7

The Writer Petitions

Give ear to my prayer, O God; and hide not thyself from my supplication. Attend unto me, and hear me.

PSALM 55.1-2A

There is an old Hasidic tale of a rabbi — Who knows his name? — who lives alone — Who knows where? — and who prays one prayer and only one prayer each morning: “Lord, let the world continue to be for one more day.” That is his prayer. And, the tale says, if the rabbi should, one day, fail to utter the prayer — if he should miss the time, or fall, or forget — and the prayer is not uttered, then the world will cease to exist.

Things are that tenuous.

For writers, their work is prayer.

In writing, the writer offers order, and beauty, and meaning, and insight. In writing, the writer holds up art against a spinning world and its darkness, against its fractures, against its chaos and anger and brokenness. In writing, the author holds up this prayer: “Lord, let the world continue to be for one more day.”

Aristotle speaks to the role of art as recognition, the sense that in the piece, the reader somehow sees herself, or the world around her. The writer, somehow, no matter how distant it is in time and space, leads the reader to say, “Ah, that is me.” There is, of course, a fearful suggestion in this, because that recognition might lead the reader to truths that are hard and painful to confront. But is there not, too, the sense that the reader can, in recognition, know that he is not alone in the world, that others have seen what he has seen, and know what he has known, and suffered what he has suffered? Is it not, too, the case that the reader can, in a world of easy cynicism, see that others have passed through what she is passing through and found — surprise! — that the world is most worthy the winning?

Lord, let the world continue to be for one more day.

Certainly it may be that the writer asks, in prayer, for the right word, the right image. Perhaps the writer asks for the time and opportunity to craft what is in her heart. Perhaps the writer asks for that one editor who has a sense of the writer’s purpose and intent, that editor who will help bring it all to fruition.

But beneath all of those prayers is the deeper one: that the writer’s art might hold the darkness and chaos at bay. That the writer’s art can somehow — Who knows how? — help the world continue to be, at least for one more reader, for one more day.

Lord, teach us to pray. Some of us are not skilled in the art of prayer. As we draw near to Thee in thought, our spirits long for Thy Spirit, and reach out for Thee, longing to feel Thee near. We know not how to express the deepest emotions that lie hidden in our hearts.

In these moments, we have no polished phrases with which to impress one another, no finely molded, delicately turned clauses to present to Thee. Nor would we be confined to conventional petitions and repeat our prayers like the unwinding of a much-exposed film. We know, our Father, that we are praying most when we are saying least. We know that we are closest to Thee when we have left behind the things that have held us captive so long. . . .

We thank Thee that Thou are hearing us even now. We thank Thee for the grace of prayer. We thank Thee for Thyself.

Peter Marshall

But O Thou, the Merciful Father of Spirits, the Attractive of Love, and Ocean of Delights. . . . O keep me while I tarry on this Earth, in daily serious breathings after Thee, and in a believing, affectionate walking with Thee: And when Thou comest, O let me be found so doing; not hiding my Talent, not serving my Flesh, nor yet asleep with my Lamp unfurnished; but waiting and longing for my Lord’s return. That those who shall reade these heavenly Directions, may not reade only the fruit of my Studies, and the product of my fancy, but the breathings of my active Hope and Love: That if my heart were open to their view, they might there reade the same most deeply engraven, with a Beam from the face of the Sonne of God; and not find Vanity, or Lust, or Pride within, where the words of Life appear without; that so these lines may not witness against me; but proceeding from the heart of the writer, may be effectuall through Thy grace upon the heart of the Reader; and so be the savour of Life to both.

Richard Baxter

Many, O Lord, are the wonderful works which you have wrought. They cannot be reckoned up in order. If we should declare and speak of them, they are more than we can number. We give praise for the creation of the world, for the majesty of the mountains and for the mighty deeps, for the myriad number of all your creatures, each sustaining its life according to the plan you have ordained. We give praise for the life of man, whom you have created in your image and called into fellowship with you, whom you have endowed with memory and foresight, so that all our yesterdays are gathered together in our present moment and all our tomorrows are the objects of our hopes and apprehensions.

O Lord, you have made us very great. Help us to remember how weak we are, so that we may not deny our kinship with the creatures of the field and our common dependence with them upon summer and winter, day and night. O Lord, you have made us very small, and we bring our years to an end like a tale that is told; help us to remember that beyond our brief day is the eternity of your love.

Reinhold Niebuhr

Lemuel’s Blessing

Let my ignorance and my failings

Remain far behind me like tracks made in a wet season,

At the end of which I have vanished,

So that those who track me for their own twisted ends

May be rewarded only with ignorance and failings.

