katyandtheword

The Lord is our Shepherd, A Sheep Scale Prayer

The Lord is our shepherd,

I shall not want.

(1) The Good Shepherd reminds me that the silly sheep belong to him, and that Jesus probably stuck his tongue out to his disciples and friends.

(2) God leadeth me beside still waters, so that, at times, I am a contented sheep.

(3) When I am a frazzled sheep, overwhelmed and tired, God restoreth my soul.

(4) Even when I want to hide my meager sheep’s head in a bucket, or wander away from the fold–God sends the Holy Spirit to lead me back on the path of righteousness.

(5) And when the path wearies, God gives us a deep and uncompromising sleep, for The Good Shepherd’s name’s sake.

(6) Like a sheep, I am clothed in the beauty your mercy; your rod and your staff comfort me. You surround me with love.

(7) Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, half hiding half jumping at shadows, you are with me.

(8) You anoint my head with oil, my cup overfloweth, and I pant in anticipation of the feast awaiting all of your sheep in heaven. Even in the presence of my enemies, you bless food so it somehow still tastes good.

(9) Some days I leap for joy, remembering that goodness and mercy will chase after me, and someday I will be able to gambol in the house of the Lord, my shepherd, til the end of my life.

So we give thanks to you our Lord and Shepherd, the silly sheep, the resting sheep, the frazzled sheep, the hidden sheep, the exhausted sheep. Help us to see the sheep who are clothed in grace and the sheep who are jumping at shadows, the sheep who hunger for the kingdom and the sheep who remember to leap in joy. Remind us that there is no wrong kind of sheep, and that we, each and every one of us, belong to the shepherd.

In Christ’s name we pray. Amen.

Permission to use or adapt with credit to Pastor Katy Stenta

Pandemic Prayers & Resources

I’m Tired of Being Part of a Major Historical Event

God, I never realized that historic events aren’t really one thing. Instead they are the combination of humanity’s foibles boiling over to the point of historicity.

I didn’t even know historicity was a real word until today.

And what will bubble up next? Australian Fires, Hurricanes, Derechos, Post Offices. Lord I’m only human, how can I process all this? Or maybe I can’t.

Did racism cause the Black Lives Matter marches and sometime riots? What ingredients meshed exactly right to finally give people the exact things they needed to get out and protest: racism, yes, but also poverty and pandemics, boredom and bereavement, time and trouble.

These sort of things come from the perfect balance, so that the risk you are taking is the best risk possible.

God, I’ve been thinking a lot about risk. Of Hagar the enslaved who risked raising her son in the desert, about Joseph the imprisoned who risked interpreting dreams of his cellmates, of Rahab of Canaan who defied expectations to help Joshua.

What is the perfect risk for us as Christians right now? As we look at this particularly moment in history, how do we decided how to risk, and who to risk, and why?

And how do we risk for ourselves and our community, and yet still practice grace towards all the rest of humanity–who are having to make the same decisions in different circumstances.

Truly we are all weathering the same storm: but in different boats, with different tools and different gifts.

Really God, is now the time to discern gifts? I mean, really and truly God, I want you to know that now is a truly risky time to discern our gifts.

Selah!

Remind us, it’s worth the time.

Black Lives Matter

Remind us, We are worth the time.

Safety first

Remind us, You are worth the time.

God of the poor, the sick and the marginal.

And teach us how to risk in this historic moment, in the best, kindest most gracious way we can.

I pray this with all those who are risking right now. Help me stand with them I pray.

Amen.

Permission to Use or Adapt with Credit to Pastor Katy Stenta

Pandemic Prayers & Resources

End of My Rope: A Grumpy Prayer

God, creator and sustainer, let’s have a conversation.

Because this is what the end of my rope looks like.

This place, this life, this me is what the end of my rope looks like, and I don’t like it.

It is grumpy state, where nothing seems to go right, and every to-do least causes extreme weariness. I am tattered and torn, and have but wisps of faith to–not really grab onto, but to try to somehow re-spin together.

Is this how it felt for Jacob and Esau when they were squabbling nonstop about who was better? Did it feel like the walls were closing in from the boredom

Is this how if felt for Abraham and Sarah as they wondered around the desert for years, lonely and without a community?

Is this how it felt when Moses confronted the burning bush and plaintively said, I don’t wanna and asked if anyone else could do the tasks that laid before him?

