Thy Kingdom Come but often it feels so far away!

 

 

Prayer: Your Kingdom Come

 

May your Kingdom come soon. 

May your will be done here on earth, just as it is in heaven. Matthew 6:10

 

The Kingdom of God is at hand – You proclaimed it, Jesus;

   But, it often feels like it’s a million miles away.

You demonstrated its grace and showed its power,

   but the signs often appear faded or absent in our world.

 

We need Your Kingdom to come, O God,

   in all its fullness, in all its glory;

This waiting, this “now and not yet” experience of Your reign

   is hard and frustrating.

 

And so we pray for Your Kingdom to be revealed in our lives,

   turning our sickness and sin, our brokenness and fear

   into friendship and compassion, wholeness and joy.

May Your Kingdom come to us now.

 

We pray for Your Kingdom to be revealed in our neighbourhoods,

   turning our division and suspicion, our judgement and our competition

   into fellowship and care, compassion and service.

May Your Kingdom come to us now.

 

We pray for Your Kingdom to be revealed in our world,

   turning our war and our disparities, our consumption and our self-interest

   into peace and collaboration, stewardship and reverence.

May Your Kingdom come to us now.

 

Your Kingdom is here, and it is coming, O God.

Make us faithful heralds of its message

   and tireless practitioners of its ways.

For Jesus sake. Amen

Ascension time

 

Lord of life, 
We do not know the future,

any more than your disciples did. 

Like them, we have many questions:
how to live 
how to bear witness. 

Like them, we thirst for the spring waters of the Spirit 
to inspire us in our living 
to give us a heart language in all we say and do.

 

You have been raised in glory

that we might rise with dignity. 
You live in power

that we might live in peace. 
You are present everywhere

that we might be fully present in our own lives. 

This we believe 
As we step out in faith. 

 

How to Pray

The Transcript of Radio 4 Sunday Service May 9th Archbishop Stephen Cottrell

REFLECTION 1 – What is prayer and how do I start? By Hannah Betteridge, Belfrey intern

For me prayer has always been a part of my life, and it’s now part of my morning routine and it helps me to start the day off right by talking to God.
When you start a relationship with anyone I think many would agree that conversation is very important and that’s just the same with our relationship with God. I’ve been familiar with a style of prayer, , where I would start with thankfulness and praising him for things that have past, then say sorry for things that I am doing wrong, and finish with bringing my sadness and asking him for help in situations to come.   Prayer can often be over complicated by adding in lots of long words but you can keep it simple and at the end of the day God simply rejoices when he hears your voice calling out to him.
I love this quotation, ‘God calls out to every human heart and longs to make a home in every human heart. But God waits for us to respond’. It reminds me of when I was younger I remember singing a song called ‘Prayer is like a Telephone’ and when you speak to someone on a telephone you have to actually pick it up. And in the days when corded telephones were more commonly used, you would have to make time for that person as you couldn’t really move anywhere or do anything else while talking to them. And that's exactly what prayer is like: finding a time to talk to and ‘offer God your thoughts, even your distractions and anxieties’.

REFLECTION 2 – How to build prayer into everyday life Frances Simon

Journaling…Journaling helps me to immediately connect with God and has been a favourite go to over the years. I keep a pen and paper by my bed and note down how I am feeling.  It usually starts with praise and then gets down to the nitty gritty.
My last entry was just 10 lines long and then I whizzed into my busy day and left the overflow of my heart with my God on the pages of my Journal. God always listens and is always there.  My refuge who I turn to, a very present help in trouble where I feel safe.
Through Journaling God becomes near and as the scriptures say, draw close to God and he will draw close to you. By having my notebook by my bedside, I am drawing him close.  I am the bride he is the bridegroom.  Through Journaling I am journeying with God. (1 minute 15 secs)  
God is my refuge and strength, an ever–present help in trouble.  Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth gives way, and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging… The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.

