Prayers From A Hurting World
Prayers From A Hurting World
by Michael P. Evans, MDiv, PhD
IAt Open Cathedral, the prayers of the people are never polished. They rise raw from folding chairs under an open sky, carrying the weight of lives lived on the edge. On a recent Sunday at UN Plaza, this diverse, weathered and resilient congregation shared joys and burdens alike. What struck me most was the tension threaded through every voice: profound suffering alongside an unshakeable persistence of faith.
Chardonnay spoke first, her words a quiet confession. “I pray that everybody clings to God through openness, even though it can be hard and kind of confusing sometimes… Sometimes I question, ‘Are you sure? Do I really have to do this?’ But I still come anyway.” She returned later, insistent yet gentle: “I pray that God teaches every one of us to keep in the spirit… because that is the only way for us to navigate through the emotions and the impulses… of the world.” Moving from the East Coast with no family nearby, she knows these hurdles. Yet she clings.
Richard thanked God for bringing him back after long hospitalization. His body aches more each month, but his “spiritual mind” still carried him to the circle. He asked prayers for his husband, their dog, the residents in his building, and the family of his best friend Diane, lost to fentanyl. Faith, for Richard, is gratitude amid erosion.
Georgie shared a dream where God urged him to lift his head and open his heart to love. He woke on the street with his hand vibrating, and twenty-five years later, he remains undetectable with HIV. The congregation applauded, a ripple of shared triumph in a life marked by struggle.
Marquis offered a prayer that widened the circle to the whole hurting world. He spoke of AI’s unsettling rise, natural disasters signaling “the last days,” wars ignored, starvation, persecution. “It hurts to see. It hurts to feel… People are crying. People are suffering… Their spirits are being crushed.” Then came his profound empathy: “Don’t be mad at your neighbor because they come across in a bad way. You don’t know what they’re going through… Just know that they’re hurting.” In a place where hurt is daily currency, Marquis reminded us to see one another’s hidden pain.
JD, home after heart failure, gave thanks for surviving twenty years after an AIDS diagnosis on “this hateful planet called earth.” He lifted up LGBTQ siblings facing hate, and all who wrestle mental health challenges, including anxiety, depression, and PTSD. “It’s good to know… I’m not alone,” he said. “I just pray that God can help this world to heal, and we can learn to love one another and to love ourselves.”
These prayers, from personal illness and loss to global catastrophe, name suffering without flinching. Yet none end in despair. Chardonnay clings. Richard gives thanks. Georgie opens his heart. Marquis chooses empathy. JD claims he is not alone. Faith persists, stubborn and tender, refusing to let pain have the final word.
In a world that hurts, these voices from the plaza testify to something enduring: even when everything feels fragile, people keep turning toward love, toward God, toward one another. They pray not from comfort, but from the midst of the storm. And somehow, they still believe the storm can be navigated.
That, perhaps, is the quiet miracle of Open Cathedral: it’s a circle where suffering is spoken aloud, and faith answers back.
As one year ends and another begins,
the world feels heavy with hurt.
And still—people show up. They bring their bodies, their questions, their grief, their gratitude. They sit in a circle under open sky and pray anyway.
Open Cathedral exists because someone believes those prayers deserve a place to land.
Your gift makes space for Chardonnay to keep coming when faith feels confusing. It helps Richard give thanks through pain. It honors Georgie’s survival, JD’s courage, Marquis’ call to compassion in a hurting world. It ensures that when someone reaches for faith, or simply for a fellow human, there is a circle waiting.
As we step into a new year, we are asking you to help us keep listening. Keep showing up. Keep listening and care alive on the streets and on the phones, where and when it matters most.
