In our passage for this week, we are given a glimpse into a world full of danger and vulnerability. When we read the Gospels, it can be easy to forget the fraught political situation Israelites found themselves in, as well as the severe amount of economic hardship poor Israelites were experiencing while Rome occupied their country and taxed their resources and income. I guess I don’t think about it as much because the central figure of these stories, Jesus, always seems so confident and secure. He manages to guide his little troupe of nomads around the country, somehow securing food and shelter for them and avoiding the crowds and political leaders who were becoming increasingly hostile to him.
But in this passage, we get a glimpse into Jesus’ interior world. It seems safety actually has been on his mind this whole time, and he has been actively working to protect the people who have left everything to follow him.
But now he knows he is leaving and realizes that he can no longer protect them or himself. It is interesting to perceive Jesus in this state of powerlessness, where the only thing he can do is turn to prayer. It is an experience I am intimately familiar with - the desire to protect the people I love, to protect myself, despite knowing that so much is out of my control. How can we experience a sense of security, peace, and rootedness while living in this chaotic and sometimes brutal world?
I am curious about prayer. What does it look like to pray? What effect does prayer have on us? What changes in our bodies occur when we enter into a state of prayer? And what does prayer accomplish? Mary Oliver describes prayer “as a silence in which another voice may speak.”
In times of vulnerability, where do you turn for security and rootedness?