A believer’s prayer for the new year: ‘Frankly, Lord, we’re tired’

By Mark A. Taylor

Dear Lord,

The echoes of “Happy New Year” are still ringing in our ears. In fact, some of us even said them last night to a few gathered with us under the shadow of a pandemic.

But, frankly, Lord, “happy” doesn’t quite describe the way we’re feeling as we look ahead to 2022. “Tired” fits better for so many of us. The burdens of 2021 won’t go away with the turn of our calendars.

We’re tired

We’re tired, Lord.

We’re tired of masks and mandates and quarantines and cancellations.

We’re tired of political intrigue and sexual exploitation.

We’re tired of shootings, lockdowns, murders, and unarmed people shot dead in dressing rooms and parking lots, along suburban streets and on urban blocks that too often look like war zones.

And most of all, Lord, we’re tired of all the bitter wrangling that surrounds these problems. We’re tired of the ugly accusations, the sarcastic name-calling, and the angry demands sullying social media, political discourse, and school board meetings. We’re tired of hesitating to think out loud for fear that our notions will only inspire yet another argument from someone who pontificates more than they ponder. (And we’re tired when we realize we have sometimes been that person.)

We worry

And even though we know you’ve taught us not to worry, sometimes we do.

We worry about war, freedom, the safety of our children, and the future of the economy. It seems nothing is safe from the possibility of peril.

And we worry about the weather. (We’re tired of arguments about that, too, Lord.) Sometimes it seems the whole earth is groaning under the weight of our collective selfishness and sorrow. And we wonder: Are hurricanes and tornadoes some punishment from you for our sins? Are earthquakes and uncontrolled forest fires just another reminder of your sure hand of judgment? Do melting glaciers and rising sea levels signal a prelude to the end of time?

We cry out

As we contemplate our difficult year just finished, Lord, and look toward more months with little promise of relief, sometimes we want to cry with the psalmist, “My soul is in deep anguish. How long, Lord, how long?” (Psalm 6:3).

But then, when we think about that prayer, we’re strangely encouraged. We hear the psalmist asking, “Why, Lord, . . . do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” (Psalm 10:1). And we realize we’re not the first believers to bow before you in weariness.

We remember you’re a God who wants to hear our complaints. The psalmist prayed, “How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?” (Psalm 13:2). And he was not condemned nor were you shaken because of the question. So we’re not afraid to tell you sometimes we’re just too upset and preoccupied to realize the beauty of your provision surrounding us.

Indeed, the very occasions for our lament spark opportunities to see your presence. Forgive us, Lord, when we miss them.

Inspired by your Word, Christians in many circles are crying out for justice. Prisoners are freed, laws are written, policies are changed because believers have acted with love for their neighbor.

Inspired by your goodness, Christians have flocked to the aftermath of natural disasters to feed and build and console. Hungry people snake in long lines for food collected by local congregations. Hospital after overcrowded hospital harbors victims of our plague in rooms first built by Christians committed to serving in Jesus’ name.

Since the beginning of time, distress has characterized life on our sin-riddled planet, but those who claim your name have not been deterred by it. Instead, they look at each occasion of suffering and have determined to serve as Jesus served. If they knew someone whose feet needed to be washed, they’d probably bathe them. But in the meantime, they bind wounds, fill plates, find housing, and preach your comfort to those who long for a world beyond this one.

We thank you, Lord, for each benevolent act of kindness from people who claim you as God. We’re challenged by their example to look beyond our own weariness and to join them in demonstrating your love.

We trust

We’re not only intrigued by the frankness of the psalmist’s laments but helped by his worship that often follows them. Just sentences after writing, “How long will you hide your face from me?” (Psalm 13:1), he affirmed, “But I trust in your unfailing love, my heart rejoices in your salvation” (v. 5). We trust you, too, Lord. We believe, so with confidence we pray, “Please help our unbelief.”

No matter the challenges we hear in the news or see in our own communities, we can agree with the psalmist. “I will sing the Lord’s praise, for he has been good to me” (v. 6).

You have been so, so good to us, too, Lord. You have helped and so often you have healed. You have sent open hands and hearts to lift us up. We know we have not suffered alone. We believe what the psalmist affirmed: “The Lord has heard my plea; the Lord accepts my prayer” (Psalm 6:9).

And so, Lord, we ask you to accept our inadequate New Year’s prayer. We won’t ask for a 2022 easier than 2021 (although you know that’s what we want!). Instead, we pray for grace to show your goodness to those who suffer, even when we also suffer. We ask for eyes to see you moving beyond and above all of Satan’s work in our world.

We love you, Lord. And even when we’re tired, we celebrate the fact that you love us, too.

We believe in the supreme demonstration of that love, your visit to earth to purchase our salvation. And in the name of the One who died for us and now lives to speak to you on our behalf, we pray.

Amen.

Photos by Sasha Freemind and by Dulcey Lima on Unsplash

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