But let me leave my cry stretched out behind me like a road

On which I have followed you.

And sustain me for my time in the desert

On what is essential to me.

W. S. Merwin

Give us grace Almighty Father so to pray as to deserve to be heard, to address Thee with our hearts, as with our lips. Thou are every where present, from Thee no secret can be hid. May the knowledge of this teach us to fix our thoughts on Thee, with reverence and devotion that we pray not in vain.

Jane Austen

Keep us Lord so awake in the duties of our callings that we may thus sleep in thy peace, and wake in thy glory, and change that infallibility which thou affordest us here, to an actual and undeterminable possession of that kingdom which thy Son our Saviour Jesus Christ hath purchased for us.

John Donne

For Those Whose Work Is Invisible

For those who paint the undersides of boats,

Makers of ornamental drains on roofs — too high to be seen,

Cobblers who labor over inner soles,

Seamstresses who stitch the wrong sides of linings,

For scholars whose research leads to no obvious discovery,

For dentists who polish each gold surface of the fillings of upper molars,

For civil engineers and those who repair water mains,

For electricians, for artists who suppress what does injustice to their visions,

For surgeons whose sutures are things of beauty.

For all those whose work is for Your eye only,

Who labor for Your entertainment or their own,

Who sleep in peace or do not sleep in peace, knowing their efforts are unknown.

Protect them from downheartedness — and from diseases of the eye.

Grant them perseverance, for the sake of Your love, which is humble, invisible and heedless of reward.

Mary Gordon

O God, who hast hitherto supported me, enable me to proceed in this labour, and in the Whole task of my present state; that when I shall render up, at the last day, an account of the talent committed to me, I may receive pardon, for the sake of Jesus Christ.

Samuel Johnson

Prosper thou the works of my hands, O Lord;

O, prosper thou my handy-work.

Thomas Ken

Dear Lord, you have sent me into this world to preach your word. So often the problems of the world seem so complex and intricate that your word strikes me as embarrassingly simple. Many times I feel tongue-tied in the company of people who are dealing with the world’s social and economic problems. But you, O Lord, said, “Be clever as serpents and innocent as doves.” Let me retain innocence and simplicity in the midst of this complex world. I realize that I have to be informed, that I have to study the many aspects of the problems facing the world, and that I have to try to understand as well as possible the dynamics of our contemporary society. But what really counts is that all this information, knowledge, and insight allows me to speak more clearly and unambiguously your truthful word. Do not allow evil powers to seduce me with the complexities of the world’s problems. But give me strength to think clearly, speak freely, and act boldly in your service. Give me the courage to show the dove in a world so full of serpents.

Henri Nouwen

O Lord Jesus Christ, the I AM, cast down, I beseech Thee, before the unapproachable Majesty of Thy Being, all man’s haughtiness of will and pride of intellect. Make the wise and prudent of this world as babes, that they may desire the sincere milk of Thy Word: Let them not wrest Thy good gifts to their own destruction, but with great abilities and great responsibilities bestow, O Lord, our Wisdom, greater grace.

Christina Rossetti

O Word Made Flesh, stand at the gate of my mouth. Be my voice this day that the words I speak will be healing, affirming, true, and gentle. Give me wisdom to think before I speak. Bless the words in me that are waiting to be spoken. Live and abide in my words so that others will feel safe in my presence. Surprise me with words that have come from you. Oh, place my words in the kiln of your heart that they may be enduring and strong, tempered and seasoned with love and resilience. Give me a well-trained tongue that has been borne out of silent listening in the sanctuary of my heart. May my words become love in the lives of others.

Macrina Wiederkehr

Creator Spirit, by whose aid

The world’s foundations first were laid,

Come visit ev’ry pious mind;

Come pour thy joys on humankind:

From sin and sorrow set us free;

And make thy temples worthy thee.

O, source of uncreated light,

The Father’s promised Paraclete!

Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,

Our hearts with heav’nly love inspire;

Come, and thy sacred unction bring

To sanctify us, while we sing!

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,

Rich in thy sev’n-fold energy!

Thou strength of his almighty hand,

Whose pow’r does heav’n and earth command:

Proceeding Spirit, our defence,

Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,

And crown’st thy gift, with eloquence!

Refine and purge our earthy parts;

But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!

Our frailties help, our vice control;

Submit the senses to the soul;

And when rebellious they are grown,

Then, lay thy hand, and hold ’em down.

Chase from our minds th’infernal foe;

And peace, the fruit of love, bestow:

And, lest our feet should step astray,

Protect, and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,

And practice all that we believe:

Give us thy self, that we may see

The Father and the Son, by thee.

