Recipe for Zoom Prayer and Pretzel Making

I want there to be lots of fun options for connection and community in Lent. I have been brainstorming ideas and wondering what is possible while we are still online.

I want there to be silliness in this season that is usually so somber. We can do that another year. We can revive that tradition when the pandemic is over but let this year have a little festivity. Let it have joy not just on Sundays.

I really want to figure out how to adapt Maren Tirabassi’s caroling idea for Lent but I haven’t figured it out. Caroling requires beloved songs. That’s not exactly something that I associate with Lent but why can’t we have singing? Maybe there could even be dancing? It has to be possible to share in the joy of music. As you’ll see, I took this idea and combined it with pretzel making because why the heck not?

Most often we do the fun things with kids. It’s what we say we are doing to reach kids on their level. We engage them in hands on activities and we add a little something that links it to our shared faith, but grown ups can be tactile learners too, can’t they?

Grown ups need fun too. So I want to suggest that this activity is not just for kids but for anyone interested in adding a few ingredients to their grocery list and rolling up their sleeves to pray with their hands.

Though I tested this recipe with my kids, that is not the only reason I opted not to make this a heavy conversation about prayer. All of these questions and prompts were way above the wonderings of a three year old and a one year old. They did, however, rolling snakes and painting on that egg wash. Oh, there was so much egg wash everywhere.

We also opted to use our sourdough starter with a recipe from King Arthur Baking so I haven’t actually tested this recipe. I just didn’t want to assume that everyone has starter at home. Nor would I assume that that is something everyone wants to start.

I find that I don’t have a ton of room for big thoughts and ideas even as I attempt to share resources and gifts for pastors and ministry leaders like you. As the one year marker of this pandemic sinks in, it seems that many of us just want connection. We want to feel not so alone. We just want to have some fun. This is a recipe for fun for all ages.

Pretzels are a very familiar tradition that go back to the Middle Ages. There is an Italian legend or two. There is another rooted in the German monastic tradition. There are probably several more that seek to explain why the twisting of the arms of these delicious snacks call to mind arms folded in prayer. I confess I got a little overwhelmed in my search for a simple story. If you have a simple story of your own that you’ve shared over the years, I would love it if you would share it. I had never heard before that the three spaces in the pretzel are thought to be spaces for the three parts of the Trinity. I couldn’t help but think about all of the spaces in life right now that would be so wonderfully filled by the Creator, Christ or Spirit One.

Most of the activities I have seen for pretzel making over the years conclude with learning a new prayer which might even include sending a prayer card to all of the participants in the mail after this virtual gathering. Maybe that is how this ends too or maybe it is enough to sing the Doxology as we wait for the holy to fill the gaps in our bodies and souls. I opted not to make mention of this and let you imagine what makes the most sense for your context. I opted to feast together in a shared meal that might feel like communion or a tiny bit of normal gathering with beloved community.

My twist on this familiar activity was not to talk too much about prayer but to actually put prayer into our bodies through movement. The baking time in this particular recipe from Sally’s Baking Addiction is only 10 minutes. That is not long to be silly. I wonder if it’s even enough time for the awkwardness to settle and for joy to release. When I imagined this, I thought I might make a playlist but then I got to thinking about the playlists that Molly Phinney Baskette, author of Real Good Church and Bless this Mess, makes for every Resurrection Day. You can find her 2019 playlist here. I know. It’s not Easter yet but we need joy. Let there be joy. Or you could take requests for joy-filled songs and let that be the playlist that dance sequence. That collection of songs that will surely last more than a mere 10 minutes and it might be a playlist you compile to share with the whole congregation as they take new joys into their bodies.

Have fun this Lent, dear pastors. It’s the encouragement I’m giving myself and I offer it to you too.

How Shall We Pray?

For the past several weeks, I’ve offered prayers as a gift to my colleagues in ministry who are serving faithfully during this pandemic. I’ve written liturgies following the Revised Common Lectionary that I have hoped were copied and pasted into Facebook Lives and Zooms and every other platform that congregations find themselves gathered in this moment.

I opened my email on Monday to find that two of my favorite cooking blogs are not offering new content. Yes, that’s how white I am. I faithfully read cooking blogs still these two particular cooking blogs are hitting the pause button. They are intentionally stepping back to wrestle with their own racism and the various ways that they unintentionally play into white supremacy. It’s something I know many of us are doing.

