PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE
ST. PAUL'S EPISCOPAL CHURCH, Port Townsend, Washington
NOVEMBER 17, 2013
Good morning, dear Creator. It's November. Night comes upon us quickly now, and the Southerlies swirl the leaves of last summer around the corners of our houses. Your Word today, however, is ripe with new creation hidden in the midst of chaos. Yet again, paradox lies at the heart of our relationship with you. May we hold it close.
Blow us toward you, O Creator, for our only true safety is in your hands, in the folds of your skirts.
Today we offer thanks for all those prayers you have answered. So often we forget that when good stuff happens—healing, unexpected cash flow, the return of a lost friend or animal, the birthing of a new creation of our own— we rush on to the next supplication, ignoring your bounty. We now offer our silent or spoken gratitude for all the blessed things which have come to pass for us and for the world (pause). Together we acknowledge that our prayers never fall upon closed ears.
Urge us, Lord, to live not in wanting, but in gratitude--no matter what.
Let us pray for all who lead this church, Dianne and Karen, all bishops including our own bishop Greg, and those who preside over every holy house on earth. Help us to remember that the work of our hands is not labor in vain. As the sound of weeping can be heard and the cries of distress echo in our ears, let us be utterly aware that all suffering is our suffering and, by praying to you, we can play a part in easing what ails your world.
Cheer us on, Father. Unclench our hands to carry the suffering of others.
May the leaders of all nations feel the same. Imbue them with an understanding that power is easily corrupted, and help them to see that we all tremble from fears, we all hope to make it safely home, and we all ache for the peace that comes from making home wherever we are, just as Jesus did.
Startle us, Mother of All, into knowing we are part of a larger family, holding hands, our hearts beating in time.
Since our family stretches wide, let us remember silently or aloud, all those who are in acute pain, emotional distress, or spiritual crisis (pause). May we take to heart Jesus's admonition: "Do not be terrified...I will give you words and a wisdom..." Instead of instilling fear in us, let the Gospel's predictions remind us that your urgent message exists in any time, any place, in all of our lives.
Hush our worries, Lord. Bring us calm. (over)
We also pray both silently and aloud for all who have died and join you now in endless Presence (pause). We remember those who have left us, knowing we will see their shining faces again.
Smile upon us and those we have waved goodbye to, for Time is but an apparition.
We pray for our own community of Port Townsend and the Peninsula we live on. Here at St. Paul's our voices echo over and over again into marvelous things. We see you in the whales in Port Townsend Bay, the fuzzy winter coats of horses, the ecstatic greetings of our dogs, and the beauty of the crow's wing against the sand on the beach. With trumpets and the sound of the horn, let the sea make its noise and the rivers clap their hands, for all your creation is rife with pulsing life.
Cajole us into seeing, smelling, hearing, tasting, and feeling more deeply. You gave us bodies for a reason: Let us praise them!
On a more practical level, Lord, help us to look into the mirror. Help us notice if we, like the Thessalonians, are behaving like busybodies, poking our noses where we are not needed and ignoring the tasks that will deepen our love for you. Let us ponder what it means to give—on all levels—emotionally, financially, and spiritually. Let us know where we are needed and get us there to do it.
Guide us toward a clean reflection, gritty truth, and unbridled joy.
Finally, Oh Creator, we thank you for the words of wisdom you have given us, the confidence that not a hair of our head will perish, that our endurance will accompany us to Aldrich's, to the dry cleaners, a sick friend, to the food bank, and to the dump. Wherever we are, you are, too.
Be with us, O Creator and let our supplications also be our faith.
In your Name which embodies all we need, all we love, and all we could ever ask for,
AMEN AMEN
Prayers of the People 1st Sunday in Advent Christine Hemp
We have lit the first candle, Lord. Green has turned into purple, and we begin our walk toward Christmas. Startle us into seeing the journey afresh this year. Open our eyes to the sun and the moon and the stars and what Jesus really meant when he told us to pay attention.
Help us to see you face-to-face and restore what is lacking in our faith, in our vision of who you are and how you reveal yourself to us. Give us eyes to see and ears to hear.
Today we pray for the whole world held in the cup of your hand. The distress among nations and the roaring of the sea and waves overwhelm us, Lord. We ache for an end to the fighting. An end to destruction.
Remind us that each time we turn our gaze back to you, we, too, become part of the healing—for the family of humankind and for our own sweet earth.
This morning we offer up those who are sick and those who are confused, astray or adrift. Especially those we name here – aloud or silently. Comfort them when they are afraid. Expand their trust until it fills the heavens like the expanding galaxies, a glitter of possibility at every turn.
No matter how fearful or rickety we feel, Lord, keep us in the quiet confidence that you carry us toward the Light at all times—bar none.
We pray for your Church in all its configurations and iterations. Transform it daily into a safe home, an island for everyone. Keep its efforts clean and true. Bless its leaders—past, present, and future—with hearts like pure water.
Help us here at St. Paul’s to be seekers of your ways, stewards of your Word, and includers without exception. Shape us into people with wide, open arms.
We pray for the living and the dead, knowing that the membrane which separates us is so very thin. Remember especially those we name right now, aloud or silently.
Give us the confidence to walk in contradiction Lord, that we may affirm our glorious living bodies and also celebrate future union with all those humans and animals who now dance with you in person.
We cannot ask these things without offering our gratitude and unbridled delight, Lord. And what a list it is! We thank you for our families near and far; for the sun glinting on the frosty roof; the hoot of the ferry boat; a baby’s gurgle; a call from a friend when we need it most; the smell of this morning’s coffee in the parish hall; an unexpected check in the mail; a novel that speaks to our truth; the perfect dovetail joint; a horse who fetches our hat; release from muscle pain; a sudden wave of possibility when we thought the day was over; a prayer answered so clearly we are sent to our knees.
