Brazel Farm near Lebanon, Oregon.
Photo by Michael Slater
God of the Morning,
You are with us in the darkness
before first light.
Your presence echoes in the steady
hum of crickets chirping,
In the lone bird who bravely
practices her meandering tune
before the others,
In the rustling thuds of a frog
leaping through the wet grass until
his feet slap onto the damp
pavement.
As the sky turns to deep navy blue
along the horizon, you hear the
prayers spoken beneath the morning
stars,
The same stars that shine over
Bangladesh, where the victims of
violence and political unrest search
for a solution.
The same stars that shine over Gaza
City, where shrapnel wounds from
missile fire heighten the
desperation of Israelis and
Palestinians.
Long before our eyes open, you know
the fears and worries that fail to
subside with sleep.
As we pray for an end to all of the
pain, You offer us comfort, for You
are the God of the Silent Dewfall,
Dwelling with us in the silence of
the sleepy,
restless prayers of our hearts,
Offering us the promise of morning.
God of the Morning, You are with us
at first light.
Your presence echoes in the reticent
first sprays of sprinklers on the
lawn,
In the shadows that peel back as the
flowers open,
In the gentle coos of pigeons
accompanied by an
orchestra of morning birdsongs.
As the sky melts from navy into
powder blue, you hear the prayers
spoken on the heavy morning air,
The same air that blows in a mighty
seabreeze across the coast of
Louisiana and Mississippi,
Where the grating sound of utility
knives cutting through slabs of
sheetrock mark the dawning of
another day filled with rebuilding,
The same breeze that blows across
the shores of Seattle, where the
staff of the Gates Foundation decide
how to best use new donations to
fight HIV/AIDS, malaria,
tuberculosis, and guinea-worm
disease.
Long before our alarm clocks shatter
our sleep, you know our thankfulness
for volunteers, generous hearts, and
organizations that help us to help
each other.
As we pray for wisdom and courage
for those who know firsthand that
there are no easy answers,
You offer us hope, for You are the
God of the Cool Morning Air,
Dwelling with us in the waking
prayers of our hearts.
Offering us the promise of morning.
God of the Morning, You are with us
at daybreak.
Your presence echoes in the sun’s
rays as they filter through the
curtains,
In the cool floor against the soles
of our bare feet,
In the beads of water that greet our
fingertips when we grasp the plastic
sleeve on the newspaper.
As the sky bursts into a wash of
white tinged with light peaches and
pinks along the horizon, you let us
hear the prayers of our brothers and
sisters in the images we see in the
news.
As morning dawns in Iraq, we can
hear the fearful, fevered prayers of
young soldiers in the 4th ID, and of
young insurgents.
We hear the prayers of an expectant
mother in Baghdad and an expectant
mother in Waco, both feeling the
movement in their bellies, both
knowing their child will be born
into a world that needs more loving
hands,
And both praying for a child who
will bring new ideas and hopes for
peace and reconciliation.
Long before we read of more roadside
bombs, you know our worries about
the world our children and
grandchildren will live in.
As we pray for tolerance and
understanding,
You offer us the opportunities of
education, travel, and open
conversation with those of different
beliefs and perspectives, for
You are the God of the Sunrise
Dwelling with us in the hurried
prayers of our hearts.
Offering us the promise of morning.
God of the Morning, You are with us
in our hunger.
Your presence echoes in a hot cup of
tea and the tartness of oranges,
In the breaking of bread and the
filling of a cup,
In the invitation to the table—The
Breaker of Fasts,
As the sunlight spreads across the
food before us, you remind us that
we choose what to consume, what to
fill ourselves with, what to take
into ourselves as a part of our
lives,
And that the food we have is to be
shared with many different people,
At the food pantry, in restaurants,
in soup kitchens, at Wednesday night
suppers, through Meals on Wheels, on
street corners, and in our homes.
Long before our morning hunger
arrives, you know our worries about
whether or not we are good enough,
whether or not we are becoming the
people we want to be.
As we pray for you for guidance on
this journey,
You remind us that we are never
alone at the table,
for You are the God of Communion
Dwelling with us at the breakfast
table and bringing guests
for us to dine with,
Through the Silent Dewfall,
In the Cool Morning Air,
To see the Sunrise,
Offering us the promise of morning.
Amen
