We cannot peer into God’s mysterious plan – we see only piecemeal, and we would be wrong to set ourselves up as judges of God and history. Then we would not be defending man, but only contributing to his downfall. No – when all is said and done, we must continue to cry out humbly yet insistently to God: Rouse yourself! Do not forget mankind, your creature! And our cry to God must also be a cry that pierces our very heart, a cry that awakens within us God’s hidden presence. — Pope Benedict at Auschwitz-Birkenau
A number of years ago, when I worked for a parish in Florida, I was in the church one day fixing some broken kneelers and a man walked in. I don’t think he saw me. He walked over into the sanctuary behind the altar, under the crucifix, threw himself face down on the ground and began to sob and wail aloud: “O God, please don’t take my wife. Please, God! No! I love her! The children need her! Please! Don’t! Why? Why? Dear God! Please! Oh please! No, God! My wife! My wife!”
I sat motionless. His sounds echoed in the church.
It was brutal to listen to. He continued in this way for about five minutes, quieted, sat up and knelt, and then after a period of silence spoke softly in an almost relieved tone, “Thank you.” Then he got up and left. I ducked and hid on the floor between the pews for a minute or so because I did not want him to see me and feel I had violated his privacy.
I realized, as I lay there waiting for him to leave, to hear someone pray like that was so intimate. It was like being allowed to walk into the center of their soul, into their holy of holies. After I got up and sat in the pew I was paralyzed, and cried myself for a bit as I was shaken by the depth of his pain and desperate plea. I wondered how God could have received that prayer without weeping.
Step forward to today. A friend of mine texted me and introduced me yesterday to the singer and composer, Liz Longley. Whoa. How have I missed her? This lady can sing and write music. And though I don’t sense, from the little research I did on her, that she writes her music from a faith perspective, her articulation of the human desire for redemption and love is exquisitely beautiful, to me.
This song he texted me, called Rescue My Heart, is especially attuned to a very Jewish form of plaintive longing for God to rescue His people. The psalms are filled with her cry, her words of pain carved “out of the depths” (130:1). Soundings of Isaiah’s “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down” (64:1). Even our Creed retains this yearning:
For us men and for our salvation
he came down from heaven,
and by the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary,
and became man.
I sent Longley’s song yesterday during the day to someone I know who is suffering from a recent terrifying betrayal. She said: “This is totally balm to my heart. It helped me pray when I can’t these days. Thanks for sending it.”