A Time for Ferocious Prayer

While driving my 8 year-old son to his YMCA camp on Monday morning, after he had finished singing along to a Bruno Mars song on the radio, we both listened to this news report:

One woman died and 19 others were injured on Saturday when a car drove into a crowd of counter-protestors at a White Supremacist Rally in Charlottesville, Virginia.

Upon hearing the news report (which I had not anticipated on the pop music station we were listening to), I looked back in the rearview mirror at my son.

His eyes were wide.  His face was solemn.  He sat quietly.

I asked  him, "Did you hear that news report?"

"Was I not supposed to?" he asked me right back.

Oh man, I thought to myself.  Where do I go from here when I have 5 minutes until he gets out of the car for a full day of camp at the Y?

"Do you want me to tell you what happened?" I asked him in my most calm and collected mom-voice.

"Yes," he firmly answered.

Since that conversation I have found myself in more prayer than meditation in my time for spiritual practice.

I find myself wanting to get all the way down to the floor, kneeling, with my forehead resting on cushioned rug.

I want to hold my prayer beads, sing my hymns, and read my books that offer a wholesome and aspirational view of god and the cosmos.

There is of course no clear algorithm for when I switch from meditation over to prayer, or do some combination of the two; it comes from the pressing need of the moment. It comes from my gut.

Then, last night while watching the President of the United States of America defend the actions and rights of the Ku Klux Klan at a press conference at Trump Towers, all I could say is, "Oh my god..."

How on earth do we explain this to our children? How on earth do we protect our children and help them feel safe- physically, emotionally and spiritually? 

And not just our own children.  Our neighbor's children. Our enemy's children.

I have no answers.  Probably that is why I am doing so much praying.

All I can think to do is repeat over and over the words of Mahatma Gandhi that I've quoted in this blog before:

Remember that all through history, there have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they seem invincible. But in the end, they always fall. Always.

I have also taken heart in the reminder of South African leader Nelson Mandel's words from his autobiography Long Walk to Freedom through "the most popular Tweet of all time" by our 44th U.S. President Barack Obama:

I never lost hope that this great transformation would occur. Not only because of the great heroes I have already cited, but because of the courage of the ordinary men and women of my country. I always knew that deep down in every human heart, there is mercy and generosity. No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite. Even in the grimmest times in prison, when my comrades and I were pushed to our limits, I would see a glimmer of humanity in one of the guards, perhaps for just a second, but it was enough to reassure me and keep me going. Man's goodness is a flame that can be hidden but never extinguished.

And in between these words of hope and wisdom, I will continue to pray- ferociously.

In addition, below, I've offered a child's prayer, in the form of an excerpt from a favorite children's book called Old Turtle by Douglas Wood because that's all I've got today.

May it be so.