Litanies & Prayers

by Ken Sehested

“Comfort, comfort my people,” says your God.

Let tender resolve loose the bonds of revenge. All flesh is destined for Heaven’s Delight!

by Ken Sehested

What is it you wish to know, oh mortal one?

Do you think you must ascend to the highest heaven or descend to the deepest pit?

by Ken Sehested

Listen, all you who stagger in desert waste,
disgraced by gloom’s unremitting groan, dragged
daily to death’s gate and the sea’s drowning flood.

The Blessed One stands at the gate of plenty.
The Beloved waits by the well of refreshment.

by Ken Sehested

We enter this house of meeting with lips pursed in praise, voicing rejoicing, hearts heaving to the rhythm of mercy and the beat of beatitude.

’Cause we woke up this morning with our minds stayed on freedom. And stayed on Jesus.

by Ken Sehested

Merciful One, you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you hear my thoughts from far away.

Encompass me with your Presence, and lay your hand on my heart.

by Ken Sehested

Beloveds,

Fear not the times when your back is against the wall.

by Ken Sehested

Following the dramatic response to Peter’s sermon on the Day of Pentecost, the text reports that the newly-formed People of the Way devoted themselves to listening and learning, to lingering in each other’s presence, to potluck dinners, and to prayer—with praise and pintos, songs and salads, received and given ’round the Bountiful Table.

Hands and hearts, bound together, loosed for life and Love’s consent.

by Ken Sehested

’Neath the canyons of vengeance
      lies the valley of bones.
Many bones. Dry bones.
Bleached by remorse and hope’s demise.

Child of Eden’s failure and Noah’s fortune.
      Forsaken.
      Forgotten.
      Forlorn.

by Ken Sehested

The psalmist proclaims: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”

Who can imagine a fear-mongering, molesting God?

by Ken Sehested

Gracious One, who jealously guards the lives of those at every edge, we lift our heavy hearts to your Mercy.

We live in a fretful land, anxious over the ebbing away of privilege, fearful that strangers are stealing our birthright.