Part of the regular liturgy of our congregation is a prayer time in which worshipers are invited to speak aloud their prayer concerns. Most weeks there are quite a few concerns expressed.
Concerns like a family member or friend who is suffering from an illness or who has received a devastating medical diagnosis are raised nearly every week. Occasionally there are heartfelt expressions of gratitude. Fairly regularly we hear prayers of concern for victims of disaster. Sometimes we hear about prayers offered for victims of war.

I think I have only voiced a prayer concern out loud during that time in our worship service. My understanding of prayer and of my relationship with God does not require my prayers to be publicly voiced to be meaningful. I find the time of sharing of prayer concerns to be an opportunity for me to expand my areas of prayer and concern without increasing a need for me to share. I am aware that this dynamic would be a bit different were I the one leading the time of prayer. When I was leading prayer in a congregation on a regular basis, I used a combination of carefully crafted written prayers and spontaneous prayers based on the concerns of the congregation. However, I never pretended that I was able to give voice to all of the prayers of the community. Rather, I used the invitation to quiet prayer and the words that made the transition from quiet prayer to the pastoral prayer as an opportunity to remind worshipers and myself that God hears all of the prayers of the community, not just those that are voiced out loud.

I am grateful for opportunities for community prayer whether or not I am the leader chosen to officiate. In my personal experience, the prayers of the community are very important in part because I often find myself with prayers for which I have no words. In my deepest moments of grief and sorrow, I don’t know how to pray even though I am a trained professional who has written and voiced thousands of prayers over decades of service. When faced with unsurmountable challenges and deep worries, I often struggle to put my prayers into words.

Lately, the plight of the victims of the war in Gaza is a part of my prayers every day, but I find myself at a loss to find the words for my prayer. The one time I did voice a prayer concern out loud in our congregation I simply said, “I ask for prayers for the children of Gaza and Israel.” The words were not expansive. They did not cover all of the pain and suffering of those who live in that region. But I trust God to receive my prayers even when the words do not fully cover the situation. After all, from my theological perspective, prayers are not to inform God who already knows the pain and concerns of people everywhere. And my prayers are not to instruct God as to what is needed. God does not need instruction. God knows need. My prayers are primarily to open my spirit to God. Often, I find that simply listening is as effective as any words I might utter.

God knows that my heart breaks for children who are forced to scrounge for food for their families in a hostile and war-torn country. God knows the depth of the trauma that has been witnessed by those who have been forced to flee their homes and now find themselves trapped in an area that is under constant attack with no place to go. God knows the grief of children who have lost their parents and parents who have lost their children. God knows the desperation of those who wait daily for aid that is not delivered. God knows the anguish of Israeli families whose members are being held hostage by the brutal Hamas organization. God knows the anger and thirst for revenge that has arisen from the shock and horror of the brutal surprise attacks of October 7.

God knows.

Perhaps the reason I cannot get thoughts of the victims out of my brain - the cause of my mind going to their plight each time I pause to prayer - is God reminding me of what I must not ever forget. Prayer often works that way. It is more about what we learn from God than about what we say to God.

Still, I long to hear worship leaders and others put words to prayers for the victims of war and violence. I know how reassuring it can be to be reminded that when I have no words for my prayers I am not the only one praying. When weeks go by without mention of the plight of the victims of violence I can sometimes delude myself into thinking that I am alone in my prayers. My rational mind knows that this is not the case. There are many others in our congregation who pray daily for the children of Gaza and Israel. But emotionally I distance myself from this reality when my prayers go without being voiced.

I know I could raise my concerns in worship. The invitation is clear. There would be no judgment of one who raised the same concern each week. But as I sit and worship, I find that I choose silence over speech.

The experience has been illuminating for me. I am sure that during all of the years I was a worship leader and offered pastoral prayers in many different settings, there were worshipers who felt isolated in their prayers. There were people whose prayers went unvoiced when I was responsible to speak in worship. My carefully crafted prayers fell short of serving all of the people who came to worship. Often, however, at the time I was leading worship, I was unaware of those whose prayers were not voiced. Although I sought to always acknowledge their prayers by offering a generic reminder that God hears prayers that are not spoken aloud, I now know that there were those who felt lonely in their prayers when it fell to me to lead prayers.

Our prayers are imperfect. God does not demand perfection. 1 Thessalonians 5 invites faithful people to “rejoice always, pray without ceasing, [and] give thanks in all circumstances.” Among my prayers is a request that I might discover ways of becoming more sensitive to the prayers of others that are not voiced. And when I do not know those concerns to be reminded, God knows.