Is this how Jesus felt when he neared Jerusalem again and again, only to turn around and hit another town first?

The squabbling children, the constant re-negotiation of what it feels like every single piece of the day. The endless, timeless, mundane tasks of every day. Largely unbroken, with interesting or fun things to do or people to see.

This terrible place of loving my life, and feeling like every piece of it makes me want to scream. The knowledge that there is much to be thankful for, and yet being stuck in a state of ingratitude.

And my kids seem to cry at the drop of a hat. And God know my grumpiness is not helping.

Where is a fig tree I can curse? Letting my poisoned words be soaked in harmlessly by the tree.

Where is the storm I can scream “Shut up!” to, in such a way the wind can whip away my words (and germs) so they become muted and dispersed by their surroundings.

Where is my peaceful boat where I can hide in the middle of a peaceful lake next to a peaceful mountain where I can shelter and pretend I have all the answers to the world’s problems: the racism, the ignorance, the pandemic, the poverty, the exhaustion? I miss a retreat where I can engage in book studies or conferences or rest and pretend for a moment that the answers lay out there.

Are there answers out there? Is this the wrestling Jacob did with God? Is this the struggle Abraham had as he looked at the emptiness of his land and his family and tried to take cold comfort from the stars?

Is this the grieving boredom Jesus fought with as he scrapped one way of telling his message and rose again, once again, to try to give his gifts to a disdainful humanity.

Lord God, I am at the end of my rope, and I am weary. Send your Holy Spirit: to inspire, conspire and aspire with. Fill me, Flood me, Overwhelm me with your Spirit. Teach me, Touch me, Entrust me with all those pieces I am missing.

And while I’m praying Lord,

I wouldn’t say no to a fig tree

or a storm

or a peaceful lake

or whatever it I need to get through this. I pray that you help me figure it out.

In Jesus, your son who was human and knows what this is like,

in Jesus’s most Holy name I pray.

Amen.

Pandemic Prayers and Resources

Prayer at the Mailbox

God, only you know how many times I’ve been to the mailbox.

Checking it two to five times because some days the most exciting interaction of the day is getting my mail.

Lord, you know how I fell back in love with mail. The encouraging letter from an old connection to take care of myself during the pandemic–the boxes of small treats, the postcards to the children, and the much needed supplies in the height of local shortages.

The Easter cards, I never had time to do, where I poured my love out to my congregation, the handwritten notes and the small activity books for the kids of the church.

Lord this is prayer for the mail, which was so consistent in my life and did not used to be exciting. It used to just be bills and ads, and have instead been a tangible, touchable, visual sign of love and community.

Protect the mail, I pray.

Amen.

Pandemic Prayers & Resources

Masks: A Prayer

Lord God,

As I string the mask around my head, and adjust it to my ears.

May it be in honor of all the women the Bible who donned the veil to pray–Sarai as she longed for a child, Miriam as she sang jubilant songs, Mary as she attended the blessing of her son Jesus.

Holy Spirit, breath of God, as I feel my breath hot and heavy on my face, as it tickles my nose and dries my lips–remind me that a mask can reflect your love. Just as Moses wore a veil because his reflection of your glory was too blinding to see.

As I adjust it one more time to be snug around my face, dear Jesus I imagine you appearing to the women in the garden. I think-today-perhaps you were masked. Wrapped in a head covering of the dead with a scarf muffling your mouth so you had to say “Mary” twice. I think it lay up past your nose, disguising your face beyond recognition on the day you rose again from the dead.

Remind me that my mask is holy, that it follows a long footsteps of messengers and prophets and followers of God all wearing cloth upon their face as a reflection and sign of safety and love.

And when I feel short of breath, send your Holy Spirit to help me breathe, and to inspire me to continue to wear the mask.

And when I feel weak or afraid, God please hold me in the palm of your hand, so that my steps can be sure and strong.

And when I feel alone, send Jesus to be my sibling and my friend, and to remind me I am beloved I pray.

As I wear this mask, let it too be the image of God, I pray.

Amen.

Feel free to use or adapt with Credit to Pastor Katy Stenta

Pandemic Prayers & Resources

In This Smoosh of Time

Lord God Almighty please help me as time continues to smoosh.

Summer is ending, and yet is is also the thousandth day of March.

I’ll wake up on Monday, know that’s it’s Monday (I did do church yesterday, though now it’s different).

