Part Four: Prayers For A Weary World

: Prayers for a Weary World

PARENTING IS HUMBLING. As we raise children, we have countless opportunities, from morning to night, to remember our humanity and our need for a God who restores and redeems.

The Christian life doesn’t protect us from the sorrows of this present reality; rather, it equips us to enter into suffering as Christ did—and does—for us.

While each of my kids has their own array of tablets and devices, one thing I’ve felt passionate about is limiting their exposure to live TV. I’m aware of the ways commercials shape young, developing brains, and as a former journalist, I know all too well the vitriol spilled on cable news. But one rainy day, my son begged me to watch a talent competition, and I acquiesced. We collected blankets and sank onto the couch, balancing bowls of popcorn on our knees as we gathered around the glow of the TV.

After marveling at acrobats and giggling at comedians, it was time for a commercial break. Before I could find the remote, a political campaign ad started right in. The video clips looked like a depiction of hell—images of fire, crying babies, and blaring ambulances, with a disembodied voice warning that this was what would happen if the opposing candidate was elected. My kids looked at me, wide eyed, and before I could change the channel, the ad was over and we were being told by a woman standing in a kitchen that there was truly only one good type of paper towel.

My husband and I exchanged glances. At that moment I knew I could ignore what my kids had just witnessed or I could enter into a conversation—a difficult one—that I wasn’t sure I had the words for. I said a quick prayer under my breath (sometimes “God, help me!” is the best I can muster), and gathered my crew around, inviting them to share about what we had just seen.

We talked about our country’s broken political system and how sometimes people—even grown-ups, even leaders—lie or say things to scare others. We talked about being wise consumers of media, and we found ourselves lamenting our world, but also learning from the experience together. How does what we know to be true about our merciful, just, righteous God tell us about how we understand the world?

We don’t need all the answers; we just need to be present.

As parents, we don’t have to be experts. We’re not called to be theological geniuses or top scholars. Instead, we are to guide our children and whisper into their hearts the most excellent love story of all. Jesus didn’t avoid corrupt systems, tough topics, or aching hearts. He specifically entered into our pain and suffering—our collective brokenness and our individual sorrows. Even in His divinity, Jesus wept at the loss of His friend Lazarus (see John 11:33-35). And we, too, weep with our children. We hold their hearts with the same care that God holds ours. We weep with those who weep (see Romans 12:15). We do not avoid our preschooler’s sobs as they grieve the death of their goldfish, just as we don’t avoid sitting in the reality of raising children in unjust systems and inequitable economic structures.

I often underestimate the vastness of God. When I stand at the edge of the ocean or when I learn about the complexities of the galaxies, I’m reminded of my smallness—and what a comfort that is. We don’t need all the answers, but as we pray, we’re reminded that we have the Holy Spirit and access to a well of infinite love that won’t run dry.

We enter into lament with prayers of holy heartache (see 2 Corinthians 1:5).

As we witness the weary world around us, we acknowledge the ways we have fallen short of the glory of God (see Romans 3:23), and we ask for reconciliation, reparation, and renewal. What a profound gift it is to guide our children in these conversations. Perhaps you came from a family or church that avoided pain—communal or personal. But it’s never too late to allow the Spirit to crack open our hearts so that we may enter into our children’s suffering, just as Christ comes into ours (see John 14:26). Christ ushered in a new reality—a Kingdom of God that is now and not yet.

While we ache for the day every tear will be wiped away, we are invited onto a new path of walking together toward God’s beckoning arms. We no longer have to avoid the broken realities of our outer and inner worlds, because Scripture shows us a new way. In the Psalms, we see David’s prayers of lament stamped throughout. David grieved. He knew God’s goodness and clung to that truth, even amid his pain.

We don’t have to have all the answers to the pain our families may face. But we have been called to enter into one another’s suffering—to bear one another’s burdens (see Galatians 6:2). Our children are watching. Every day, their perceptive hearts sense that things are not as they should be. As parents, we have the sacred gift and responsibility of guiding them as they learn about themselves, the world, and the God who made everything—and is making all things new.

From grieving the death of a loved one to talking with our children about racism, these prayers of lament help us begin to put words to the groans of creation (see Romans 8:19-23).

As generations have prayed before us, Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.