Our God, our help in ages past,
You have loved creation through it all.
Through the rise and fall of every civilization.
Through every pandemic.
Through every human power — just, and unjust.
Our hope for years to come.
In a year of social distance, ventilators, and empty churches;
In a year of flags, robocalls, rallies, and division;
In a year of layoffs, shortages, and cancelled plans;
We entrust to you our deep and timid hope
That the years to come will be better than this.
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
We are so fearful.
And so weary of all the anxious thoughts we carry.
We are unmoored by all this change,
Sometimes it catches our breath
to see our kids playing soccer in a face mask,
learning math from a teacher on a computer screen,
giving airhugs to their Nana over Facetime.
It is not what we wanted, what we hoped, what we believe is good.
And we’re afraid, too, of what might come.
Threats of violence seem more real than before.
Divisions deeper, hatred stronger, weapons more common than we knew.
We long for a feeling of safety, of shelter.
We long for the one who calms the storm.
And our eternal home.
You are the one who hems us in,
Who makes a space for our weary, frightened bodies
under the shelter of your wing.
Our lives are in your hands,
The hands which made us,
which sustain us,
which spanned the cross in deepest love.
Give us glimpses of what is eternal,
And practice remaining true to the things which last:
May we be ever, always, the ones who love.