Prayers of the people
The prayer liturgy at street churches has quickly become one of my favorite parts of worship.
It happens the same way at every church:
The community begins with singing the Taizé hymn “Oh Lord, Hear My Prayer”, which is followed by the Pastor inviting the community to offer their petitions aloud. The pray-er ends their petition with “Lord in your mercy,” and the community responds “Hear our prayer.”
These are far from the prayers in the denominational liturgy book. They’re not thematically connected to the scripture readings or written out ahead of time or part of a seasonal schedule where we pray for farmers in the fall.
This part of worship is virtually an open mic night. Anyone is welcome to pray. There is no time limit on how long people have or what they can or cannot pray for. On paper, this sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. Most people in indoor churches wouldn’t even risk doing this with boring Midwesterners, let alone outside in a park with who knows who will show up or how they will show up. I expected it was only a matter of time before the wheels fell off the wagon.
But the wheels never fall off the wagon.
Instead, week after week, I stand on holy ground as a community boldly speaks aloud the prayers on their hearts in the middle of a public park. Sometimes they share them into the microphone. Other times prayers are carried with the wind from wherever they’re sitting. Occasionally they come from a different part of the outdoor sanctuary entirely.1 Every week at common cathedral, the lunch line prayers are shared from Pastor Lisa’s tiny notebook, filled with petitions from people waiting in line to get sandwiches before worship but who couldn’t or didn’t want to stick around.
This is not a passive part of worship. It is alive and breathing and sometimes a little chaotic. It’s clear that it will take as long as it’s going to take and will not be rushed. There are multiple final calls for people to share, even after long periods of silence. Lisa Levy, the Outreach Coordinator for Chapel on the Green in New Haven told me, “In some ways, the prayers are the heart of the service. The Eucharist isn’t the heart of the service, the prayers are.” I sensed the gravity of this part of worship every week.
As the space is opened and people are invited to pray, this is what I hear:
Those affected by the earthquake in Morroco
Those sleeping in the rain today
Women in Afghanistan and Iran
Those with life sentences with no chance of parol
My brother who’s doing business in heaven
My friend who is fighting cancer
Astronauts in space
Those who are homeless
The war in Ukraine
The hostages in Gaza
Refugees and immigrants
My brother, mother, sister, father2
Week after week, this holy space is offered for people to share their deepest prayers, joys, and longings. People are surprisingly honest and vulnerable, the community honors their time, and the wheels never fall off the wagon.
And week after week, I walk away from worship trusting in prayer more than ever because of what I witness from this open mic prayer practice:
Prayer brings together the Body of Christ.
Sharing our prayers in a holy container is a way of learning about our neighbor, and in turn, a way of loving and praying for them. I am cracked open every week to the issues my siblings on the street care about, the suffering they feel in their bones, the topics at the top of their minds. I learn about their families and the hope they hold about their futures and the despair they feel about the news. We hold these prayers together, knowing we are not alone in this life but have brothers and sisters to hold it all with us.
On reflection, I realize that this open and spontaneous prayer practice is an embodied prayer chain. My prayers are often filled with petitions for the siblings standing next to me in the park, and then those siblings offer their own prayers to God, and the prayer flow continues, never ending. These prayers are the connecting thread between the entire Body.
Prayer provides a place to fall apart and admit it’s not perfect.
Street worshipping communities have nothing to hide. They already wear their struggle on their sleeve, so when they are given a container from which to share their suffering with God, they jump at that opportunity to be heard.
Like them, we need a place to admit that we don’t have it all together and speak the fumbled mess of words and hear that God loves our word vomit. We need a place to lament and share joys and have people witness the rollercoaster of life that we’re on.
Prayer is not the place where we need to be put together and act like nothing is going wrong in our fragile lives. It’s not just for pastors who have the “right” words or people who have already worked through their crap. No, prayer is the place to be brokenhearted and weary and hope beyond hope and be held in a loving embrace through it all.
Prayer matters.
When a church creates a space in worship to be bold before God, to name the brokenness of this world and our lives, it changes us and our communities. We embody that which we practice. If we practice prayer in worship, we will embody a life of prayer in our daily lives.
What I hear every week in the park are the living, breathing, desperate cries and joys from people who believe God hears them. Who are desperate for God to hear them. Who are not hiding their suffering from one another or God. They have become dependent on the Body of Christ who surrounds them in prayer. I trust this is in no small part because prayer has been a center point of worship for so long.
I don’t know about you, but this is the kind of praying community I yearn for, one that shows me they take prayer seriously and makes it an integral part of worship.
I yearn for a church where I can practice praying the messy prayers weighing heavily on my soul.
I yearn for a place where I don’t have to act put together or as if I can handle anything life throws at me (because I can’t).
I yearn for holy ground where I can boldly pray in the hope that a merciful God will have compassion on me and a hurting world.
Lord in your mercy,
And I yearn for a community who will respond, carrying my prayers as their own and keeping the prayer chain going.
Hear our prayer.
🙏🏼
In the spirit of communal prayer, I invite you to leave a comment below with the prayer(s) on your heart today, trusting in a God who hears them and in a community who will hold them as our own.
These reflections, experiences, and dedicated time for writing is thanks to the generosity of The Reverend Janet Karvonen-Montgomery Preaching Fellowship from Luther Seminary. You can learn more about Rev Janet and the Fellowship here.
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One Sunday, we listened as a woman prayed for ~3 minutes, none of us understanding a word of her mumbled petitions because she was folded over on herself on the outer edge of the service. Rev Tamar stood next to her and held that space the entire time.
I have to admit my surprise at hearing many of these petitions because this community has so much they could be asking God for - stable shelter, a consistent job, sobriety, and the list goes on. My assumption that they would only ever pray for the long list of their own needs is always exposed when I hear the prayers on their hearts. I am humbled to hear their deep concern for their neighbor. They are clearly just as connected to the world’s needs as they are to their own.
Those affected by physical and emotional pain.
Our nation that so desperately needs grounding in God's word.