PSALM 4
1  Answer me when I call, O God of my righteousness;  you set me at liberty when I was in trouble;      have mercy on me and hear my prayer.

2  How long will you nobles dishonour my glory;    how long will you love vain things and seek after falsehood?

3  But know that the Lord has shown me his marvellous kindness;    when I call upon the Lord, he will hear me.

4  Stand in awe, and sin not;    commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still.

5  Offer the sacrifices of righteousness    and put your trust in the Lord.

6  There are many that say, ‘Who will show us any good?’    Lord, lift up the light of your countenance upon us.

7  You have put gladness in my heart,    more than when their corn and wine and oil increase.

8  In peace I will lie down and sleep,    for it is you Lord, only, who make me dwell in safety.

REFLECTION 3 – How to pray when prayer seems impossible. The Revd Anne Richards
The world was preparing for Christmas, and I was two hundred miles from home, in a hospice, at my Mum’s bedside.  After 2 years of bravely living with an incurable rare cancer, Mum was dying. Advent waiting took on a whole new meaning. Words often failed me, so prayer became a silent vigil.  A beautiful playlist held us together as family – and especially soothed Mum, as we took it in turns to hold her hand. A borrowed nativity scene illuminated by battery-operated tea-lights reminded us of Christ’s light, present with us in our suffering. My solitary walk to and from the hospice was often accompanied by words from the Psalms which bubbled up. Inwardly, I would gently repeat them over and over. They somehow gave expression to my heart’s cry and brought me comfort. My journal was a listening friend, where I wrote things exactly as they were – thoughts and prayers that questioned God and tried to make sense of our circumstances. ‘How long O Lord?’ Sometimes tears were my only prayer, as the agonising, wearying, ache of grief overwhelmed me, especially during long sleepless nights, spent in the solitude of my friend’s spare bedroom.  The prayers and compassion of the church, friends near and far, reassured us that we were surrounded by God’s love, regardless of our capacity to pray or worship.   In the depths of grief, prayer certainly felt impossible to put into words, yet it became something deeper and holier than I’ve ever known. In the words of Psalm 120,  ‘in my distress I cried out to the Lord, and he answered me’. God, through the Holy Spirit, our Comforter, was surprisingly close.

 

Luke. (11.1-13) Jesus was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, ‘Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.’ He said to them, ‘When you pray, say: Father, hallowed be your name.   Your kingdom come.   Give us each day our daily bread.   And forgive us our sins,     for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.   And do not bring us to the time of trial.’ And he said to them, ‘Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, “Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.” And he answers from within, “Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.” I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.
‘So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!’
This is the word of the Lord. All Thanks be to God.


The prayer that Jesus taught his friends is the heart and pattern of all Christian prayer.
The first two words may be the most significant: Our Father. God is a loving parent – father and mother. Jesus himself called God Abba, meaning Dad. This is the intimacy we have with God. And even though some people have had damaging experiences of family, and parents have let them down, by using this word, Jesus says that relationship with God can heal and restore all relationships and that we, too, can dwell close to the Father’s heart. Then, please note, it isn’t my Father, but our Father. The Lord’s Prayer teaches us that praying is something we do together – even when we’re on our own! Whole books could be written about these two words and the revolutionary change they bring to our relationship with God and our relationships with each other, and, therefore, to the meaning of prayer which is, first of all, to dwell intimately in relationship with the God who loves us and comes to us in Jesus. In Jesus we have access to God. We can bring God everything.
As for the rest of the Lord’s Prayer, well there’s hardly time here to say much more, but after these opening words the great Anglican theologian, Austin Farrar, described the Lord’s Prayer as ‘three hearty praises followed by three humble petitions.’ These six phrases show us what our life and what our prayer should be. 
First, we praise: hallowed be your name. With our unveiled faces, we gaze upon the beauty of God. We come into God’s presence. We are transformed We seek God’s kingdom on Earth. We hunger and thirst for God’s righteousness and peace. We ask that God’s will be done in our lives and in the life of the world. We take sides with the poor and the oppressed. We’re not trying to change God’s mind. We’re asking God to change ours! To conform our lives to that pattern of life that we see in Christ. And we do ask things for ourselves. But not the usual self-regarding wish list as if prayer were a transaction or a deal, but, first, only that God will give us our daily bread. Nothing more. Nothing less. The whole world could do with learning the radical simplicity of this prayer. Teach us what enough looks like. Save us from ourselves.
Then, mindful of our many shortcomings, not least our greed, we confess our sinfulness and seek God’s forgiveness. We learn to be merciful because we know how much we need God’s mercy ourselves.
Finally, we pray for strength to face temptation and be delivered from evil. And because God is a loving Father and Mother we offer this prayer not to one who is distant or uninterested, but to the one who has come to us in Jesus and taught us how to pray.
I think it was Therese of Lisieux who said that if you could say the Lord’s Prayer once and truly mean it, you would be in heaven. 
I’ve said this prayer many times and will almost certainly say it many times again. This goes to show that I am not yet in heaven; that heaven has not yet been builded in the earth. 

