Opening Prayer — A Cry for a New Heart
I sit quietly, my hands resting in stillness.
I offer this prayer, drawn from the longing of the heart:
“O Thou who art over us,
Thou who art one of us,
Thou who art—
Give me a pure heart, that I may see Thee;
A humble heart, that I may hear Thee;
A heart of love, that I may serve Thee;
A heart of faith, that I may abide in Thee.
Amen.”
—Dag Hammarskjöld (Inspired by Matthew 5:8)
I inhale deeply three times.
With each breath, I release my tension.
Then I travel inward—to the quiet lakeside of Bariloche, my sacred inner sanctuary.
Lectio — Reading the Text
I slowly read Psalm 88, in several translations.
In silence, I tune my five senses to the sacred moment.
Then aloud, I give voice to the cry within these ancient words:
“I am overwhelmed with troubles
and my life draws near to death…
You have put me in the lowest pit,
in the darkest depths…
You have taken from me my closest friends.”
This psalm is unique—no light at the end, no easy hope.
It is pure lament, yet holy in its honesty.
Meditatio — Reflecting on the Text
This is not a song of comfort, but a cry from the abyss.
It is the voice of one left behind, sick and forgotten.
Yet it is still a prayer—and that matters.
I ask myself:
What places in my life feel like a tomb?
For months, I have walked under a cloud of sorrow.
Where have I cried out and heard no reply?
I worked in my backyard, built a woodshop with tired hands and silent prayers.
And yet—can I trust that God is still near?
In the breeze, the trees, the birdsong and buzzing life, I felt the Creator’s breath.
Even the sweat of labor became prayer.
This psalm teaches me:
Even when answers do not come—my prayer is not in vain.
Oratio — Responding in Prayer
O Lord,
You are my last and only hope.
When darkness wraps around me,
Still I cry to You.
Bring back the companions I have lost.
Restore to me the joy of Your presence.
Let my voice rise from the depths—
Even if all I can offer is silence.
You are the light beneath every grave,
The Love that does not leave.
I pause. I weep. I listen.
And I hear Your whisper:
“You are always with Me.”
Contemplatio — Resting in Presence
I release all words now.
No asking, no explaining—only being.
The night surrounds me.
But in the dark, a flicker—a quiet Presence.
Christ, seated beside me, says nothing.
And that is enough.
“I am shut in and cannot escape.” (Psalm 88:8)
Yet even here, You enter in.
A Word from the Tradition
“Suffering shuts us up to ourselves—
but it also shuts us up to God.
In the silence, we learn to say:
‘The Father is with me.’”
—Joseph Exell, The Biblical Illustrator
Closing
As I end this sacred time,
I hold this quiet truth:
I am not alone.
Even in despair, my soul is heard.
Even in silence, my prayer is received.
I sit for a few final breaths.
If no words remain, I simply whisper:
“Jesus.”
Amen.
Daily Sauntering 