We praise you, dear Creator, for all the joy and amazement in this life. Such wonder tucked into our days! Let each joy engender another and another and another, so that our gratitude rises like a temple.
And, finally, Loving God, our parish family has entered a special time as we move toward calling our new rector. We and our rector Elizabeth are each embarking on a pilgrimage toward new life. We offer our gratitude for the abundance we have been given and what we are moving toward. Help us to breath and pray, now and into the future. Open our hearts and minds to your guidance and direction, accepting your grace and assurance that everything will be just fine.
Just fine, Lord. Amen.
PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE September 5th by Christine Hemp
It is fall, Lord. Imagine! (Wasn’t it just Easter?) Ah, the cycles you’ve created move within cycles. And those cycles move. We are part of such a huge design – from the vast, mysterious desert of Mars to the tiniest molecule on our hand. Help us to know we are connected by things we cannot see, and what we perceive as separation is actually the gold ring of union.
With a primal sense wonder, Lord,
We say yes (!) to You and your Creation.
Today we celebrate the launching of a new cycle. Lord. Not only with sails in Port Townsend Bay, but in our own sweet parish where the winds of change are blowing. We are nervous and excited for what is to come. We pray for our beloved Elizabeth who is turning over the helm and for our precious Karen who will keep us on course. We pray for a strong breeze to guide us.
With confidence in your bearings, Lord,
We pray for clarity of intention, unity of purpose, and delight in the journey.
We pray also for all the world’s rulers, Lord, and those who aspire to be one. Help them – and us—to be wary of trusting their worldly promises. And, though they claim to have answers, they are not You. You alone give food to the hungry. You alone give justice to the oppressed. You alone care for the stranger.
Let us not be fooled by false claims, Lord,
You alone keep Your promises forever.
Oh, Lord, let us rethink what it means to be a neighbor – not just the homeless or the hungry, but the person next door with politics so unlike our own; the man down the street who beats his dog; the stranger who is dressed a little strangel; the irritating voice of the telemarketer. Let us live by your example and pray for those who do not fit our idea of “neighbor.”
Open our arms wide, Lord.
Make us bigger people.
We pray today for all who are sick in mind, body, and spirit, knowing that you can set us free from our fears, free from the limits of logic, free from “Oh, dear what will happen?” We drop to our knees – in the shower, in the living room, on the forest path, in church, and in the parking lot – with gratitude and supplication. Help us to understand that Jesus fixed the child and the deaf man not just for healing alone, but to show us a pathway to You— to be Opened. Give us the confidence daily to see that every single moment we have the opportunity to be healed in all ways.
Sighing with Jesus,
We ask to be Opened by You.
We pray for those who have died, Lord, knowing that they no longer have to worry about mortgage payments or doctor’s visits, returning emails, or even doubt. They are living in the light now. We give thanks for their lives, and though we mourn, we say their names aloud (or silently) with love and hope:
Let us relax in your promise, Lord,
And give us faith that we will join those we love in aliveness forever.
FINAL COLLECT
Finally, Lord, on this Sunday of beginnings, Lord, let us bless all that is good and true in our lives, the V’s of geese starting to wing south, the vegetables overbrimming in our gardens and the blackberries sagging on the sticker bushes. For intellectual inquiry and pure, sensual bodily feeling. For children’s drawings and new lunchboxes. For labyrinths. For September sun and the cat on our lap. For Just Soup and weekly flower arrangements at the altar. For the salmon coming home and the smell of tides. For the sound of horse hoofs thundering in the meadow and the way the light slants on our kitchen table. For harmonicas and finger cymbals, for organs and choirs. And for the immense and palpable love right here, right now, among this family of St. Paul’s. We are the Opening Jesus was talking about.
With gusto, Lord,
We praise and we praise and we praise! AMEN!
CHRISTMAS EVE
PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE by Christine Hemp
Merry Christmas, Lord. Here we are— your people: Rag-tag and rattled, exuberant and deflated, noisy and quiet, tired and hopeful. We gather as family in the winter darkness – and the news is big: Your light has shined! Yes, how beautiful are the feet of the messenger who announces peace. In this joy, keep us mindful that your incarnation is not only lodged in the past, but it lives forever in the now.
Over and over, Lord, we come back to your startling birth and each time it is fresh --
Listen! Your sentinels lift up their voices, together we sing for joy.
Tonight, Lord, we pray for the church, and all its incarnations across the planet. May your servants find unity and purpose and bind up the differences that keep us apart. Help us to remember that the first church was a stall where mules and horses (more at home with miracles than we) huffed and stamped softly as you entered into our world. And the first altar was a hay bin, the first minister our tender Mary. When the world said no, she said yes.
Like Mary pondering these things in her heart, Lord,
We sing to you a new song for the whole trembling earth.
We also pray tonight for those who do not have a safe stall, the last motel room, a Christmas tree, stockings, or the padding of family. Let them know you are near, Lord, no matter where they sleep. Bless them in the knowledge that the lowliest places are where we find you, that your Kingdom shines most brightly in those who are stripped down to essentials. Help us in our abundance to help all those in need, and with open arms invite them through our open doors—to find soup, succor, and singing.
Let us be the exact imprint of your very being, Lord--
And daily, like the harp, be the voice of song.
Even as the world says no, Lord, tonight your people witness an opening, a holy rent in the membrane between heaven and earth. Bless those who have died, for they see your light even brighter than we do. Bless those who are ill, those who return from wars, and those whose who suffer the effects of conflict. Whether those battles are between enemies or within ourselves, Father, offer us the tenderness we feel tonight. For it is tenderness alone that opens us, just as you opened Mary to deliver yourself.