PRAYER 
Jesus says, ‘For everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.’ I invite  you now to join with me in knocking on that door in confidence that God will hear our call. 
Sometimes it’s difficult to find the words. So it’s helpful to rely on some memorable ways of bringing your concerns before God. Sometimes , we need to make prayer more physical, to express in external signs and symbols the internal longing and desires of our hearts.  The following strategy is  based on what the Dutch theologian Henri Nouwen called ‘opening up our tightly clenched fists’ to pray. 

You take your closed fist, and gradually open it up, to receive the blessings and wisdom that God longs to give each and every one of us. In this way, your hands open before God, your hand itself can be a basic pattern and reminder of how to pray.

So I hold my clenched fist in front of me now.
Now stretch I out my thumb. We begin with thanksgiving – count our blessings. Thank God for today and for the good things in our lives. For Christians this includes the resurrection of Jesus who destroys death and sin.  We thank God for new life, for the hope brought by vaccines and medical care, and the relief felt by many as restrictions become more  relaxed.   

 

Then I stretch out my index finger. the finger we use to point. So we pray for direction in our lives, for the decisions we need to make, the things for which we are responsible. We pray for direction for the world and its people, for all those who are facing uncertainty and anguish, that they might find their path through the darkness.

I now add my middle finger. , the tallest on my hand as we pray for those who have power in the world: for our Church leaders, for the Queen and her ministers, for other governments, and for local leaders. We pray that they are guided by justice, peace and truth in their decisions and leadership.

 

My ring finger is the weakest finger. It can’t do much on its own. We pray for the people we  rely on: our friends and family, the people we depend on  and those that depend on us. We pray for all those in caring positions, give them the strength they need to support others. 

 

Lastly I stretch out my little finger and pray for those who desperately need help: the sick, the poor, the weak, the vulnerable, the bereaved and those who face violence. We remember those who have died and those who mourn. May the Resurrection bring hope to the hearts of all who suffer. And finally we lift both our hands to God in thanksgiving, and pray for our own needs.

Open your hands

 

Praying is no easy matter. It demands a relationship in which you allow someone other than yourself to enter into the very centre of your person, to see there what you would rather leave in darkness, and to touch there what you would rather leave untouched. Why would you really want to do that? Perhaps you would let the other cross your inner threshold to see something or to touch something, but to allow the other into that place where your most intimate life is shaped—that is dangerous and calls for defence. The resistance to praying is like the resistance of tightly clenched fists. This image shows a tension, a desire to cling tightly to yourself, a greediness which betrays fear. A story about an elderly woman brought to a psychiatric centre exemplifies this attitude. She was wild, swinging at everything in sight, and frightening everyone so much that the doctors had to take everything away from her. But there was one small coin which she gripped in her fist and would not give up. In fact, it took two people to prise open that clenched hand. It was as though she would lose her very self along with the coin. If they deprived her of that last possession, she would have nothing more and be nothing more. That was her fear.