I’ll do my chores, maybe find fifteen minutes to exercise and then set my kids up for their activities–and cross my fingers that they will last them awhile.

Then I will sit down at my computer to work and cram in as much productive time that I can.

Then I’ll sigh, and realize I’ve forgotten to turn in an article, or are late for my kid’s counseling or have missed someone’s zoom meeting or training.

Because my heart and soul didn’t know it was Monday. My mind knew, but my soul is in denial.

Because Monday is not that important in the grand scheme of things. And I remain in crises mode, my alarms going off for the pandemic and the injustices of the world and not for the mundanities of life.

My ADHD family and friends say this is how time works for them on most days.

It’s non-linear non-subjective; more like a wobbly wobbly time-wimey stuff. I am stuck in the ball of time stuff.

Appointments are hazy at best, and I can’t remember things from before the pandemic. Lord help me to hold onto the things I need to and let go of the things I don’t need.

And clocks are tricksy.

And the end of the day drags on and on, so long that it is hard to get anything done. Why is that?

Help me to stop doom scrolling. Remind me to take a walk, to sit in the sun, to pause to do something fun.

Help me to remember it’s Monday, as best I can. And to practice self-grace when I can’t–and when others can’t as well.

Help me to set the alarms I need.

And help me to worry less about time, and be in the moment, when I can. I pray.

Amen.

Feel free to use or adapt with credit to Pastor Katy Stenta

Pandemic Prayers & Resources

Crumbs of Prayer: Pieces of the Lord’s Prayer

Lord God, we are meditating with you–praying your words as they tumble out of our hearts today.

For you are the power and kingdom and glory forever.

Let us pray forever, for you are forever, and everything belongs to you creator, redeemer an sustainer. We are lifting our voice to the neverending story of your love. You rule us all as the shepherd herds cats, as the gateway that swings open again and again, as the justicemaker straightens pathways and levels mountains for us all.

Your will be done,

Because when I choose, I choose for myself, not for my community.

Your will because my vision is so narrow. I can only think for me or people like me. True compassion and understanding are so hard to grasp.

Your will be done, because your will is for each and every one of your children.

Forgive us our debts,

with you–finally no one is hungry. There are no landlords in heaven, because everyone has a place to stay. There is no greed in heaven because no one hungers for more.

There is simply, and a perfectly, enough for everyone. And the surety of sufficiency is so great greed dissolves like a mint on the tongue. Debts disappear.

You art in heaven the place where we all want to be, because that’s where there is enough:

where there is enough room in God’s house–enough room for me, and all those who I love, and all of our messes, and somehow, miraculously our messes don’t trip each other up.

Your will be done, because the kingdom heaven is like a feast where no one comes in too early or arrives too late, and there is no dress code or assigned seats.

Your Kingdom come

because the kingdom of heaven is like a tree where all the birds in all of their varieties and colors–in all of their sexualities and genders–can sing together in appreciative harmony.

Our Father, Our Mother, mommy, daddy, Beloved Parent

Your kin-dom, where we are all family. Where no one is rejected. Where the lost are welcome back.

As we Forgive each other

Because we want to learn forgiveness, because we are tired of war and debts and racism and rage. Because we need to take the chip off our shoulders and walk humbly. Because we cannot know you until we know grace.

Lord, sometimes we pray the Lord’s prayer so fast, it jumbles up in our minds–but sometimes that’s how we declare Hallow be Thy name not in logical or order but in drops of grace, spilled upon our hearts. We lift these crumbs of prayer to you; oh God.
Amen.

Feel free to use parts or all with credit to Pastor Katy Stenta

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The Moment for a Psalm

I used to know how things worked, but I don’t anymore.

I guess, this is the moment you write a psalm.

A prayer that cries out to God, for all the injustices in the world.

The missed vacations, friends and fun.

The skipped memories, rituals and milestones.

My God, why does life work this way? Why can I look at a cheaper mortgage when others can’t pay the rent?

How is it I’m in the position of privilege, when we almost didn’t make it out of the last recession?

Lord I used to know how things went, we worked, the kids went to school, we tried to find time for socialization.

Now I discover the hidden histories that were in plain sight all along. I finally understand the racism that I’ve been trying to see for the last ten years.

Suddenly I’m understanding the economics of pastoral care and relationship.

Lord I am surrounded by fear and illness. My enemies spread discord and lies, and care nothing for the vulnerable.

