When our words feel small
Everywhere is filled with news of Ukraine. It is hard to write about anything without acknowledging the cloud that hangs over the world. One of my kids made a passing remark after dinner that made light of the situation, not intentionally or with any intent to harm, but it fell flat on my ears. I told them I couldn’t help but think about what it must be like for all those people, families just like ours, experiencing the terror of a military invasion.
Think of what it feels like when we lose our internet for a day, or when the electricity goes out, or the water is turned off. We get all bent out of shape, we struggle to maintain our calm. Imagine all those things taking place, infrastructure breaking down, food supply issues. And what of the life interruptions— imagine those who are applying for university, suddenly unable to go to school or complete their applications. This is easy for me to imagine, with a son on the cusp of his own future. What happens to all those plans, to all those daily activities we build our lives on, when a city is bombed?
Of course praying people will pray. Even those who don’t pray will likely post something on social media, “pray for Ukraine” or “We stand with you, Ukraine.” And it feels so small, so helpless to do so. Yet we do it anyway.
In light of such a cloud hanging over us, my thoughts today were pointed toward the eastern edge of the European world, but also toward the stories that inform how I can think of them, how I can pray when praying feels small.
I think of Hagar, abused and tormented by those in power over her. Surely in Hagar we can imagine one fleeing oppression, at the mercy of the elements, feeling desperate about the future of her child. Hagar’s story tells us that God is not absent from this kind of experience, nor is he aloof. The record of Hagar’s story tells me that this story has been kept and told and retold for a reason. So I pray to the God of Hagar, the God who sees, the God who keeps a record of atrocities, who judges the wicked and does not turn a blind eye to evil. I pray to the God of Hagar and believe that He hears and that comfort can come to those who suffer.
A few days ago, my daughter was looking for ways to decorate her walls. She printed out a few inspirational quotes she found online, quotes in cute modern typeface set against brushstrokes of sage and pine and soft aquamarine. Lovely to look at, but I couldn’t help cringing at the quotes themselves. I didn’t say anything, not wanting to discourage her effort. But I know these are not words that will give her backbone when she needs it. If and when her world is rocked, whether by world events like the one we see unfolding, or by inner struggles that come from being human, I think she needs Hagar shaped words.
I remember memorizing Psalm 139 years ago, and as I imagine the people of Ukraine, and the words I can offer my daughter to cover her walls, to fill her mind when those walls around her crumble someday, I think again of this prayer:
You have searched me, Lord,
and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue
you, Lord, know it completely.
You hem me in behind and before,
and you lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts,[a] God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand—
when I awake, I am still with you.
If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!
They speak of you with evil intent;
your adversaries misuse your name.
Do I not hate those who hate you, Lord,
and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?
I have nothing but hatred for them;
I count them my enemies.
Search me, God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.