When you are invited to pray, you are asked to open your tightly clenched fist and give up your last coin. But who wants to do that? A first prayer, therefore, is often a painful prayer because you discover you don’t want to let go. You hold fast to what is familiar, even if you aren’t proud of it. You find yourself saying: "That’s just how it is with me. I would like it to be different, but it can’t be now. That’s just the way it is and this is the way I’ll have to leave it." Once you talk like that, you’ve already given up believing that your life might be otherwise. You’ve already let the hope for a new life float by. Since you wouldn’t dare to put a question mark after a bit of your own experience with all its attachments, you have wrapped yourself up in the destiny of facts. You feel it is safer to cling to a sorry past than to trust in a new future. So you fill your hands with small, clammy coins which you don’t want to surrender.

You still feel bitter because people weren’t grateful for something you gave them: you still feel jealous of those who are better paid than you are; you still want to take revenge on someone who didn’t respect you; you are still disappointed that you’ve received no letter, still angry because someone didn’t smile when you walked by. You live through it, you live along with it as though it doesn’t really bother you...until the moment when you want to pray. Then everything returns: the bitterness, the hate, the jealousy, the disappointment, and the desire for revenge. But these feelings are not just there; you clutch them in your hands as if they were treasures you don’t want to let go. You sit wallowing in all that old sourness as if you couldn’t do without them, as if, in giving them up, you would lose your very self.


Detachment is often understood as letting loose of what is attractive. But it sometimes also requires letting go of what is repulsive. You can indeed become attached to dark forces such as resentment and hatred. As long as you seek retaliation, you cling to your own past. Sometimes it seems as though you might lose yourself along with your revenge and hate—so you stand there with balled-up fists, closed to the other who wants to heal you.

When you want to pray, then, the first question is: How do I open my closed hands? Certainly not by violence. Nor by a forced decision. Perhaps you can find your way to prayer by carefully listening to the words the angel spoke to Zechariah, Mary, the shepherds, and the women at the tomb: "Don’t be afraid." Don’t be afraid of the One who wants to enter your most intimate space and invite you to let go of what you are clinging to so anxiously. Don’t be afraid to show the clammy coin which will buy so little anyway. Don’t be afraid to offer your hate, bitterness, and disappointment to the One who is love and only love. Even if you know you have little to show, don’t be afraid to let it be seen. Often you will catch yourself wanting to receive your loving God by putting on a semblance of beauty, by holding back everything dirty and spoiled, by clearing just a little path that looks proper. But that is a fearful response—forced and artificial. Such a response exhausts you and turns your prayer into torment.

Each time you dare to let go and to surrender one of those many fears, your hand opens a little and your palms spread out in a gesture of receiving. You must be patient, of course, very patient until your hands are completely open. It is a long spiritual journey of trust, for behind each fist another one is hiding, and sometimes the process seems endless. Much has happened in your life to make all those fists and at any hour of the day or night you might find yourself clenching your fists again out of fear.

Maybe someone will say to you, "You have to forgive yourself." But that isn’t possible. What is possible is to open your hands without fear, so that the One who loves you can blow your sins away. Then the coins you considered indispensable for your life prove to be little more than light dust which a soft breeze will whirl away, leaving only a grin or a chuckle behind. Then you feel a bit of new freedom and praying becomes a joy, a spontaneous reaction to the world and the people around you. Praying then becomes effortless, inspired and lively, or peaceful and quiet. When you recognize the festive and the still moments as moments of prayer, then you gradually realize that to pray is to live.

Dear God,
I am so afraid to open my clenched fists!
Who will I be when I have nothing left to hold on to?
Who will I be when I stand before you with empty hands?
Please help me to gradually open my hands
and to discover that I am not what I own,
but what you want to give me.
And what you want to give me is love—
unconditional, everlasting love.
Amen.