 
return to me, calls Holy One.

Blow the trumpet, ring the bells,
call the people together:
call the older folk;
call the children – infants, teens
and all between;
call those preparing celebrations,
call those with sorrow and grief:

Return to me with all your heart: 
return to me, calls Holy One.

Call priests and ministers who weep

for their people, pleading with Holy One 

to remember though we have forgotten;

call prophets who see the world's rejection

of the ways of Wisdom and cry

with Holy One: return! 

Return to me with all your heart: 
return to me, calls Holy One. 

Call the people to fast and pray,

to change hearts and minds;

call the people, for Holy One is slow

to anger, and faithful in love! 

Call the people: turn back! 

Return to me with all your heart: 
return to me, calls Holy One. 

Return to me with all your heart: 
return to me, calls Holy One. 

Peace for the hardest of times

Acts 10:34-43 

tell good news of peace
to all the earth,
tell good news of peace

though the earth is wounded,
scarred, and scorched, is made
a wasteland before our eyes, oh

tell good news of peace
to all the earth,
tell good news of peace

though homes have fallen, lives
are lost or changed forever,
livelihoods gone up in smoke -

oh, tell good news of peace
to all the earth,
tell good news of peace

though kangaroos, possums,
and koalas flee the flames or
far too often perish, with herds
and flocks, and packs, and dens -

tell good news of peace
to all the earth:
oh, tell good news of peace

with teams of brave ones,
flying tanks and leaky buckets,
pour water on the burning earth
with love and care and our protection

with silent presence stand beside
the grieving, the angry, the utterly bereft,
with love and care and deep compassion

with gentle calm accept the trust
of animal to human in these upside down
times of need and bind the wounds,
quench the thirst with love
and care and hopeful devotion

oh tell good news of peace
to all the earth:
tell good news of peace.

Loud Lamentation

Matthew 2:13-18 

How can we hear your story of flight,
Jesus son of Joseph and Mary,
and not hear the stories of flight
that flood across our borders?

Holy One have mercy.
Holy One have mercy. 

How can we hear of Herod's fury,
Jesus son of Joseph and Mary,
and not hear the ringing of tyrants'
fear-filled rage through our own time, still?

Holy One have mercy.
Holy One have mercy. 

How can we hear of innocents' slaughter,
Jesus son of Joseph and Mary,
and not hear echoes of children slaughtered
in wars, abused at home, starving near and far?

Holy One have mercy.
Holy One have mercy. 

How can we hear of ancient wailing,
Jesus son of Joseph and Mary,
in Bethlehem and Ramah, and not hear
the wails of the unconsolable now?

Holy One have mercy.
Holy One have mercy. 

Help us to hear your ancient story,
Jesus son of Joseph and Mary,
and to meet the stories we hear today
with compassion, welcome, hope.

Holy One have mercy.
Holy One have mercy. 
Amen. 

Make it now

Matthew 2:1-12 

Where is the child, born king? they ask.
Where is the child born now? we ask.
Where the hope? Where the light?
Where is the challenge born today?
The challenge to kings on flimsy thrones,
the promise of peace for victims of war,
the threat of justice to shake oppressors
in their slave-built towers - where
is the Holy child born again
in a world starved of miracle,
parched of life?
                           Where is the child
piercing silence with angel chorus,
piercing darkness with star-light shining,
piercing hearts with love Divine?

Make it here, o Holy child,
your entry to the world;
make it us, o Holy child,
your challenge to the world;
make it now, o Holy child,
your peace through all the earth -
o make it now, we pray.
Amen.

Lament for the fleeing

Matthew 2:13–23 

Why, oh Holy One,

have we not learnt from our story, 

that humans fleeing massacres

need a safe place to stay

like Mary, Joseph, and Jesus

fleeing Bethlehem for Egypt? 

Why, oh Holy One,

have we not learnt from our story,

that refugees arriving on leaky boats

weave tenacious threads through our community,

make us stronger,

like another Joseph, 

in an older Egypt? 

Why, oh Holy One,

do we not learn from our story,

not listen to the messengers,

or angels, or prophets,

calling us back to your Way

of Love and Justice  – 

angels you have sent to warn

and protect, again and again? 

Holy One, hear our lamentation

for the fleeing, the weeping; 

for the injustice, the unkindness: 

help us to enact your love and justice

for a new day dawning with the light

of the Christ born again and again. 

Amen