O God, make speed to save us!

It’s easy to believe in God when the peeking sun paints the early morning sky with vivid brightness.  When birds pick and peck, and crickets chirp, and cars warm up vrooming in driveways, I can see the hand of the Creator of all that is, and I know that it is indeed very good.

It’s easy to believe in God when a child reaches out for a hug or maybe just to hold my hand.  When innocence becomes a vulnerable oblation and the life of another is entrusted to me,  I can know the loving-kindness of the Father and Mother who count every hair on my head.

It’s easy to believe in God when we worship with beauty and pageantry and song.  When a crowd surrounds me, and we hear the stories, and we sing the songs, and we celebrate the eternal Feast, I can hear the choir of angels and archangels and all the company of Heaven, and my heart sings with them in reverent wonder.

It’s easy to believe in God when the air conditioning turns on during a 90-degree day, and when water flows clean from the kitchen faucet, and when I experience that moment of miracle as a crushing headache succumbs to pain medicine.  When my brother and sister humans create such amazing gifts, I can feel the rushing wind and blazing fire of Ruach, and I sing praise to the Holy Spirit.

It’s easy to believe in God when selflessness and humility manifest around me.  When a sister is content to be last or least, and a brother gives of himself to benefit another, and generosity is poured out like a waterfall roars over a cliff, I can witness God-With-Us who became helpless and weak, who ever calls me to love others as he has loved me.

It’s easy to believe in God when I keep company with books by great scholars and humble mystics and companions on the Way.  When their writings teach me, and their struggles give me hope, and their faith inspires me, I encounter Holy Sophia who leads me ever closer to our mysterious and marvelous God.

In the night watches, in the desolation of stillness and quiet, in the utter solitude of wakefulness surrounded by slumber, it is not so easy to believe in God.  When the dull eyes and distended bellies of starving children haunt the night, when the petty cruelties of the selfish linger in the memory, when our willful blindness causes death and destruction, I turn over the tear-dampened pillow and wish for sleep. When the blinding brilliance of the night rips away my disguises, and strips the masks from my face, and reveals my stubborn hypocrisy, I grovel — humiliated, if not humbled — and I plead for mercy and forgiveness.

In the morning, it will be easy again to believe in God, Creator and Father and Mother and Emmanuel and Ruach and Sophia and Monarch of Heaven.

Until then, I strive against the Adversary, plugging my ears against the chittering chatter of demon temptations.  I turn and turn, trying to come ’round right, unable to find the path to God.  My eyes fail to see the Enemy’s trick; my feet cannot find the path because they do not stand on earth.  I cannot even fall into the blessed oblivion of sleep.  It is not easy to believe in God.

In the morning, it will be easy again to believe.

Until then, I labor to voice a prayer, thoughts whipping through my mind like a fierce summer storm, flashing and booming, ripping the memory of comforting words, tossing me to the ground to weep in frustration.

In the morning, it will be easy again.

With all my strength, I pray: O God, make speed to save us!  O Lord, make haste to help us!

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