Between spurts of writing my sermon today, I checked Facebook. It seems it is something that every preacher does. When God isn’t speaking clearly, preachers open their browsers to scan posts on Facebook. Today, I kept coming back to the same story of a little boy — just three years old — who was reported missing. I woke up to the helicopters overhead. I read the headlines all day long so that when I got home, my fiancé asked if I had been crying. I was so hoarse. I am hoarse with prayers for this little boy, for his family and for every sad face I saw today.
And so I pray:
O Eternal One, who searches us and knows us,
who knows when we lie down and when we rise up,
You are acquainted with all of our ways
but we cannot and do not understand your way.
Helicopters whirled through my neighborhood this morning
looking for one of your children.
Your searchlights overlooked him.
Your watchdogs couldn’t find him.
The helicopters and the news crews have left and there is nothing left but our sadness. There is nothing but our grief for one of your children has died. We don’t know why or how and we struggle not to fill in the blanks with our worst fears. O God, help us.
Help us not to eye every stranger as perpetrator. Don’t let us get away with such nonsense that refuses to admit that terrible things could happen in our community because you know better. Terrible things happen every day. Your children are abused, berated, starved, shot, raped and killed every single day. O God, help us to see every hurting child in this world.
Make us your watchdogs.
Open our eyes wide enough to be your searchlights.
Remind us again — no matter how little we understand your way — that it takes a village. It always takes a village. It takes pastors and teachers and police officers and counselors and next-door neighbors that are more like grandparents and people who just give a damn. It takes every last one of us to protect your children.
There is work to do. There is enough work for tomorrow.
But tonight, O Eternal One, let there be no doubt of our love for your children. Let our hope not waver as we squeeze the littlest lights in our lives. May our arms not tire from holding your precious children tight so that we might have enough heart and enough strength to reach our arms out even wider to embrace your children with wrinkles and wounds.
Know what is on our hearts, O God. Know what is on my heart so that you can wake me up tomorrow and remind me that there are so many children that need your protection — and it’s work that I must do. It’s work that I can’t help but do. Amen.