Before reading their words, I already knew I wasn’t going to offer prayers this week. I wasn’t going to attempt to assert my privilege into the grief and pain after the unforgivable deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Sean Reed and Tony McDade because of the racism burning in our blood.

We have heard enough from white women.

White women should be asking, like all white people, how shall we pray?

We shall not pray for peace because we do not know the grief and pain of this moment. We do not wish that there was a better way because too much has been broken. We have dared to assume we could build on a broken system and only now can we see that wrong, but then, how shall we pray?

How do you pray when your country is on fire? How do you pray when there is greater concern for property than people? How do you pray when the grief and despair is too big to name?

EZYHcAoVAAA3BAKI am listening for what I do not understand. I’m opening my heart and mind to the grace of God as I wrestle again with the demon of my own racism.

I cannot pray with my own words.

I won’t. I can’t.

I want to confess the sins of my own racism starting with my White Privilege as captured in a poem by Judith Lockhart Radtke found in The Anti-Racism Prayer Book created by Trinity Church in Boston. There are several other powerful prayers collected in this digital booklet.

Those that are still feeling the winds and fire of Pentecost might opt to use this Prayer by Rabbi Rachel Barenblat written way back when in 2014 in honor of Mike Brown and Eric Garner. It might need only a slight adaptation to feel that wind that moved over the waters of creation in Genesis 1:1-2:4a.

As social media blacks out to focus on the wisdom of black and brown bodies, in churches in my own United Church of Christ and other white dominated congregations, this litany of confession for Lent might be adapted to evoke the power of Creator, Christ and Spirit. This prayer remembering the last words of Eric Garner from Praying with James Baldwin might also be fitting or one of these two prayers addressing white supremacy found on enfleshed. Martha Spong offered a beautiful Trinity Prayer meditating on Psalm 8:4 in her weekly email that she admits is a prayer for majority white communities of faith. 

The United Church of Canada somehow always has words for the prayers closest to my heart as they do in this prayer To Root Out Quiet Racism.

The Unitarian Universalist Association has a Black Lives Matter Worship Collection which includes a reflection about singing Lift Every Voice and Sing by the Rev. Aisha Ansano that I found powerful especially because I remain unconvinced that it should be sung in white congregations.

When I can’t find the words for my own prayers, I turn to poetry. This poem by Ross Gay popped up in my timeline again this week. As the fires blaze in riots across our country, I find myself returning to Christopher Gilbert’s Fires Gotten Brighter. Donte Collins’ what the dead know by heart sends chills down my spine and leaves me staring at my own palm. I’m not sure how you’d use these in worship just as I’m not sure how a white congregation might meaningfully use Get Home Safely which the SALT Project is offering for free download.

For better or worse, I know that my prayers as a white woman aren’t the same as my black and brown sisters and brothers. I know that as much as my throat catches watching that video, it’s not the terror I feel every day for myself or my children. I can cry listening to the Rev. Otis Moss III preach powerfully but I also learned something that I’m sure black and brown folks have known for a long time. I am new to this fight no matter how many anti-racism workshops I’ve attended.

My prayers are different because I’m not in the streets right now. I’ve got time and space to contemplate how I might pray when others are struggling to stay alive or even assert that their lives have worth.

I believe we should pray just as I believe in the power of God to do things that I cannot fathom in this moment. I’m going to hold onto that hope as I confess the sins of my own racism. That’s what it feels like these prayers are.

These are prayers to confess that we bought into the idea that this system actually worked even as we balked at 45’s great campaign slogan. We thought we knew. We thought we had done the work until this moment when a pandemic should keep us inside our homes but the grief is just too damn big.

I confess that I want to hear something like Maya Angelou’s Alone on Sunday because it might not be just about some idealized kum-ba-yah moment like in 2 Corinthians 13:11-13 but it could actually say something about our collaboration with the Trinity. Of course, it doesn’t really matter what I might want or how big I might like God to be. It’s not a question of my comfort.

I’ve been too comfortable. That’s the problem and the challenge of the gospel is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comforted.

Worship has already changed. It already feels so different ten or eleven weeks into this new normal so perhaps how we pray and when we pray and how long we allow God to speak needs to change too.

We shall pray that black. brown and indigenous lives matter because God already knows they do. We shall pray so that we might be changed.