I guess I’m writing this psalm, because psalms don’t resolve anything.

They just affirm that our God is the one who cares for every single person, our God does not even let a sparrow or a sparrow’s feather to drop without God’s knowledge.

They reflect that God is….somewhere…. shining through the cracks–showing us opportunities to be helpers, reminding us that when we are lucky: we need to care.

So here is my Psalm God, my crying out of obscenities at the injustices of the world, and my shaking of the fist at all those with hardened hearts.

Let every person have enough to eat, give every person a mask and the opportunity to stay safe, help us to stop being stupid.

Remind us to be as consistent as we can (something humans suck at) as we try to fight this pandemic. As it rips of the bandaids that we have put over racism, inequality, poverty, education and childcare and housing, help us to see the world as it is.

God, we are wounded and bleeding. Hear our cry.

We are begging for you God, to do your work. Please love all of your children, because some days that best I can do is get out of bed, shower, call someone and not sink back into depression.

Love doesn’t make the list as often as I wish, and thankfulness is not as dominant as I’d like. Heal me, save me I pray. Heal us, save us we pray.

I used to know how things worked, but I don’t anymore. So here is my Psalm.

Lord we used to know how things worked, but we don’t anymore, so here is our Psalm

Lord in your mercy.

Hear our Prayer.

Amen

Feel free to use as needed credit to Pastor Katy Stenta

Pandemic Prayers & Resources

Decision Fatigue

Lord God Almighty, Can’t you just make the decision for me?

Image xkcd comic

In a time when every single decision seems to carry weight. Do we go to the grocery store, or do take out? Am I appropriately spaced from the person nearby? Do I go to bed or spend 5 more minutes on this moment of free time?

Reopening sucks. Are we even reopening? How much can we reopen? Should we even try when we know that it’s still not safe?

Lord, decision making is not safe right now.

Do I send my kids to some kind of camp or school? Do I accede to digital learning, should i just homeschool (please God let the answer not be that I should be homeschooling, because i just can’t)

Lord, usually we make decisions in a split second, in a culture where immediacy is the primary value–I valued the swiftness over the efficacy.

God, Lord, Jesus, Holy Ghost. How do you–with three people make any decisions.

Do you have any hints for me?

Can you just make the decision for me? No?……

Well then, help me to weigh, to quiet my voice enough to give some room for yours–

Help me to make the best decision I can in the moment, remind me that nothing has to be written in stone.

Help me to make the right risky decisions: About who to help, who to be in relationship with, how to donate & protest in all the needful ways.

Give me the strength I need face the things I have to continue to say no to…give me the support I need to carry on in the midst of it all.

and

Grant me your grace, as I make the hard decisions I pray.

And please help every single human who is making all of the decisions. Kyrie Elesion.

Send your Holy Spirit, nudge us (or shove us) in the right direction, build consensus, Soften the hard-hearted so they can hear the facts they need to make the right decisions.

In Jesus Holy Name, please hear our prayer

Amen

Stuck on Repeat

God, I do not want to play this game again. I have discovered this is the exact reason I do not, personally, find video games enjoyable. To play the same thing repeatedly until it’s beaten is disheartening.

But then I remember what I tell my children. We are not video game characters, remote controlled by God. We have free will.

And you are a God of grace, letting us try multiple times to get it right. Putting us back at the beginning of our journey–to fix the pandemic, to become antiracist, to help those in need–over and over again.

When we get stuck like a broken record (remember those?) you remind us, miraculously, that we can move the needle.

The end to this pandemic is compassion.

In a time when love looks like giving masks to one another. In a time when money can be collected for rent. In a time when thousands suddenly have the time and emotional energy to march for Black Lives Matter. In a time when we can look at our budgets and see where our health and school funds lay in the priorities, you remind us; we are empowered to change things–together.

Lord, walk with me, walk with us. When we stumble and trip help us to have compassion for one another. Let masks flow like floods. When teachers and parents come together to make tough decisions; let our love overpower any stinginess.

When we are stuck in groundhog day, teach us that living our your compassion is more important than ever.

Help us to defeat the challenges, and to remember that we are playing on the team. And when we feel overwhelmed, help us to rest, to cry and then to get back up and do it all again.

Hold these prayers in the palm of your hand we pray.

Amen.

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Feel free to use or adapt with credit to Pastor Katy Stenta

Pandemic Prayers & Resources