While the boots of tramping warriors and their garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire,
Let us, too, burn the mantle of hate and embrace the swaddling clothes of love.
When the psalmist says let the earth be glad, we can hear it! Songs of praise are everywhere: In the organ’s fugue, in the wind out the door, in the thunder of the sea, in the sound of our feet, in the rutting of the new young bucks, the fluttering pages of our hymnals, the greetings in the pews, in the breath of our prayer. Christmas often triggers tears—for joy, for sadness, childhoods lost or childhoods we never had. Whatever quaking goes on inside us during this precious time, Lord, help us to know that all those feelings coursed through you as well – beginning at the moment you came to us as a child. You know us.
As you were dropped into time, a child embodied in paradox,
Teach us that we only need to look to you, Jesus, as our steady star.
After we leave our own stable here on the hill above the sea, Lord, let us rejoice not only in the Big News, but for its presence in our daily lives. Like Mary and Joseph, we, too, face taxes and travel fatigue. Crowds and overbookings. In fact, our town-- like any town--could be Bethlehem itself. A boatshed instead of a barn. Shipwrights instead of shepherds, standing awkwardly in their Carharts gazing at a baby wrapped in torn sails dozing on the mended nets. Such mystery lies at every juncture!
Heeding the angels’ admonition “Do not be afraid,”
Give us the courage to imagine you here. Now.
Finally, Oh Creator, thank you for helping us experience this season anew each time. For grownups, children, and all those in between, something quickens in our bones when Christmas is upon us. The star glitters and we yearn for more. What we’re slowly learning is that each time we surrender to this story we kneel at the feet of Wonder. A sudden healing happens. Oh, and that’s what the trumpets are declaring! So let us all be instruments of your peace – letting out the stops!
Like the clapping hills and the roaring sea, Lord Jesus Christ,
We praise you for your Word, your flesh! Like the like trees of the wood shouting out for joy, we shout it, too: Hallelujah! And again: Hallelujah!!
EASTER VIGIL: PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE CHRISTINE HEMP
Lord, on this night of your second birth, you offer us love bigger than Creation, more powerful than the parting of the seas for Moses, and infinitely deeper than our own entombed and private apprehensions.
Here among our amazement and our hope, Lord:
Let there be evening. Let there be morning.
Tonight, Lord, we pray for our church – the precious Family of St. Paul’s here at the windy edge of Holy Week. We gladly celebrate our brand new sibling in Holy Baptism. Hold us in your care, knowing we are connected not only to each other, but to all those across the planet who praise your Name in myriad ways and words. Bless those entrusted with leading your Church, especially Elizabeth our rector, Karen our deacon, and all who serve you in this holy calling.
May their hearts--and ours--be opened again and again to our vows of Baptism
Let there be evening. Let there be morning.
When Noah skippered his hippos, horses, and hares through the flood, you promised them a rainbow. When Moses led his people to the edge the sea, you opened it up as if it were sky. When we face calamity, Lord, steer us through. Help us trust in the miraculous. Remind us that many sea monsters are of our own making, and we need the wisdom to honor your Creation – the shapely earth you gave us long ago.
Knowing you are both the olive branch and the light that sustains it,
Let there be evening. Let there be morning.
On this night, Lord, we are particularly attentive to those who face another kind of darkness: Bless all who suffer in mind, body, spirit, and soul. Come to them like a quiet wind as we name them silently or aloud. Whisper your comfort into the midst of brokenness. Remind them—and those who care for them—that you can part the waters in an instant, that your thoughts are more spacious than existence, and that healing is possible at every utterance.
For as the rain and snow come down, so too, the bulbs of healing bloom.
Let there be evening. Let there be morning.
While we hover at the cusp of this mystery, Lord, tonight we also pray for those who have followed Christ into and beyond the tomb, those whose names we say aloud or hold close to our hearts. We delight that we, too, will safely span that liminal space and share their jubilation.
And give us the tenacity of Mary Magdalene who not only showed up, but kept vigil in the unknowing—even when her Lord’s death seemed the end of the story. Show us what she saw: That each of us can rise up: We can leave our own tomb!
Open our graves, Lord, and open our eyes to the Light our loved ones are seeing now.
Let there be evening. Let there be morning.
Finally, Lord, on this night of wonder we praise you for your assurance that –yes!—a new morning comes. Our mortal bones not only rattle, but dance with those tambourines! Can you hear us singing? Christ shows us that inside Destruction lie the seeds of Creation. You wooed life out of the void! And then— you shook Life out of death. Alleluia! Let us rise!
Oh, let there be evening. Let there be morning. A New Day:
And it is good. Alleluia!!
PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 26th, 2010 CHRISTINE HEMP
Today, Lord, the trees remind us that we all must let go of summer with all its riches of purple and fine linen. We pray that you will gather up the scattered leaves of your Church across the world. Help us here at St. Paul’s—with ministers Elizabeth and Karen—to be a brightly burning bush for all to see.
Like the fields and vineyards of Judah purchased with Your blessing,
Give us courage to face the turning of each season.
When fear and ignorance blind us to the poor, open our eyes to see the open wounds—our own included. Give us the wisdom as individuals – and as a nation – to share our wealth, to dip our fingers in water to slake the thirst of others.
Reaching across the great chasms that separate us,
We beg You to carry us to common ground.
We also pray for our president – and all who seek or carry the weight of leadership. May they never be haughty nor feast so sumptuously that they forget those who sit outside the gate. Bless all our leaders, asking that they pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness—without spot or blame.
As our refuge and stronghold, Lord,
Keep us all in Your shadow and in the shelter of Your truth.
