Nick Cave on prayer

The following is from a blog post authored by Musician Nick Cave. As a team we've been pondering if "prayer" is an inclusive or exclusive term as we (alongside many chaplaincy teams throughout the country) plan to light a candle at midday, each day, and pray for colleagues, patients and their dear ones who are effected by Covid-19.

The act of prayer is by no means exclusive to religious practise because prayer is not dependent on the existence of a subject. You need not pray to anyone. It is just as valuable to pray into your disbelief, as it is to pray into your belief, for prayer is not an encounter with an external agent, rather it is an encounter with oneself. There is as much chance of our prayers being answered by a God that exists as a God that doesn’t. I do not mean this facetiously, for prayers are very often answered.

A prayer provides us with a moment in time where we can contemplate the things that are important to us, and this watchful application of our attention can manifest these essential needs. The act of prayer asks of us something and by doing so delivers much in return — it asks us to present ourselves to the unknown as we are, devoid of pretence and affectation, and to contemplate exactly what it is we love or cherish. Through this conversation with our inner self we confront the nature of our own existence.

The coronavirus has brought us to our knees, yet it has also presented us with the opportunity to be prayerful, whether we believe in God or not. By forcing us into isolation, it has dismantled our constructed selves, by challenging our presumed needs, our desires, and our ambitions and rendered us raw, essential and reflective. Our sudden dislocation has thrown us into a mystery that exists at the edge of tears and revelation, for none of us knows what tomorrow will bring.

In our hubris we thought we knew, but as we bow our heads within the virus’ awesome power, all we are sure of now is our defencelessness. In the end this vulnerability may be, for our planet and ourselves, our saving grace, as we step chastened into tomorrow. Released from our certitude, we present our purest offering to the world — our prayers.

The original post can be found here

Broken Bread

Sonnet by Malcolm Guite used in this morning's service:

We thought that everything was lost and gone,

Disaster on disaster overtook us

The night we left our Jesus all alone

And we were scattered, and our faith forsook us.

But oh that foul Friday proved far worse,

For we had hoped that he had been the one,

Till crucifixion proved he was a curse,

And on the cross our hopes were all undone.

Oh foolish foolish heart why do you grieve?

Here is good news and comfort to your soul:

Open your mind to scripture and believe

He bore the curse for you to make you whole

The living God was numbered with the dead

That He might bring you Life in broken bread.

Tuesday of Holy Week 2020

Short meditation from last night's service of prayers for wholeness and healing.

On Ash Wednesday we entered the wilderness; we started a journey that began with the words “remember you are dust and to dust you will return” on a day set aside for us to remember the fact that one day we will die.

 

How could we have known, less than 6 weeks ago, what Holy Week would look like this year, just how deeply we would be in the wilderness place and how starkly we would be confronting death.

 

That’s a journey not one of us would want to begin, buts it’s the journey we’ve had no choice but to be led on.

 

In our Holy Week readings Jesus has now entered the last week of his life, and he knows it. But he still takes time to provide comfort for those around him:

 

Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light.

 

What light can we find in the midst of all this darkness? What do those glimpses of light point us towards?

 

Maybe it’s our faith, our family, the kindness of people we didn’t know before this or the gratitude of someone we’ve helped.

 

I’ve seen God in so many people through these last few weeks; in acts of random kindness, in the coming together of communities, in the finding of new ways to be together; as friends, families and churches. In the slower pace of life, in the enforced sabbath rest. God is here in it all.

 

Those glimpses of light are glimpses of God, and therefore glimpses of love. The morning canticle from the Northumbria Community helps us to pray each day to be directed by the light:

Christ, as a light illumine and guide me.

Christ, as a shield overshadow me.

Christ under me; Christ over me;

Christ beside me; on my left and my right.

This year when Easter day dawns and we meet the risen Christ we’ll still be in the wilderness. Again, I look to the Northumbria Community for comfort with words from their evening prayer: Lord you have always lightened this darkness of mine; and though the night is here, today I believe.

I believe God is holding us in this darkness, I believe Jesus meets us in the wilderness and walks beside us. We believe in the light to carry us through the dark. We believe in the light, so that we may become children of light.

Amen.