Are we near the end of the coronavirus pandemic? Can we look forward soon to a return to some kind of normality? We hope so, don’t we? And yes, the arrival of various vaccines, with more in the pipeline, gives us real grounds for hope. Yet few of us dare to feel too confident, not least because of the way the virus seems to be able to mutate astonishingly quickly into new and more transmissible forms. None yet appear to be more virulent, but should any become so, or prove resistant to vaccines, the crisis could prove to be a long way from over. However strong our faith in the future or in God, we all have moments, I suspect, when we feel hopeless and helpless; when, in short, we echo the following words. It’s not a pious prayer – far from it – but it’s an honest one, and to me that’s what matter most. God, I believe, is big enough to hear it.
In this turmoil, Lord
In this turmoil, Lord,
I’m asking: ‘Where are you?’
In this uncertainty,
I ask again: ‘Where are you?’
In this fear,
I ask once more: ‘Where are you?’
In this frustration,
I’m asking still: ‘Where are you?’
In this isolation,
I continue to ask: ‘Where are you?’
In this vulnerability,
I cannot help but ask: ‘Where are you?’
In this suffering,
I have to ask: ‘Where are you?’
In this grief,
I ask yet again: ‘Where are you?’
In this loss,
I ask longingly: ‘Where are you?’
In this despair,
I ask hopelessly: ‘Where are you?’
In this exhaustion,
I ask wearily: ‘Where are you?’
In this worry,
I ask fearfully: ‘Where are you?’
In this doubt,
Once more I ask: ‘Where are you?’
Day after day,
week after week,
month after month,
the same question,
the same plea.
And it’s no empty rhetoric.
I call urgently,
desperately,
though apparently in vain,
for I cannot see you,
cannot hear you,
cannot glimpse your presence.
I cry out,
but you do not deign to answer.
entreat you,
but you do not seem to care.
Lord,
with so many others across the world,
I lift up my voice today,
and I ask:
‘Where are you?
Hear my prayer.
Amen.