Sometimes the Scriptures confuse us, Lord. Help us to untangle your Word and ask for guidance when language doesn’t seem to be enough. Comfort us, too, letting us know that we need not be afraid of any terror by night, nor of the arrow that flies by day. Assure us that you live beyond words, that sometimes our mute appeal or gratitude is prayer enough.
Because You know our name, Lord,
Deliver us from clouds of befuddlement and escort us into the Knowing.
Thank you, Lord, for your Creation. Every day it reveals what it means to live with you in Wholeness: In the parting of the clouds, the thunder of hoof beats galloping in a meadow, the music of the rain in the downspout, V’s of geese heading home, the ambrosia of apples coming into season, the delicate brush of a spider’s web on our cheek, the taste of yellow squash from our garden.
In the beauty of holiness, Lord,
Forgive us when we set our hopes on the uncertainty of worldly riches, and continue to shower us with Your treasures.
Today we pray for all those who have been carried away by the angels to be with Abraham and all the guests at your Heavenly table, especially those we name out loud. When it is our time, let us go willingly and gladly toward you and all those we love. May we feast there in perfect union, sharing a nourishment we now can barely imagine.
Have mercy on those who have given up their earthly bodies, Lord,
Give us the confidence that we will join them in laughter, recognizing their faces in Your Presence.
For those of us who are still here on earth—creatures and humans alike— we ask for your help in our questions, our illnesses, our discontents. Offer us –and all those who suffer the snares of daily life—the salve of calm during stress, the clarity of faith in panic, the smile of normalcy when the world’s cacophony overwhelms us.
Like deeds kept in quiet earthenware jars,
May our trust in You be kept safe at all times.
Finally, Lord, we offer you our praise. For without praise our lives are incomplete. Therefore we honor all the blessings of this astonishing life – from the wonder of the stars that never disappear, to the kindness of the woman at the checkout stand. From the taste of soup on Wednesdays to the poems of children at the elementary school. From the business lunch which turns into a shared meal of the heart to the man in the Lincoln Continental who let you merge in front of him on the freeway.
All these, Lord, are glimmers of Your Grace.
We trumpet our gratitude toward the Heavens.
FINAL COLLECT
Lord, we have brought nothing into this world. And we know we can take nothing out of it but that which is in our hearts. Open our eyes to the eternal in the every day. Help us to be content with what we have, to give away more than we thought we could. Offer us the certainty that You alone are our food and clothing, and that we may take hold of life, singing our song with every breath.
PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE CHRISTINE HEMP
TRINITY SUNDAY
MAY 30, 2010
We pray fervently this morning, Lord, for your Church—that it may delight in its mission and tip its ear to the needs inside and outside its doors. We ask that you guide all those who minister, who cultivate your garden— especially for Karen’s Diaconal Ministry at St. Paul’s.
Beside the gates in front of the town and at the entrances of all the portals, Lord,
Brace us with the spirit of your wisdom.
Let us remember that with you there is always a blanket of peace, even when anger and turmoil lash out across the globe. Nudge us to turn toward one another in amazement, to see ourselves in the face of the “other.” Help all nations seek that place where all severed parts get sewn together.
Acknowledging the splendor of your open temple,
Hear our cry, Lord, to all who live.
We pray for our country, our president, and all the leaders of the world. Show us that the human family begins at home: waiting in the doctor’s office, standing in the grocery line, or setting up chairs in the labyrinth. May each small encounter remind us that our own community is but a reflection of the larger world.
In the astonishing inclusiveness of your holy name,
May we love our neighbors as ourselves.
When you assigned to the sea its limit and made a circle on the fountains of the deep, you held wisdom’s hand. You rejoiced with her in your inhabited world. Please help us, Lord, to stanch the bleeding of our earth. Move us from helplessness into a sense of purpose so that we can heal her wounds. May we honor the work of your fingers, knowing that everything we touch is sacred.
In your unending forgiveness,
We call out with tender hearts.
Thank you, Lord, for the blazing beauty of our existence: From the black holes of space to the birth of distant stars; from the first bits of soil you created to the wild beasts of the field. Bless and protect all the creatures of our earthly home – those with hooves and scales, wings and paws, fur and shells, fins and feathers. We marvel at the pulse of life around us: in the needles of the Douglas fir, the ooze of a jellyfish, the mosquito’s buzz. Make us mindful that all your creation is our family.
In exaltation of the highest order,
We clap our hands like the rivers and sing out like the mountains.
Knowing that suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character and character produces hope, give us the strength to live this knowledge–even when it is the hardest thing to do. Assure us yet again that all will be okay, no matter what. We pray for those in fear and pain, trusting that you are laying your hands upon them, even as we speak. In silence or aloud, we pray for those who struggle.
In the white flame of your strength,
Lord, give us mercy and hope always.
We pray for those who have left this earth for your vault of heaven. We, too, wish to follow them with a willing heart. Our Lord promised that all the Father has is his--and ours as well. Therefore, we look forward to that reunion when the multiple tendrils of our love—past, present, and future—will be woven together. In silence or aloud, we pray for those who have gone before us.
With all the things the Spirit has yet to tell us,
We await our merging with you, three-part God.
.Finally, Lord, we shower you with thanks. For out of the mouths of infants and children your majesty is praised above the heavens. We sing with gratitude for our laughter, our bounty, our healing, our love, and all the joys that dapple our daily path. Both silently and aloud, we praise you for the blessings of this life.
Glory be to you, Lord,
We praise you and exalt you until space and time no longer mark our days.
FINAL COLLECT.
Lord, the Eternal Triptych – Creator, Child, and Spirit— keep us steadfast in your holy mystery; give us strength to breathe in the truth and to embrace what we can barely comprehend: That you love us, that you are with us, and because of Jesus your grace is draped upon us all.
Amen.
