The last time our community worshipped together in person, the leaders serendipitously planned a chant circle as the main practice. Sitting in a circle, each of us led the group in a chant that had meaning to us. The chants were eclectic, like our community: from classic Taize to a round of the Beatles’ “All You Need is Love.” When it came to my turn that day, near the end of the circle, I started a chant that was on my heart then and has continued to be on my heart in the year since: “Why, Why, Worry When You Can Pray?” I couldn’t know then that it would be the last time I would sing it surrounded by a chorus of voices.

I remember debating internally about whether that was the right chant for that moment. We are all too familiar with the dismissive way in which “thoughts and prayers” are substituted for concrete action when gun violence stalks our communities, when natural disasters leave millions without basic necessities, or when another Black sibling becomes a victim of police or vigilante brutality. In our national life, prayer has become a passive response to the cries for justice, cries that demand action.

And yet, one of the things that our community has taught me about prayer is that it is not the end point, but the beginning. It is a posture of grounding, of opening ourselves to a deeper reality than the one swirling around us. From that space, we can hear the still, small voice that helps us know what to do when we’re overwhelmed by the pain of the world. From that space, we can move with intention and courage into prophetic action.

In these long winter months of physical distance, nearly a year since that chant circle at training, I think I’m finally starting to understand something of the Apostle Paul’s exhortation to “pray without ceasing” (1 Thessalonians 5:17). Because I find myself returning a lot to that sense of grounding, that knowledge of my own limitations combined with faith in the good that we create together in response to the Spirit. When I do that, I’m better able to see and trust the community around me. None of us have to figure out this season of change alone. We will make it through together.

So when you’re worried, join me. Pray. Dance. Sing. Know that God and a beloved cloud of witnesses watches over. And I will look forward to the day when we can once again raise our voices in that chant together.