This prayer, written by Rachel Zamzow, was read for the third Sunday in Advent. O holy God, we come to You a brokenhearted, wrecked people. We look around our world, Your world, and see so much hurt, unending pain and abundant discord. Our heads hang in despair while our fists rise in anger.
Our sin runs rampant. Words of hate drip from our mouths, and our hearts harden to the cries of those around us. We place our idols and ourselves on pedestals, commanding worship and approval from all. We turn from You and run as fast as we can in the other direction.
But God, we praise Your Holy name, for this is not all there is. This broken earth and our stubborn sins are not the end. For You have ordained a future filled with Your indescribable glory. A future when wrong will be made right, dark will become light, heaven will meet earth.
Father, hasten the day when we will be made fully and wholly new by the return of Your Son, Jesus. Hasten the day when cancer’s fury fizzles out. When senseless violence is silenced. When our streaming tears are finally wiped dry.
Like a bride pacing behind the doors at the back of the church, we long to meet Your glory face to face. We wait painstakingly to fall to our knees in awe of the most High King! We seek impatiently for the veil to be lifted, for Your incomprehensible mysteries to be made plain.
We prepare eagerly for the sweetest reunion. We yearn to enter into Your presence, to utter the first verse of our eternal worship song. We anticipate the day when the fallen shall rise, swept up in the trumpet call blaring the power of Your return. When Your perfect judgment will strip scales from eyes, strike down evil and blot out death. We await the moment when the vapor of our lives will evaporate in the presence Your visible yet blinding glory.
But God, the waiting is hard! While we wait, the hurt wrenches, the pain sears, the longing aches. Lord, instill within us a hope that is unshakable in the face of calamity. A trust that rests firmly only in You. A faith that knows no bounds. O, help our unbelief!
And so, as the advent song rings true, as we lay in sin and error pining, we wait for You to reappear. When our souls will feel their worth. When, once again, the thrill of hope will stir this weary world to rejoice . . . for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!