^^^^^
ST. PAUL'S EPISCOPAL CHURCH, Port Townsend, Washington
NOVEMBER 17, 2013
Good morning, dear Creator. It's November. Night comes upon us quickly now, and the Southerlies swirl the leaves of last summer around the corners of our houses. Your Word today, however, is ripe with new creation hidden in the midst of chaos. Yet again, paradox lies at the heart of our relationship with you. May we hold it close.
Blow us toward you, O Creator, for our only true safety is in your hands, in the folds of your skirts.
Today we offer thanks for all those prayers you have answered. So often we forget that when good stuff happens—healing, unexpected cash flow, the return of a lost friend or animal, the birthing of a new creation of our own— we rush on to the next supplication, ignoring your bounty. We now offer our silent or spoken gratitude for all the blessed things which have come to pass for us and for the world (pause). Together we acknowledge that our prayers never fall upon closed ears.
Urge us, Lord, to live not in wanting, but in gratitude--no matter what.
Let us pray for all who lead this church, Dianne and Karen, all bishops including our own bishop Greg, and those who preside over every holy house on earth. Help us to remember that the work of our hands is not labor in vain. As the sound of weeping can be heard and the cries of distress echo in our ears, let us be utterly aware that all suffering is our suffering and, by praying to you, we can play a part in easing what ails your world.
Cheer us on, Father. Unclench our hands to carry the suffering of others.
May the leaders of all nations feel the same. Imbue them with an understanding that power is easily corrupted, and help them to see that we all tremble from fears, we all hope to make it safely home, and we all ache for the peace that comes from making home wherever we are, just as Jesus did.
Startle us, Mother of All, into knowing we are part of a larger family, holding hands, our hearts beating in time.
Since our family stretches wide, let us remember silently or aloud, all those who are in acute pain, emotional distress, or spiritual crisis (pause). May we take to heart Jesus's admonition: "Do not be terrified...I will give you words and a wisdom..." Instead of instilling fear in us, let the Gospel's predictions remind us that your urgent message exists in any time, any place, in all of our lives.
Hush our worries, Lord. Bring us calm. (over)
We also pray both silently and aloud for all who have died and join you now in endless Presence (pause). We remember those who have left us, knowing we will see their shining faces again.
Smile upon us and those we have waved goodbye to, for Time is but an apparition.
We pray for our own community of Port Townsend and the Peninsula we live on. Here at St. Paul's our voices echo over and over again into marvelous things. We see you in the whales in Port Townsend Bay, the fuzzy winter coats of horses, the ecstatic greetings of our dogs, and the beauty of the crow's wing against the sand on the beach. With trumpets and the sound of the horn, let the sea make its noise and the rivers clap their hands, for all your creation is rife with pulsing life.
Cajole us into seeing, smelling, hearing, tasting, and feeling more deeply. You gave us bodies for a reason: Let us praise them!
On a more practical level, Lord, help us to look into the mirror. Help us notice if we, like the Thessalonians, are behaving like busybodies, poking our noses where we are not needed and ignoring the tasks that will deepen our love for you. Let us ponder what it means to give—on all levels—emotionally, financially, and spiritually. Let us know where we are needed and get us there to do it.
Guide us toward a clean reflection, gritty truth, and unbridled joy.
Finally, Oh Creator, we thank you for the words of wisdom you have given us, the confidence that not a hair of our head will perish, that our endurance will accompany us to Aldrich's, to the dry cleaners, a sick friend, to the food bank, and to the dump. Wherever we are, you are, too.
Be with us, O Creator and let our supplications also be our faith.
In your Name which embodies all we need, all we love, and all we could ever ask for,
AMEN AMEN
Prayers of the People 1st Sunday in Advent Christine Hemp
We have lit the first candle, Lord. Green has turned into purple, and we begin our walk toward Christmas. Startle us into seeing the journey afresh this year. Open our eyes to the sun and the moon and the stars and what Jesus really meant when he told us to pay attention.
Help us to see you face-to-face and restore what is lacking in our faith, in our vision of who you are and how you reveal yourself to us. Give us eyes to see and ears to hear.
Today we pray for the whole world held in the cup of your hand. The distress among nations and the roaring of the sea and waves overwhelm us, Lord. We ache for an end to the fighting. An end to destruction.
Remind us that each time we turn our gaze back to you, we, too, become part of the healing—for the family of humankind and for our own sweet earth.
This morning we offer up those who are sick and those who are confused, astray or adrift. Especially those we name here – aloud or silently. Comfort them when they are afraid. Expand their trust until it fills the heavens like the expanding galaxies, a glitter of possibility at every turn.
No matter how fearful or rickety we feel, Lord, keep us in the quiet confidence that you carry us toward the Light at all times—bar none.
We pray for your Church in all its configurations and iterations. Transform it daily into a safe home, an island for everyone. Keep its efforts clean and true. Bless its leaders—past, present, and future—with hearts like pure water.
Help us here at St. Paul’s to be seekers of your ways, stewards of your Word, and includers without exception. Shape us into people with wide, open arms.
We pray for the living and the dead, knowing that the membrane which separates us is so very thin. Remember especially those we name right now, aloud or silently.
Give us the confidence to walk in contradiction Lord, that we may affirm our glorious living bodies and also celebrate future union with all those humans and animals who now dance with you in person.
We cannot ask these things without offering our gratitude and unbridled delight, Lord. And what a list it is! We thank you for our families near and far; for the sun glinting on the frosty roof; the hoot of the ferry boat; a baby’s gurgle; a call from a friend when we need it most; the smell of this morning’s coffee in the parish hall; an unexpected check in the mail; a novel that speaks to our truth; the perfect dovetail joint; a horse who fetches our hat; release from muscle pain; a sudden wave of possibility when we thought the day was over; a prayer answered so clearly we are sent to our knees.
