Month: September 2026

The following mediation was written by Hannah Anglemyer, a college student Furman University, studying International Affairs.

“Don’t be anxious about anything; rather, bring up all of your requests to God in your prayers and petitions, along with giving thanks. Then the peace of God that exceeds all understanding will keep your hearts and minds safe in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6,7

School cafeterias are always alive with conversation. During a single lunch period, a walk through the room might reveal heated debates about an upcoming football game, dramatic complaints about a lengthy homework assignment, animated retellings of weekend adventures, and countless other exchanges all competing to rise above the noise. The vast majority of these conversations are quickly forgotten, fading into the background of an ordinary school day.

Years ago, I overheard a more unusual cafeteria comment that has stayed with me ever since: “Wouldn’t it be great if there were a kind of therapy where you could just talk to God?”

My first thought was simple: that’s called prayer. Ironically, that thought pointed out something I had not learned to live.

Those words came during a particularly difficult season of life, marked not by a single crisis, but by a persistent, quiet inner struggle that left me feeling anxious, discouraged, and distant from God. Doubt often outweighed faith. I hid the vast majority of that struggle from everyone. For a while, I tried to hide it from God too.

But that cafeteria conversation lingered in the back of my mind. As time has gone on, I have come to appreciate the wisdom hidden in that seemingly casual remark. It was spoken by someone I did not know well and who, to my knowledge, was not especially interested in religion. Yet, it captured a truth I desperately needed to learn—that prayer is an invitation to bring every fear, struggle, and burden before him. Prayer does not need to be polished or elegant, only honest. Throughout Scripture, God welcomes prayers marked by all kinds of emotions—joy, confusion, sorrow, fear, and even anger. Prayer is not a performance for God’s approval; it is a conversation with a Father who already knows our hearts.

And when I began to approach prayer in that way, talking to God through brokenness, allowing God into my struggles, something began to shift, not suddenly, not in a way that removed every difficulty, but gradually the weight of carrying everything alone began to subside. God was not absent in my struggles; he was inviting me to surrender them into his hands.

That is the invitation Scripture gives us in Philippians 4:6. We are told to “bring up all of your requests to God in your prayers and petitions, along with giving thanks.” We are not told to only bring that which is resolved, easy, or understandable. Scripture tells us to bring “all.” All that feels heavy. All that is unresolved. All that we do not yet have the words to describe. Bring those struggles to God, and give thanks that God is with us in everything. Gratitude may feel unnatural when anxiety is pressing in, but giving thanks gently redirects our attention, reminding us that the God who has been faithful in the past remains faithful now.

And then there is the promise of Philippians 4:7, “ Then the peace of God that exceeds all understanding will keep your hearts and minds safe in Christ Jesus.” Scripture does not promise that there will be no hardship. What we are promised is peace in our hearts and minds. A peace which does not depend on circumstances or things being “easy, ” but a peace that remains with us even when questions are unanswered. It rests not in our control or knowledge of the future, but in the certainty of God’s presence within it.

What burdens have you been carrying alone? What worry have you replayed repeatedly in your mind but rarely surrendered to God? Maybe it’s concern for a loved one, your health, a strained relationship, or financial uncertainty. Maybe it’s a worry you do not yet have the words to describe. Whatever they are, Scripture’s invitation is the same: bring them all before God. Bring them with honesty and gratitude. Then trust that the God who hears our prayers will do what he promises, guarding our hearts and minds with a peace that surpasses anything we can understand.

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Dr. Leo S. Thorne, retired general secretary for mission resource development for the American Baptist Churches USA.

“I assure you that when you have done it for one of the least of these, brothers and sisters of mine, you have done it for me.” Matthew 25:40

The humble walk of Jesus Christ on earth reveals that he spent a great deal of time in the company of everyday people, who heard him gladly. He fed them. He taught them. He healed their broken bodies. He preached the good news of the gospel to them. These ministry moments were interwoven into his life of prayer. He withdrew from the crowds and spent solitary moments praying to God, revealing a humbled and obedient heart.

 “Jesus was intentional with prayer,” writes Doug Hood. “Jesus wove into the fabric of each day a time to be alone with God. . . . Prayer was an opportunity to link his life with the purposes of God.”[1] It seems as if there was a direct connection between Jesus’ prayer life and his involvement with the daily needs of the human family. Should our own intentional time in developing a prayer relationship with God also lead us outward to make ourselves available to serve the needs of others?

One morning our church secretary came into my office beaming with excitement and waving a colorful flier in her hand. She had stopped on her way to work at the local Deli to pick up her usual morning coffee and her whole wheat bagel. There was something about that flier which caught her attention. Thanksgiving Blessings of Hope was written in bold letters at the top. Provide a thanksgiving meal for a family in need was the invitation that followed. We will supply boxes and the list of items needed. For the next five years at Thanksgiving, this little church came alive! Blessings of Hope boxes grew from two boxes to 20, to 35, to 65, to 80. Church members who had not been active, young and older persons, men, women, strangers from the community external to the church claimed this needful activity as their own and joy-fully filled boxes.

Now here is the rest of the story. In the second year of this annual Thanksgiving box-filling, one of the rather quiet teenage members spontaneously stopped the group from doing their task. He said he had something to say to them. He told the group that during his nightly devotions, before going to bed, he was reading one of Jesus’ parables, the rather sobering one about the Judgment of the Sheep and Goats. This is the parable in which the king responded to a question from the righteous people who were surprised by their reward. You see, as the parable goes, these caring people had responded to the people’s needs by feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, welcoming strangers, and visiting the sick and the prisoners.

