An Eruption of Prayer

It has oft been said that there are no atheists in foxholes.  When shells are bursting all around, the air is rife with prayer every bit as with smoke.  Deafening explosions and smell of cordite bring forth from the human breast desperate sighs and moans of petition to the Almighty.

I still remember, safe as it was, our live-fire drill in the Army.  As Sarge briefed us on what we would endure and warned us not to stand, for the live glowing tracers would be streaking not that far over out heads.  At conclusion of his talk, someone suggested maybe a chorus of “Nearer My God to Thee.” 

Extreme times elicit prayer, spoken and unspoken – the sighs of the inner Spirit.  And as long as there are tests in school there are prayers “without ceasing.”  I remember blankly staring at my physics test, not able to remember a single formula, traumatized, silently praying, hoping, “Just get me out of this with a ‘C.’”  And, of course, desperate prayer is no substitute for diligent preparation.  The results were far worse than a C.

In Luke’s gospel we have the Parable of the Unjust Judge, the teaching that most remember when it comes to prayer and persistence.

“In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people.  In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him saying, ‘Grant me justice against my opponent.’”  You know the rest.  Though he would not respond to her urgent pleas, she persisted, knocking on his door at all hours of the night — night after night until she wore him down.  Out of exasperation, or maybe due to too many sleepless nights, he gave in.

We are enjoined to be just as persistent in our prayer.  Now comes the content of her prayer.  She prayed for justice.

This past week at a Chicago ICE raid, a Presbyterian pastor, inspired by the injustice of these raids, stood in prayer at an ICE enforcement action.  Arms outstretched in supplication for justice, he was shot in the head by a pepper ball from a rooftop ICE sentry.  As he crumpled to the ground he was swarmed by well-wishers.

Later that week in an interview on the Rachel Maddow Show, he brushed aside concerns about his health.  He said if folks were moved by what they saw, their concern should be for those harassed and abused by ICE and our unjust immigration policies.  These victims should be the recipients of our care and concern, not he himself.  His prayer was for justice for the victims of ICE mistreatment.  And, yes, many of them are U.S. citizens.

Prayer, urgent, soul-wrenching prayer is a cry from the depths of the God-spark deep within, crying out in supplication for justice, mercy.  It is fervent prayer moving to action.  The kind of urgency that takes one outside of their comfort zone.

Though we are in distress, at a loss for words, “the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.”[1]

It is such prayerful concern, spoken and unspoken, maybe only a nudge that has propelled many to sign up for our No Kings Day demonstrations all across the nation.  Millions upon millions, the largest demonstrations we have ever seen on one day.  Those impelling prayers are born out of dire concern for our democracy.  Born of fear of what we are becoming as a nation, a people.

And the answer to those prayers bubbling up from deep within from so many across the nation?  As the poster in my office of folks at voting booths says, “Bring your thoughts and prayers here.”  Prayer, earnest prayer leads to agency – active care for others, for the planet.

Prayer, deep-down prayer from the core of the soul enables us to hear the pain of others.

 JoAnn A. Post in Christian Century tells a story of concern for the pain of her dog as it became quite ill.[2]

Her dog, Ginger, a golden retriever, suddenly began losing weight.  Her coat began to thin and her appetite failed.  She no longer scoured the floor looking for dropped scraps of food.  She had no interest, becoming skinnier and skinnier.

A trip to the vet confirmed the worst fears.  She was slowly dying from untreatable liver cancer.  The most that could be done was to make her as comfortable as possible.

JoAnn vividly remembers those last few days.  She writes:

“Will she be in pain? How will we know if she hurts?”

“You may not,” he admitted. We were to watch for sleeplessness, pacing, a change in temperament—but dogs can’t tell you when they hurt. Or what they need.

A few days before she died, I lay beside her on the floor, stroking her soft fur, whispering in her floppy ear, “Do you hurt, Ginger? Are you sad? What do you need? Please tell me.”

“Ginger was silent. I wept.”[3]

JoAnn takes from this experience an important lesson on pain, the pain of others.  It is possible to be forgiven from recognizing the pain of another who cannot speak, who cannot give voice to their own distress or sadness.

It is unforgivable to turn away and choose not to hear of another’s pain.  Prayer, urgent, sincere prayer attunes our ears to hear and hopefully our hearts to respond.  And maybe our feet, hands, wallets and whatever. 

It is out of such an outpouring of national pain, that so many of us will have been out in the streets this October 18 protesting the pain of so many, many “least of us.”

And, as Elizabeth Warren has discovered, persistence pays off, just as in this parable of a wronged widow in Jesus’ story.