We praise you, dear Creator, for all the joy and amazement in this life. Such wonder tucked into our days! Let each joy engender another and another and another, so that our gratitude rises like a temple.
And, finally, Loving God, our parish family has entered a special time as we move toward calling our new rector. We and our rector Elizabeth are each embarking on a pilgrimage toward new life. We offer our gratitude for the abundance we have been given and what we are moving toward. Help us to breath and pray, now and into the future. Open our hearts and minds to your guidance and direction, accepting your grace and assurance that everything will be just fine.
Just fine, Lord. Amen.
PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE September 5th by Christine Hemp
It is fall, Lord. Imagine! (Wasn’t it just Easter?) Ah, the cycles you’ve created move within cycles. And those cycles move. We are part of such a huge design – from the vast, mysterious desert of Mars to the tiniest molecule on our hand. Help us to know we are connected by things we cannot see, and what we perceive as separation is actually the gold ring of union.
With a primal sense wonder, Lord,
We say yes (!) to You and your Creation.
Today we celebrate the launching of a new cycle. Lord. Not only with sails in Port Townsend Bay, but in our own sweet parish where the winds of change are blowing. We are nervous and excited for what is to come. We pray for our beloved Elizabeth who is turning over the helm and for our precious Karen who will keep us on course. We pray for a strong breeze to guide us.
With confidence in your bearings, Lord,
We pray for clarity of intention, unity of purpose, and delight in the journey.
We pray also for all the world’s rulers, Lord, and those who aspire to be one. Help them – and us—to be wary of trusting their worldly promises. And, though they claim to have answers, they are not You. You alone give food to the hungry. You alone give justice to the oppressed. You alone care for the stranger.
Let us not be fooled by false claims, Lord,
You alone keep Your promises forever.
Oh, Lord, let us rethink what it means to be a neighbor – not just the homeless or the hungry, but the person next door with politics so unlike our own; the man down the street who beats his dog; the stranger who is dressed a little strangel; the irritating voice of the telemarketer. Let us live by your example and pray for those who do not fit our idea of “neighbor.”
Open our arms wide, Lord.
Make us bigger people.
We pray today for all who are sick in mind, body, and spirit, knowing that you can set us free from our fears, free from the limits of logic, free from “Oh, dear what will happen?” We drop to our knees – in the shower, in the living room, on the forest path, in church, and in the parking lot – with gratitude and supplication. Help us to understand that Jesus fixed the child and the deaf man not just for healing alone, but to show us a pathway to You— to be Opened. Give us the confidence daily to see that every single moment we have the opportunity to be healed in all ways.
Sighing with Jesus,
We ask to be Opened by You.
We pray for those who have died, Lord, knowing that they no longer have to worry about mortgage payments or doctor’s visits, returning emails, or even doubt. They are living in the light now. We give thanks for their lives, and though we mourn, we say their names aloud (or silently) with love and hope:
Let us relax in your promise, Lord,
And give us faith that we will join those we love in aliveness forever.
FINAL COLLECT
Finally, Lord, on this Sunday of beginnings, Lord, let us bless all that is good and true in our lives, the V’s of geese starting to wing south, the vegetables overbrimming in our gardens and the blackberries sagging on the sticker bushes. For intellectual inquiry and pure, sensual bodily feeling. For children’s drawings and new lunchboxes. For labyrinths. For September sun and the cat on our lap. For Just Soup and weekly flower arrangements at the altar. For the salmon coming home and the smell of tides. For the sound of horse hoofs thundering in the meadow and the way the light slants on our kitchen table. For harmonicas and finger cymbals, for organs and choirs. And for the immense and palpable love right here, right now, among this family of St. Paul’s. We are the Opening Jesus was talking about.
With gusto, Lord,
We praise and we praise and we praise! AMEN!
CHRISTMAS EVE
PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE by Christine Hemp
Merry Christmas, Lord. Here we are— your people: Rag-tag and rattled, exuberant and deflated, noisy and quiet, tired and hopeful. We gather as family in the winter darkness – and the news is big: Your light has shined! Yes, how beautiful are the feet of the messenger who announces peace. In this joy, keep us mindful that your incarnation is not only lodged in the past, but it lives forever in the now.
Over and over, Lord, we come back to your startling birth and each time it is fresh --
Listen! Your sentinels lift up their voices, together we sing for joy.
Tonight, Lord, we pray for the church, and all its incarnations across the planet. May your servants find unity and purpose and bind up the differences that keep us apart. Help us to remember that the first church was a stall where mules and horses (more at home with miracles than we) huffed and stamped softly as you entered into our world. And the first altar was a hay bin, the first minister our tender Mary. When the world said no, she said yes.
Like Mary pondering these things in her heart, Lord,
We sing to you a new song for the whole trembling earth.
We also pray tonight for those who do not have a safe stall, the last motel room, a Christmas tree, stockings, or the padding of family. Let them know you are near, Lord, no matter where they sleep. Bless them in the knowledge that the lowliest places are where we find you, that your Kingdom shines most brightly in those who are stripped down to essentials. Help us in our abundance to help all those in need, and with open arms invite them through our open doors—to find soup, succor, and singing.
Let us be the exact imprint of your very being, Lord--
And daily, like the harp, be the voice of song.
Even as the world says no, Lord, tonight your people witness an opening, a holy rent in the membrane between heaven and earth. Bless those who have died, for they see your light even brighter than we do. Bless those who are ill, those who return from wars, and those whose who suffer the effects of conflict. Whether those battles are between enemies or within ourselves, Father, offer us the tenderness we feel tonight. For it is tenderness alone that opens us, just as you opened Mary to deliver yourself.