Immortal honour, endless fame

Attend th’almighty Father’s name:

The saviour Son be glorified,

Who for lost man’s redemption died:

And equal adoration be

Eternal Paraclete, to thee.

John Dryden, translator

Lord God, we have given more weight to our successes and our happiness than to your will.

We have eaten without a thought for the hungry.

We have spoken without an effort to understand others.

We have kept silence instead of telling the truth.

We have judged others, forgetful that you alone are the Judge.

We have acted rather in accordance with our opinions than according to your commands.

Within your church we have been slow to practice love of our neighbors.

And in the world we have not been your faithful servants.

Forgive us and help us to live as disciples of Jesus Christ, Your Son, our Savior. Amen.

Conference of European Churches

O Lord, open my eyes

that I may see the need of others,

open my ears that I may hear their cries,

open my heart so that they need not be without succour.

Let me not be afraid to defend the weak

because of the anger of the strong,

nor afraid to defend the poor

because of the anger of the rich.

Show me where love and hope and faith are needed,

and use me to bring them to these places.

Open my eyes and ears that I may, this coming day,

be able to do some work of peace for thee.

Alan Paton

He who would be great among you

You whose birth broke all the

social & biological rules —

son of the poor who accepted

the worship due a king —

child prodigy debating with

the Temple Th.D.s — you

were the kind who used

a new math

to multiply bread, fish, faith.

You practiced a

radical sociology:

rehabilitated con men &

call girls. You valued women

& other minority groups.

A G.P., you specialized in

heart transplants.

Creator, healer,

shepherd, innovator,

story-teller, weather-maker,

botanist, alchemist,

exorcist, iconoclast,

seeker, seer, motive-sifter,

you were always beyond,

above us. Ahead

of your time, & ours.

And we would like

to be like you. Bold

as Boanerges, we hear ourselves

demand: “Admit us

to your avant-garde.

Grant us a degree

in all the liberal arts

of heaven.”

Why our belligerence?

Why does this whiff of fame

and greatness smell so sweet?

Why must we compete

to be first? Have we forgotten

how you took, simply, cool water

and a towel for our feet?

Luci Shaw

The Doubter’s Prayer

While faith is with me, I am best;

It turns my darkest night to day;

But, while I clasp it to my breast,

I often feel it slide away. . . .

What shall I do if all my love,

My hopes, my toil, are cast away?

And if there be no God above

To hear and bless me when I pray?

Oh, help me, God! For thou alone

Canst my distracted soul relieve.

Forsake it not: it is thine own,

Though weak, yet longing to believe.

Anne Brontë

You needed no help from us, Lord, and yet you made us to be namers, to be interpreters, to be tellers of stories, to be weavers of culture. In all of this we shadow your Word in the on-going work of creation. And because of all this we stand in awe and praise you.

We ask that you help us to see, to notice, to be responsive to your leadings in our lives.

We ask that you help us relish the well-chosen word, the well-wrought sentence, and the wonder of meeting others’ minds.

We ask that you grant us peace and patience in the revision associated with work on this side of perfection.

We ask that you nourish our hope that we too might bring splendor into your new city.

And we ask that you help us never to forget that the only way we in ourselves will live forever is not through our work but through having our names engraved on your palms.

In your name, the name above all names, we pray.

William J. Vande Kopple

And give me Good Lord, an humble, lowly, quyet, peaceable, pacyent, charitable, kinde, tender, and pytyfull mynde, with all my workes and all my words and all my thoughts, to have a taste of thy blessed Holy Spyrite.

Sir Thomas More

Lord, help us to remember what we do not know and to know what we remember to be true.

Donald R. Hettinga

Shall the Dead Praise Thee?

I cannot praise Thee. By his instrument

The master sits, and moves nor foot nor hand;

For see the organ pipes, this, that way bent,

Leaning, o’erthrown, like wheat-stalks tempest fanned!

I well could praise Thee for a flower, a dove,

But not for Life that is not life in me;

Nor for a being that is less than Love —

A barren shoal half lifted from a sea.

Unto a land where no wind bloweth ships

Thy Wind one day will blow me to my own:

Rather I’d kiss no more their loving lips

Than carry them a heart so poor and prone.

I bless Thee, Father, Thou art what Thou art,

That Thou dost know Thyself what Thou dost know —

A perfect, simple, tender, rhythmic heart,

Beating its blood to all in bounteous flow.

And I can bless Thee too for every smart,

For every disappointment, ache, and fear;

For every hook Thou fixest in my heart,

For every burning cord that draws me near.

