The terrorist attacks on London and the link with Leeds have brought a number of responses. For some shock and fear have rubbed shoulders with a defiance and determination not to stop going about our ordinary business. For some there has been a rejection of the hostility that could easily turn different sections of the community against each other, a call for unity and standing together. An example of this is the joint statement issued by local civic leaders earlier in the week. For others there has been a turning to prayer. The day the first bombs went off that evening three lads came into the church just after Keith and I had said Evening Prayer and lit candles. For others prayer has been difficult.

As the story unfolded, I found myself reflecting on some prayers that I wrote for the feast of the Holy Innocents - which falls on 28th December and is the day we remember Herod’s slaughter of the innocents, his cruel murder of the children under the age of 2. I found myself thinking about those whose lives have been shattered, of the pain that is so deep and raw that it is silent; the system shuts down and goes numb, a natural part of the fight-flight mechanism so that we can find a place of safety to lick our wounds. Then come the screams that cannot be shut out or hushed. I found myself thinking of those whose prayer is quite simply, ‘O God, why?’

Then my mind turned to those who have committed such evil acts and whose guilt is hard to bear; to their families and friends who have had to face the horror that their loved one has done this - those whose own screams are so often not heard or recognised. We have seen something of that in the last couple of weeks as some have spoken movingly of their shame at what their son has done. The mother of one of the bombers was speaking on television news on Friday and clearly was in deep distress herself; somewhere between the pain that is silent and the screams that cannot be hushed or shut out.

I found myself thinking about the church and its ministry of pronouncing forgiveness to the penitent, healing to the injured and salvation open to all. I found myself thinking about the church, that it is not about hatred and destruction but longs for the redemption that Christ brings; that is built on the redemption that Christ brings, the redemption that comes to a world of precisely these kinds of acts. The feast of the Holy Innocents comes just a few days after we celebrate the cosiness of Christmas and reminds us of the kind of world that that comfortable crib scene sits in.

That quickly brought my mind to those who follow other creeds but share with us a passion for justice and peace. I found myself concerned for those who will face a backlash from other extremists and from a deep fear that lashes out because it is so scared.

Then I thought of the emergency services, those who had to deal with the aftermath of atrocity and the human misery that it brought. I thought of those who risk everything to secure safety and defend our freedoms. I thought of the effect dealing with this has on them and their families and relationships. Restraint and decisive action have to be balanced in some very difficult situations, shooting to kill being part of this.

I found myself thinking of those whose lives have been shattered and whose world has been torn apart. Those who have been deeply scarred physically, emotionally and spiritually. I thought of those who died and those bereaved.

Before I knew where I was, I had found myself praying and all of these thoughts had become my prayer. So I wrote them down and shared them with one or two people. I was surprised by the response. One person told me that she had found herself with no words, just a lot of angry, hurt silence. Sometimes we need someone else’s words to hold us when it is too raw for us. If you want to read these prayers they are on the noticeboard in the hall, there is a copy in the side chapel and I have posted them on the website.

There are some similarities here with the beginning of our first reading. “The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.” (Romans 8:26f) I don’t equate my own efforts with those of the Spirit, but I find the image of the Spirit interceding “with sighs too deep for words” helpful. It goes beyond our comprehension and reaches to the very depths of creation. This is God’s prayer, God’s reaching not only out to us but reaching into the depths of creation. This shows, as Paul says later in that passage, that there is nothing in all creation that can separate us from the love of Christ. All things work together for good, even when the opposite looks to be the case.

Prayer can be hard, especially when we think we have to be something we are not. But the foundation of all prayer is the pouring out of our heart’s desire before God and then deeply listening to the Spirit that intercedes with sighs too deep for words. That sigh is able to hold all of the emotions and fragile hopes, the shattered lives and the courageous struggle for justice and peace. It is able to reach down to the deepest part of creation and lift us from raw anger and fear to the love that can transform any situation for good.

One of the images that Jesus used to describe the kingdom of heaven was that of yeast (Matthew 13:31ff). Yeast permeates the whole of the mix. It doesn’t just tinker at the edges, it transforms everything. When we are struggling to pray, this is an image worth holding before us. It takes our prayers on from being just an outpouring of emotion and pain to open us up to the transforming love of Christ. That love makes the difference between being consumed by hatred and bitterness and reaching out to all that enhances life and builds peace. This is the goal of the Spirit’s sigh.

That sighing is not one of resignation, but is more akin to the groans of child birth. Sigh is a rather gentle translation of the Greek. The image is of the Spirit reaching into the very core of creation to bring to birth the kingdom of heaven, to bring about all that God intends. There are growing pains and stretch marks with this; the allusions are very rich indeed. This allusion reminds us that in our prayers, as difficult as they are at times, we are trying to reach out to all that lies ahead and beyond. In short we are praying for the kingdom of God and that always transforms us.

© Ian Black 2005

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