While the boots of tramping warriors and their garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire,
Let us, too, burn the mantle of hate and embrace the swaddling clothes of love.
When the psalmist says let the earth be glad, we can hear it! Songs of praise are everywhere: In the organ’s fugue, in the wind out the door, in the thunder of the sea, in the sound of our feet, in the rutting of the new young bucks, the fluttering pages of our hymnals, the greetings in the pews, in the breath of our prayer. Christmas often triggers tears—for joy, for sadness, childhoods lost or childhoods we never had. Whatever quaking goes on inside us during this precious time, Lord, help us to know that all those feelings coursed through you as well – beginning at the moment you came to us as a child. You know us.
As you were dropped into time, a child embodied in paradox,
Teach us that we only need to look to you, Jesus, as our steady star.
After we leave our own stable here on the hill above the sea, Lord, let us rejoice not only in the Big News, but for its presence in our daily lives. Like Mary and Joseph, we, too, face taxes and travel fatigue. Crowds and overbookings. In fact, our town-- like any town--could be Bethlehem itself. A boatshed instead of a barn. Shipwrights instead of shepherds, standing awkwardly in their Carharts gazing at a baby wrapped in torn sails dozing on the mended nets. Such mystery lies at every juncture!
Heeding the angels’ admonition “Do not be afraid,”
Give us the courage to imagine you here. Now.
Finally, Oh Creator, thank you for helping us experience this season anew each time. For grownups, children, and all those in between, something quickens in our bones when Christmas is upon us. The star glitters and we yearn for more. What we’re slowly learning is that each time we surrender to this story we kneel at the feet of Wonder. A sudden healing happens. Oh, and that’s what the trumpets are declaring! So let us all be instruments of your peace – letting out the stops!
Like the clapping hills and the roaring sea, Lord Jesus Christ,
We praise you for your Word, your flesh! Like the like trees of the wood shouting out for joy, we shout it, too: Hallelujah! And again: Hallelujah!!
EASTER VIGIL: PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE CHRISTINE HEMP
Lord, on this night of your second birth, you offer us love bigger than Creation, more powerful than the parting of the seas for Moses, and infinitely deeper than our own entombed and private apprehensions.
Here among our amazement and our hope, Lord:
Let there be evening. Let there be morning.
Tonight, Lord, we pray for our church – the precious Family of St. Paul’s here at the windy edge of Holy Week. We gladly celebrate our brand new sibling in Holy Baptism. Hold us in your care, knowing we are connected not only to each other, but to all those across the planet who praise your Name in myriad ways and words. Bless those entrusted with leading your Church, especially Elizabeth our rector, Karen our deacon, and all who serve you in this holy calling.
May their hearts--and ours--be opened again and again to our vows of Baptism
Let there be evening. Let there be morning.
When Noah skippered his hippos, horses, and hares through the flood, you promised them a rainbow. When Moses led his people to the edge the sea, you opened it up as if it were sky. When we face calamity, Lord, steer us through. Help us trust in the miraculous. Remind us that many sea monsters are of our own making, and we need the wisdom to honor your Creation – the shapely earth you gave us long ago.
Knowing you are both the olive branch and the light that sustains it,
Let there be evening. Let there be morning.
On this night, Lord, we are particularly attentive to those who face another kind of darkness: Bless all who suffer in mind, body, spirit, and soul. Come to them like a quiet wind as we name them silently or aloud. Whisper your comfort into the midst of brokenness. Remind them—and those who care for them—that you can part the waters in an instant, that your thoughts are more spacious than existence, and that healing is possible at every utterance.
For as the rain and snow come down, so too, the bulbs of healing bloom.
Let there be evening. Let there be morning.
While we hover at the cusp of this mystery, Lord, tonight we also pray for those who have followed Christ into and beyond the tomb, those whose names we say aloud or hold close to our hearts. We delight that we, too, will safely span that liminal space and share their jubilation.
And give us the tenacity of Mary Magdalene who not only showed up, but kept vigil in the unknowing—even when her Lord’s death seemed the end of the story. Show us what she saw: That each of us can rise up: We can leave our own tomb!
Open our graves, Lord, and open our eyes to the Light our loved ones are seeing now.
Let there be evening. Let there be morning.
Finally, Lord, on this night of wonder we praise you for your assurance that –yes!—a new morning comes. Our mortal bones not only rattle, but dance with those tambourines! Can you hear us singing? Christ shows us that inside Destruction lie the seeds of Creation. You wooed life out of the void! And then— you shook Life out of death. Alleluia! Let us rise!
Oh, let there be evening. Let there be morning. A New Day:
And it is good. Alleluia!!
PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 26th, 2010 CHRISTINE HEMP
Today, Lord, the trees remind us that we all must let go of summer with all its riches of purple and fine linen. We pray that you will gather up the scattered leaves of your Church across the world. Help us here at St. Paul’s—with ministers Elizabeth and Karen—to be a brightly burning bush for all to see.
Like the fields and vineyards of Judah purchased with Your blessing,
Give us courage to face the turning of each season.
When fear and ignorance blind us to the poor, open our eyes to see the open wounds—our own included. Give us the wisdom as individuals – and as a nation – to share our wealth, to dip our fingers in water to slake the thirst of others.
Reaching across the great chasms that separate us,
We beg You to carry us to common ground.
We also pray for our president – and all who seek or carry the weight of leadership. May they never be haughty nor feast so sumptuously that they forget those who sit outside the gate. Bless all our leaders, asking that they pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness—without spot or blame.
As our refuge and stronghold, Lord,
Keep us all in Your shadow and in the shelter of Your truth.
