Saturday, January 1, 2011

Meg's Prayer of Remembrance

 One of the greatest gifts Luke brought into our lives was a friendship with a minister at Village Presbyterian Church named Meg Peery McLaughlin.  She helped us with Luke's Honoration Service back in January and has been a warm and welcome source of encouragement and support as we have navigated our journey of healing.  At the Service of Remembrance I wrote about earlier, she prayed this prayer over the group of people who were there to honor and remember their loved ones.  Both Joe and I thought it was one of the best parts of the entire service and when I asked her if I could have a copy of it not only for ourselves, but to also post it on our blog for others who may benefit, she was very generous and shared it willingly hoping and praying that it would reach anyone who needed it.  She is a warrior pray-er for the Lord and I hope her words bring you comfort if you are needing some this season.   

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Remembrance Service 2010
Prayer

Lord God, look at our little lights shining in the darkness—
    our memories glowing,
    our love still burning.

Lord God, look at us—
    here on these pews,
    here because during this season of jingle bells and holly jolly,
    we needed a space where we could be real
    we yearned for a place where we could bring our collection of feelings—not all cheerful.

And Lord God, don’t just look—for we can’t stand any more distance—
don’t just observe us, God, but come close tonight—
Come close to us, your children.
Come down to these pews.
Come down next to our ache—the ache that we thought would have dulled by now.
Sit down with our pain—that pierces in places we didn’t know existed.
Meet our grief that is born of our love.
Become acquainted with our yearning for one more touch, one more conversation,
one more apology, one more grin . . . for we’d trade almost anything for one more of those.
And get used to the new us—the one with the new role, the one with the new normal, the one     who has been changed forever by this loss.

For it was at Christmas that you came down.
At Christmas when you experienced what it is to be human—
    We can tell you now what it really is to be human,
human in a way we never imagined before.
It was at Christmas when you made yourself vulnerable and real.

Do the same this Christmas, Lord. 
Do the same this Christmas.

Be who you are.
Be the one who is Emmanuel, the one who comes close.
Surround our grief with your very self
so we do not feel so alone.

Be who you are.
Be the Forgiving One, who bears away the sin of the world.
Release us from anger that still clings,
free us from old injuries that still weigh us down,
help us see those we have loved not as all of a sudden perfect,
but as the flawed and forgiven people that they were.

Be who you are, O God.
Be the Gift-Giver, the Provider, the one from whom all blessings flow.
Give us courage to make it one day at a time.
Give us patience with those who say hurtful inept things when they intend to comfort.
Give us wisdom to glean from our grief lessons about who we are, about who you are.
Give us friends along the way who will listen and who will let us lean on them,
and guide us into leaning on you.
And give us faith to trust that those we love, and those you love are in your eternal care,
that you remember them.

Be who you are, O God.
Be the Receiver of Praise, the one to whom we can direct our worship,
the One loyalty we can wrap our lives around.
For we do, O God, in the middle of our disjointedness, in the midst of this chaos of feelings,
    we do need to give you our thanksgiving.
We are grateful to you for the gift of life
and the gift of sharing life with these for whom we grieve. 
From your heart into our lives was born
a person like no other
a perspective of the world like no other.
And whether we enjoyed them for only minutes or for decades,
    we recognize their presence as a gift.

Be who you are.
Be the Hope of the World.
Be the Promised One.
Be the Answer to our Advent Prayers.
Open the door to the day we long for:
    when death will be no more
    when mourning and crying and pain will be no more.
Crack open the day when all your children will be together at table once again
    each with their own place
    and there won’t be a dim light—as from these small candles,
    but you, O God, will be the light—and there will be no darkness.

Until that day,
come close,
be who you are,
and look on these little lights shining in the darkness

they reflect your light
they echo your hope
and they remind us that darkness will never have the last word.

We make this prayer in the holy name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

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