“For the Weary Prophets”

Originally published: June 3, 2025

O Holy One,
Keeper of tears and witness to injustice,
I come to You not with answers,
but with ache.

I am tired, Lord.
Tired of the cruelty masked as law,
Tired of silence that blesses oppression,
Tired of watching Your children,
queer, brown, immigrant, poor
be trampled underfoot
while the empire sings its anthem.

I do not belong in this world,
not the way it is
and maybe that is my prayer.

Let me not belong.
Let me remain a misfit of mercy,
a holy dissenter,
a thorn in the side of systems
that crucify Your love daily.

Make my loneliness
a sanctuary of courage.
Make my grief
a well of living water.

Help me remember that You, too,
were despised and rejected,
a man of sorrows,
familiar with grief.
You, too, were undocumented,
imprisoned,
executed by the state.

So let me not numb myself,
but feel.
Let me not turn my eyes,
but see.
Let me not give up,
but rise.

Make my soul stubborn
and soft,
bold and broken,
a mirror of the Gospel
that dares to say:
Love is still stronger.

Be near tonight, O God,
to every aching heart.
Be near to mine.
And in the quiet,
remind me:
I am not alone.
I am not alone.
I am not alone.

Amen.