Sometimes the Scriptures confuse us, Lord. Help us to untangle your Word and ask for guidance when language doesn’t seem to be enough. Comfort us, too, letting us know that we need not be afraid of any terror by night, nor of the arrow that flies by day. Assure us that you live beyond words, that sometimes our mute appeal or gratitude is prayer enough.
Because You know our name, Lord,
Deliver us from clouds of befuddlement and escort us into the Knowing.
Thank you, Lord, for your Creation. Every day it reveals what it means to live with you in Wholeness: In the parting of the clouds, the thunder of hoof beats galloping in a meadow, the music of the rain in the downspout, V’s of geese heading home, the ambrosia of apples coming into season, the delicate brush of a spider’s web on our cheek, the taste of yellow squash from our garden.
In the beauty of holiness, Lord,
Forgive us when we set our hopes on the uncertainty of worldly riches, and continue to shower us with Your treasures.
Today we pray for all those who have been carried away by the angels to be with Abraham and all the guests at your Heavenly table, especially those we name out loud. When it is our time, let us go willingly and gladly toward you and all those we love. May we feast there in perfect union, sharing a nourishment we now can barely imagine.
Have mercy on those who have given up their earthly bodies, Lord,
Give us the confidence that we will join them in laughter, recognizing their faces in Your Presence.
For those of us who are still here on earth—creatures and humans alike— we ask for your help in our questions, our illnesses, our discontents. Offer us –and all those who suffer the snares of daily life—the salve of calm during stress, the clarity of faith in panic, the smile of normalcy when the world’s cacophony overwhelms us.
Like deeds kept in quiet earthenware jars,
May our trust in You be kept safe at all times.
Finally, Lord, we offer you our praise. For without praise our lives are incomplete. Therefore we honor all the blessings of this astonishing life – from the wonder of the stars that never disappear, to the kindness of the woman at the checkout stand. From the taste of soup on Wednesdays to the poems of children at the elementary school. From the business lunch which turns into a shared meal of the heart to the man in the Lincoln Continental who let you merge in front of him on the freeway.
All these, Lord, are glimmers of Your Grace.
We trumpet our gratitude toward the Heavens.
FINAL COLLECT
Lord, we have brought nothing into this world. And we know we can take nothing out of it but that which is in our hearts. Open our eyes to the eternal in the every day. Help us to be content with what we have, to give away more than we thought we could. Offer us the certainty that You alone are our food and clothing, and that we may take hold of life, singing our song with every breath.
PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE CHRISTINE HEMP
TRINITY SUNDAY
MAY 30, 2010
We pray fervently this morning, Lord, for your Church—that it may delight in its mission and tip its ear to the needs inside and outside its doors. We ask that you guide all those who minister, who cultivate your garden— especially for Karen’s Diaconal Ministry at St. Paul’s.
Beside the gates in front of the town and at the entrances of all the portals, Lord,
Brace us with the spirit of your wisdom.
Let us remember that with you there is always a blanket of peace, even when anger and turmoil lash out across the globe. Nudge us to turn toward one another in amazement, to see ourselves in the face of the “other.” Help all nations seek that place where all severed parts get sewn together.
Acknowledging the splendor of your open temple,
Hear our cry, Lord, to all who live.
We pray for our country, our president, and all the leaders of the world. Show us that the human family begins at home: waiting in the doctor’s office, standing in the grocery line, or setting up chairs in the labyrinth. May each small encounter remind us that our own community is but a reflection of the larger world.
In the astonishing inclusiveness of your holy name,
May we love our neighbors as ourselves.
When you assigned to the sea its limit and made a circle on the fountains of the deep, you held wisdom’s hand. You rejoiced with her in your inhabited world. Please help us, Lord, to stanch the bleeding of our earth. Move us from helplessness into a sense of purpose so that we can heal her wounds. May we honor the work of your fingers, knowing that everything we touch is sacred.
In your unending forgiveness,
We call out with tender hearts.
Thank you, Lord, for the blazing beauty of our existence: From the black holes of space to the birth of distant stars; from the first bits of soil you created to the wild beasts of the field. Bless and protect all the creatures of our earthly home – those with hooves and scales, wings and paws, fur and shells, fins and feathers. We marvel at the pulse of life around us: in the needles of the Douglas fir, the ooze of a jellyfish, the mosquito’s buzz. Make us mindful that all your creation is our family.
In exaltation of the highest order,
We clap our hands like the rivers and sing out like the mountains.
Knowing that suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character and character produces hope, give us the strength to live this knowledge–even when it is the hardest thing to do. Assure us yet again that all will be okay, no matter what. We pray for those in fear and pain, trusting that you are laying your hands upon them, even as we speak. In silence or aloud, we pray for those who struggle.
In the white flame of your strength,
Lord, give us mercy and hope always.
We pray for those who have left this earth for your vault of heaven. We, too, wish to follow them with a willing heart. Our Lord promised that all the Father has is his--and ours as well. Therefore, we look forward to that reunion when the multiple tendrils of our love—past, present, and future—will be woven together. In silence or aloud, we pray for those who have gone before us.
With all the things the Spirit has yet to tell us,
We await our merging with you, three-part God.
.Finally, Lord, we shower you with thanks. For out of the mouths of infants and children your majesty is praised above the heavens. We sing with gratitude for our laughter, our bounty, our healing, our love, and all the joys that dapple our daily path. Both silently and aloud, we praise you for the blessings of this life.
Glory be to you, Lord,
We praise you and exalt you until space and time no longer mark our days.
FINAL COLLECT.
Lord, the Eternal Triptych – Creator, Child, and Spirit— keep us steadfast in your holy mystery; give us strength to breathe in the truth and to embrace what we can barely comprehend: That you love us, that you are with us, and because of Jesus your grace is draped upon us all.
Amen.
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