In our church, for centuries and centuries, women have been shut out.  They’ve not had their gifts and contributions recognized.  For many years a woman couldn’t even be on the vestry or serve as a delegate to convention, let alone be a priest, or, heaven forefend a bishop.  How many urgent prayers it took before those first “irregular” ordinations of the first women priests in our church.  Fervent prayers impelling to action these women and a courageous bishop who presided at the ceremony.

Let us remember our own shameful neglect and discounting of the gifts woman yearned to bring to the priesthood.

The General Convention in1973 voted to reject women’s ordination.  That was a signal for many that the time had come to work outside the legislative system. Suzanne Hiatt, who had hoped to be ordained, recalled, “I realized […] that my vocation was not to continue to ask for permission to be a priest, but to be a priest.” Women deacons turned to civil disobedience in their attempts to fulfill their call to the priesthood.[4]

In New York, five qualified female deacons silently presented themselves alongside their male counterparts to Bishop Paul Moore for ordination.  They were not ordained.  

Later in Philadelphia, eleven women were ordained at the Church of the Advocate on July 29, 1974 by bishops Daniel Corrigan, Robert DeWitt, and Edward Welles II.  Let us remember those trail blazers: Merrill Bittner, Alla Bozarth, Alison Cheek, Emily Hewitt, Carter Heyward, Suzanne Hiatt, Marie Moorefield, Jeanette Piccard, Betty Bone Schiess, Katrina Welles Swanson, and Nancy Wittig.  And we never looked back.  These and so many more women to come have deepened and blessed our understanding of the ordained ministry.

I thought we had arrived when we consecrated our first woman bishop here in America.  But these women had greater aspirations.

And this fall, October 3^rd, we chose the first woman as Archbishop of Canterbury, the titular head of the entire Anglican worldwide communion.  And does she have the “right stuff!”  Yes, persistence, persistence, persistence.

Such prayer is dangerous business, you never know where it will get you.

The Rt. Rev. Sarah Mullally, Bishop of London has been chosen as the 106^th Archbishop of Canterbury, the first woman to serve in that office since St. Augustine arrived in Kent in 597 to plant the church in England.  A glorious day for our dear Church.[5]

Bishop Mullally will take office on January 28, 2026, when her ceremonial election by the canons of Canterbury Cathedral will be confirmed at a service at St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. She will be formally installed on the Throne of St. Augustine at a service in Canterbury Cathedral next March.

Though brought up in an evangelical congregation, she represents what might be know as the “broad church.”  She has been instrumental in enabling the church to address sexual abuse.  She has been at the forefront of an inclusive church that welcomes the LGBT community.  Though quiet in promoting her own views, she has been a moderating force to move the church to the next steps in changing the rite of the Church of England to full marriage inclusion.

Early on, she implemented a series of changes, including a proposal to allow clergy to bless same-sex unions within the context of regular church services, which was narrowly endorsed by the church’s General Synod in November 2023.  On this issue, we in the Episcopal church in the U.S. have been further ahead in proclaiming that “All Means All.”  And acting on it.

She is a process person, making sure all are heard and included.  One of her fellow bishops, the Rt. Rev. Jonathan Baker, says of her ministry, she “has always shown the greatest respect for the different theological traditions which coexist within the Church of England. In London in particular, she has generously supported my ministry and enabled the flourishing of traditional Catholic parishes and clergy across the Diocese.”[6]

Yes, the fervent prayers of many come to full fruition in her selection.  “Pray without ceasing,” and you never know where that might lead – justice, gratitude, full inclusion, redress of wrongs, solidarity with those in pain, a profound sense of acceptance, of being loved.  And definitely outside our comfort zones.

I heard a speaker once say that if prayer is not leading you outside your comfort zone, you are not doing it right, not listening or perhaps praying for the wrong things.  I’ve found that deep down listening opens me to the pain of others, to injustice.  Prayer of that sort is 90% listening.

As we share the matters that weigh heavily on our hearts and minds, let us always, always pray without ceasing.  The results might astound.  In Christ, we might just astound ourselves.

As my dear departed friend Rabbi Leonard Beerman was wont to say, “My prayers are my marching feet.”

Get those marching shoes on – and see you out on the streets and at the voting booth.   Or maybe in St. Francis Garden of Hope?  Amen.

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[1] Romans 8:26.

[2] JoAnn A. Post, “Injustice comes with so many alibis and aliases,” Christian Century, October 9, 2019.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Mark Michael, “First Woman Appointed Archbishop of Canterbury,” The Living Church, October 3, 2025.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

October 19, 2025

Pentecost 19, Proper 23

Genesis 32:22-31; Psalm 121;
2 Timothy 3:14-4:5; Luke 18:1-8

“An Eruption of Prayer”