The eye-opening thought that struck this teen were the words of Jesus that because they (the righteous) had responded to the needs of the least of these, it was as if they were serving Jesus himself. The young man concluded: “Let us stop and pray. And let us pack these boxes as if we were packing them for Jesus.” The atmosphere in that assembly hall was changed. It was as if a warm wind of holy excitement had entered that space and transformed the people. The American pastor and theologian Walter Rauscenbausch adds that these righteous people in Jesus’ parable thought that “they had done [actions of service] for folks – dirty, sweaty, tired discouraged individuals. But Jesus said, ‘Oh, no, ye did it unto me.’”[2] ² When this small suburban, New Jersey congregation began their Thanksgiving ministry, the church had an average weekly attendance of around 25 people at the Sunday worship service. In those five years the attendance tripled.

Might it be that as we seek to develop an ongoing prayer relationship with God, we may also want to have our ears and heart open to become more compassionate to the needs of people around us? When we pray: “Thy kingdom come,” as Jesus taught his disciples to pray, might we also want to talk with God during our time of prayer about our personal availability to serve Jesus by helping others in need? Should our prayer relationship with God also have an outward perspective to serve people in need? Who knows how such praying—for a neighbor with Alzheimer’s, people in war-torn areas, families with no health insurance, siblings in feud over dividing inheritances, daughters and sons battling addictions and drug use, the prisoner on death row—would guide and enrich our own time of prayer with God?

Joy,

---

[1] Hood, W. Douglas. A Month of Prayer: Five-Minute Meditations for a Deeper Experience of Prayer, Eugene: WIPF & Stock, 2023, 2.

[2] Dennis L. Johnson, To Live in God: Daily Reflections with Walter Rauschenbusch (Valley Forge, PA: Judson Press, 2020), 116

The following meditation was written by Rev. Catherine Cavazos Renken, pastor at Kirkwood Presbyterian Church in Kennesaw, Georgia.

The Lord responded, ‘Is your anger a good thing?’” Jonah 4:4

I am in the middle of preaching a sermon series called “Disputing with God.” I have been studying passages of Scripture where people of faith engage in arguments with and critiques of God. At first, I found their audacity uncomfortable. How much nerve they must have had to talk to God that way! But after a month of exploring their prayers, I have found them more and more relatable.

The most dramatic of these disputants is Jonah. God commands him to go preach repentance to the wicked city of Nineveh. Jonah refuses and flees in the opposite direction. God sends a storm and a great fish, and after three days in the belly of the creature, Jonah arrives at Nineveh and does the bare minimum: one line, not even into the heart of the city. “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”

The Ninevites repent anyway. The whole city, comically thorough in their sincerity, drapes sackcloth on their livestock. God relents and spares them. And Jonah is furious.

With bitterness dripping from his tongue, Jonah’s prayer in chapter four is unnervingly bold. He doesn’t thank God for the rescue, or praise the Lord for the mission, or express relief that his own life was spared. He complains. He tells God he knew this would happen. He knew God was merciful, and that is precisely why he didn’t want to go. He would rather die than watch his enemies receive grace.

To understand why, we need a little history. Nineveh was the capital of the Assyrian empire, a brutal imperial power that had terrorized the region. By the time the book of Jonah was written, the Jewish community was suffering the consequences of Assyrian aggression: the Assyrians, spared by God’s mercy in Jonah’s story, would go on to attack Judah and force the people into exile. Jonah’s grief, then, carries the weight of a community that suffered at the hands of the very people God just forgave. His anger at God’s mercy is covenantal grief. It is the cry of a people asking: if you are on our side, Lord, how could you let this happen?

There are seasons of prayer where what rises to the surface is not pretty, and maybe not even appropriate for public worship. I see this in my congregation regularly. People who are furious at what is happening in the world, furious at God for what seems like divine silence or indifference, and they do not know what to do with that anger in a church pew. Some of them quietly stop coming. They assume that their rage disqualifies them from the sanctuary, that God requires a tidier emotional state before they can show up. Others come and sit with their hands folded and their feelings locked down, going through the motions because they don’t believe there is room here for what they are actually carrying.

There is a lot of anger out there right now. Some of it is grief in disguise. Some of it is exhaustion.

What I have learned from Jonah, and from my own seasons of complaint, is that this anger is not the opposite of faith. It is, in a strange way, a form of it. You do not argue with someone whose existence or power you doubt. You argue with someone you believe is capable of doing something about it. Jonah’s rage is directed at God precisely because he knows God is real, present, and capable. His anger is a prayer. An ugly, sulking, petulant prayer, but a prayer nonetheless.

The Lord does not rebuke Jonah for praying this way. God asks him a question: “Is your anger a good thing?” It is a gentle challenge, an effort to bring Jonah into the conversation rather than let his anger fester in the heat alone.

Prayer can hold our disputes, our confusion, and our accusations. The God who endured Jonah’s complaining for four chapters is the same God who can receive yours.

If you find yourself unable to pray anything beautiful today, pray anyway. Bring the anger. Bring the question you are afraid to ask. Bring the indignation that something has gone terribly wrong and you want someone to answer for it. The Lord, it turns out, can handle it.

Joy,