A prayer against the violence

Another violent act in which your children fall.
Another invisible man with more guns---automatic killing machines-- and enough ammunition to kill or wound hundreds of bodies.
Another crippling sense of national grief, anger, and intransigence.
Another argument about rights, privileges, responsibility, and guilt.
Another search for heroes, sacrificial lambs, compassionate helpers, protectors, and survivors.
Another prayer into the grief and horror.
Another day of work and grocery shopping, and television watching, and homework, and vacation planning, and commuting, and ordinary routines.
Another moment in which fear, mistrust, and insecurity threaten to tear us apart.
Another, in the liturgy of perpetual violence against human bodies that we witness, experience, receive, and mourn.
Bodies bleeding on the ground.  From wounds inflicted.  By self or other.
A war rages on here.  Unending.  Eternal.
Generating fear and hate and more violence.  And more fear.  

And You, declaring, "Fear not."
You, warning us against greed, idolatries, and apathy toward life.
You, gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.
You, life-giver.  You, death destroyer.  You, raiser of the dead.
You, willing victim of violence.  Crucified.  Shot.  Bleeding.  Dying. On the streets.  In the crowd.
You, among us, your falling children.
Promising to lift us up.
You, peacemaker. Forgiver of sins. Deliverer of justice.  Promiser of salvation.
Dare we to believe this?  In the face of so much constant violence?
Dare we to trust you?
We, who dare, need your help to stand and walk forward.
We grieve.  We struggle. We wait.  With hope and cynicism.
Come in peace.  Come in love.  Come in mercy. Come in power that effects change and brings down systems and leaders that protect the violent and permit harm.
Come and heal us.
Amen.