It is suggested you view the Church Service of 23 August as an introduction to the weekly series of “Weekly Prayer Points” around The Lord’s Prayer that can be found on “Weerona Recorded Church Services” page.
Invitations to Prayer – Week Two
Welcome to our second week of entering into prayer, inspired and imbedded in The Lord’s Prayer, using music, poetry, ancient and modern forms to help us focus our faith during this time of social distancing and isolation.
SUNDAY the 23rd of August
The Lord’s Prayer
Another musical version of The Lord’s Prayer, this week from the film, Sarafina, the story of a transformative and inspirational teacher in Africa. Watch her transformation of The Lord’s Prayer through music and dance from about the 1.5-minute mark of this clip. May it bring you joy, this day.
Enjoy the spiritual and physical embodiment of prayer and faith
MONDAY the 24th of August
Words from the Ancient Church
This is the first Prayer of St Basil the Great. Basil of Caesarea lived from 330 to 379, and was a noted Bishop, Monk and Theologian who offered support to the Nicene Creed and helped the early church understand what they believed.
At a time when the first theology of the church was still being written, Basil offered deep thought and wisdom to some of our fundamental beliefs. May his words enrich us, as they have enriched the church for 1700 years.
Almighty Lord, God of the Powers and of all flesh,
Who livest in the highest and carest for the humble,
Who searchest our hearts and affections,
and clearly foreknowest the secrets of men;
eternal and everliving Light, in Whom is no change nor shadow of variation;
O Immortal King, receive our prayers which at the present time
we offer to Thee from unclean lips, trusting in the multitude of Thy mercies. Forgive all sins committed by us in thought, word or deed,
consciously or unconsciously,
and cleanse us from all defilement of flesh and spirit.
Grant us to pass the night of the whole present life
with wakeful heart and sober thought,
ever expecting the coming of the radiant day of the
appearing of Thy only-begotten Son, our Lord and God and Saviour, Jesus Christ, when the Judge of all will come with glory
to render to each according to their deeds.
May we not be found fallen and idle, but awake and alert for action,
ready to accompany Him into the joy and divine palace of His glory,
where there is the ceaseless sound of those keeping festival
and the unspeakable delight of those who behold the ineffable beauty of Thy Face. For Thou art the true Light that enlightens and sanctifies all,
and all creation sings to Thee throughout the ages. Amen.
TUESDAY the 25th of August
Music from the Modern World
A new song from the Iona Community in response to the isolation being faced by most in the world, and the hope and longing we have to gather again as God’s People. Sit in the hope and the longing, and offer it to God in song.
WEDNESDAY the 26th of August
Story
Today’s story is a new discovery of mine, and may initially seem inappropriate a choice to help incline your heart and mind towards prayer, but it’s a reminder that despite each of us feeling isolated, alone, and even like we don’t fit anywhere, if we keep looking, searching, and longing, we can each find a place (or a person) where we fit perfectly, just as we are.
Go beyond the initial silliness, and rest into the deeper message; OR just enjoy the silliness and let this be a gentle time of relaxing and enjoying with the heart of a child.
Hamish Blake reads Zoe Foster Blake’s (his wife) book:
THURSDAY the 27th of August
Modern Words of Prayer
Masks: A Prayer written by Pastor Katy Stenta from the Presbyterian Church in America
Used with permission.
Lord God,
As I string the mask around my head, and adjust it to my ears.
May it be in honor of all the women the Bible who donned the veil to pray–Sarai as she longed for a child, Miriam as she sang jubilant songs, Mary as she attended the blessing of her son Jesus.
Holy Spirit, breath of God, as I feel my breath hot and heavy on my face, as it tickles my nose and dries my lips–remind me that a mask can reflect your love. Just as Moses wore a veil because his reflection of your glory was too blinding to see.
As I adjust it one more time to be snug around my face, dear Jesus I imagine you appearing to the women in the garden. I think-today-perhaps you were masked. Wrapped in a head covering of the dead with a scarf muffling your mouth so you had to say “Mary” twice. I think it lay up past your nose, disguising your face beyond recognition on the day you rose again from the dead.
Remind me that my mask is holy, that it follows along footsteps of messengers and prophets and followers of God all wearing cloth upon their face as a reflection and sign of safety and love.
And when I feel short of breath, send your Holy Spirit to help me breathe, and to inspire me to continue to wear the mask.
And when I feel weak or afraid, God please hold me in the palm of your hand, so that my steps can be sure and strong.
And when I feel alone, send Jesus to be my sibling and my friend, and to remind me I am beloved I pray.
As I wear this mask, let it too be the image of God, I pray.
Amen.
FRIDAY the 28th of August
Music from Ancient Times
The ancient church was where music, as we know it, was nurtured, structured and created. One of the early composers in church music was Hildegard von Bingen, a 12th century abbess, writer, composer, philosopher, mystic and leader. Very few women of that time had the impact of Hildegard, and she is worth learning more of if you have the time. Her music was written in the early monophonic style, and echoes still today the voice of the saints to whom we owe our faithful musical history.
Enjoy this selection of Hildegard’s music as performed by Ensemble Vocatrix
SATURDAY the 29th of August
Poem
Today’s poem will again be read live by Susan on Facebook, but here it is in written form. Les Murray’s poetry has spoken to us as a nation for decade’s, and many grieved when he died last year. This is my favourite of his poems, for both its simplicity and complexity, for the narrative story it tells, but using the most lyrical word-pictures; as only a great poet can.
An Absolutely Ordinary Rainbow; by Les Murray
The word goes round Repins,
the murmur goes round Lorenzinis,
at Tattersalls, men look up from sheets of numbers,
the Stock Exchange scribblers forget the chalk in their hands
and men with bread in their pockets leave the Greek Club:
There’s a fellow crying in Martin Place. They can’t stop him.
The traffic in George Street is banked up for half a mile
and drained of motion. The crowds are edgy with talk
and more crowds come hurrying. Many run in the back streets
which minutes ago were busy main streets, pointing:
There’s a fellow weeping down there. No one can stop him.
The man we surround, the man no one approaches
simply weeps, and does not cover it, weeps
not like a child, not like the wind, like a man
and does not declaim it, nor beat his breast, nor even
sob very loudly – yet the dignity of his weeping
holds us back from his space, the hollow he makes about him
in the midday light, in his pentagram of sorrow,
and uniforms back in the crowd who tried to seize him
stare out at him, and feel, with amazement, their minds
longing for tears as children for a rainbow.
Some will say, in the years to come, a halo
or force stood around him. There is no such thing.
Some will say they were shocked and would have stopped him
but they will not have been there. The fiercest manhood,
the toughest reserve, the slickest wit amongst us
trembles with silence, and burns with unexpected
judgements of peace. Some in the concourse scream
who thought themselves happy. Only the smallest children
and such as look out of Paradise come near him
and sit at his feet, with dogs and dusty pigeons.
Ridiculous, says a man near me, and stops
his mouth with his hands, as if it uttered vomit –
and I see a woman, shining, stretch her hand
and shake as she receives the gift of weeping:
as many as follow her also receive it
and many weep for sheer acceptance, and more
refuse to weep for fear of all acceptance,
but the weeping man, like the earth, requires nothing,
the man who seeps ignores us, and cries out
of his writhen face and ordinary body
not words, but grief, not messages, but sorrow,
hard as the earth, sheer, present as the sea –
and when he stops, he simply walks between us
mopping his face with the dignity of one
man who has wept, and now has finished weeping.
Evading believers, he hurries off down Pitt Street.