Waiting, hoping, needing.
The glue-like mud clings heavily, like lead weights.
We watched the tide go out and the sparkling waters
became a twisting path to desolation.
How strange that, at the lonely times,
the little glory left behind causes disappointment
reminding us only of what we used to have.
Our vision is blurred by the mist of tears
and the plaintive whistle of curlew and gull
draws attention to what we have lost.
Surely the rhythmic tide will come sweeping back?
There are tides, and times, and seasons
but the turning point has delayed so long
that our dreams are ashes, scattered,
and heartache holds our spirit
in the grip of the vice of despair.
How long, O Lord, how long?
Who can tell the lonely ones with the ravaged hearts
that peace flows, like a river, towards the sea of grace?
How long, O Lord? When will mercy come?
A lament over the state of the Church and the nations.
The last century has seen the tide retreat as faith is devalued, morality has divorced wisdom, and entertainment has become the opiate of a purposeless people.
As God’s people pray, we raise burning candles toward the sky, each one contributing a light to call upon the Light of the World.
If you read this far and your heart is stirred for the nation, please join in prayer: and if you wish, share this post on your timeline in the hope of others also crying out to Christ.
Lord, bring the tide of compassionate love over the mud and sorrow of these days. Amen. May true grace be with you.