But prayer these wake, not song. Thyself I crave.

Come Thou, or all Thy gifts away I fling.

Thou silent, I am but an empty grave:

Think to me, Father, and I am a king!

My organ pipes will then stand up awake,

Their life soar, as from smoldering wood the blaze;

And swift contending harmonies shall shake

Thy windows with a storm of jubilant praise.

George MacDonald

The Elixir

Teach me, my God and King,

In all things thee to see,

And what I do in anything,

To do it as for thee:

Not rudely, as a beast,

To run into an action;

But still to make thee prepossessed,

And give it his perfection.

A man that looks on glass,

On it may stay his eye;

Or if he pleaseth, through it pass,

And then the heav’n espy.

All may of thee partake:

Nothing can be so mean,

Which with his tincture (for thy sake)

Will not grow bright and clean.

A servant with this clause

Makes drudgery divine:

Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws,

Makes that and th’ action fine.

This is the famous stone

That turneth all to gold:

For that which God doth touch and own

Cannot for less be told.

George Herbert

This Writer’s Plea

Father God,

Am I sinful to request that my novel gets published? Picked up and published for others to read?

After all, you know our needs before we ask.

Perhaps my asking suggests a craving

beyond what is due, what is deserved.

Your Words declare that you won’t deny good things to those who walk along your path.

Help me to believe this is a path designed by you.

Help me to see that you often allow us refreshment on our journey — a loving spouse, a sweet child, a satisfying job, a novel filled with words — and that we are not selfish when we don’t want to let those gifts go.

And though the waiting continues and the answer is delayed, help me to trust that my writing — these words — are, indeed, from the giver of all good things who always finishes what He began.

Nancy Hull

Gratefulness

Thou that hast giv’n so much to me,

Give one thing more, a grateful heart.

See how thy beggar works on thee

By art.

He makes thy gifts occasion more,

And says, If he in this be cross’d,

All thou hast giv’n him heretofore

Is lost.

But thou didst reckon, when at first

Thy word our hearts and hands did crave,

What it would come to at the worst

To save.

Perpetual knockings at thy door,

Tears sullying thy transparent rooms,

Gift upon gift, much would have more,

And comes.

This not withstanding, thou wentst on,

And didst allow us all our noise:

Nay, thou hast made a sigh and groan

Thy joys.

Not that thou hast not still above

Much better tunes, than groans can make;

But that these country airs thy love

Did take.

Wherefore I cry, and cry again;

And in no quiet canst thou be,

Till I a thankful heart obtain

Of thee:

Not thankful, when it pleaseth me;

As if thy blessings had spare days:

But such a heart, whose pulse may be

Thy praise.

George Herbert

Prayer and Meditation for “A Girl Named Mister”

Thank you, Lord

for the gift of yourself as Word.

Thank you, Lord

for the gift to wield and weave the word.

Thank you, Lord

for the magic and the mystery,

and the power of word.

Lord, you are the first Author.

Please help me to write in a way

that is organic.

Guide my hand, my thoughts

to make your presence

in the world of my characters

as natural and necessary as breathing.

Lord, you knew and know Mary

as intimately

as you know and have known me.

Help me to climb

into her skin

and see the world

through her eyes.

Nikki Grimes

Spirit of God,

you are the breath of creation,

the wind of change that blows through our lives,

opening us up to new dreams and new hopes,

new life in Jesus Christ.

Forgive us our closed minds,

which barricade themselves against new ideas,

preferring the past

to what you might want to do through us tomorrow.

Forgive our closed eyes,

which fail to see the needs of your world,

blind to opportunities of service and love.

Forgive our closed hands,

which clutch our gifts and our wealth for our own use alone.

Forgive us our closed hearts,

Which limit our affections to ourselves and our own.

Spirit of new life,

forgive us and break down the prison walls of our selfishness,

that we might be open to your love

and open for service in your world,

Through Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Christopher Ellis

The Apologist’s Evening Prayer

From all my lame defeats and oh! much more

From all the victories that I seemed to score;

From cleverness shot forth on Thy behalf

At which, while angels weep, the audience laugh;

From all my proofs of Thy divinity,

Thou, who wouldst give no sign, deliver me.

Thoughts are but coins. Let me not trust, instead

Of Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.

From all my thoughts, even from my thoughts of Thee,

O thou fair Silence, fall, and set me free.

Lord of the narrow gate and the needle’s eye,

Take from me all my trumpery lest I die.

C. S. Lewis

May I be found worthy to do it! Lord, make me crystal clear for Thy light to shine through.

Katherine Mansfield