No small thing: A time of prayer

By Rev. Z. M. D. McGregor

On January 20, our nation witnessed an extraordinary confluence of history and symbolism. The inauguration of Donald J. Trump as the 47th president of the United States coincides with our national holiday honoring the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. These two figures are as strikingly different as the occasions that celebrate them. And yet, this difference extends beyond the towering figure of a martyred Christian preacher, and a successful business mogul turned politician. This day calls us to think carefully about our next steps. The times call for prayer.

We live in an age of political uncertainty and social upheaval, an epoch where the clamor of division often drowns out the call to unity. In such a time, it might seem strange, quaint—even radical—to suggest it, but we must pray for those in authority. But I would argue that it is one of the most profoundly necessary practices for a healthy democracy.

First, let us dispense with the misconception that prayer is passive or weak. To pray for those in power is not to excuse their faults or abdicate our responsibility to hold them accountable. It is to acknowledge the staggering weight of their responsibilities, to summon, through faith, the moral clarity and wisdom they need to serve well. It is a recognition of shared humanity in a system where adversaries are too often dehumanized, and the everyday needs of many go unresolved.

Consider the average day of a public servant. Legislators wrestle with issues that impact millions domestically and billions globally: war and peace, manufacturing and economic stability, and the fragile web of social trust. Governors make decisions that affect infrastructure, public safety and education. Local officials grapple with crises that feel immediate and personal— housing shortages, public health emergencies and criminal activity. These leaders are not infallible nor omniscient. They are men and women with all the ambitions, fears and limitations that we carry.

Prayer, in this context, is an act of solidarity. When we pray for a mayor or a senator, a president or a judge, and even our shepherds, we are reminded that they, too, are flesh and blood. They are not caricatures on a screen or hashtags in social media. They are our neighbors, trying (we hope) to do their best with imperfect tools in an imperfect world. Moreover, prayer reframes our relationship with power. In a secularized culture, we often treat government as the ultimate arbiter of justice, the fixer of all things broken. When we pray, we acknowledge that there is a higher authority, a moral law that transcends political expediency, and court that represents all that is supreme. Prayer reminds us that no political system, no matter how well designed, can save us from ourselves.

There is also something disarming about praying for those with whom we disagree. In the heat of partisanship, it is easy to view our political opponents as villains. But it is difficult—perhaps impossible—to pray for someone and hate them at the same time. Prayer is an antidote to the cynicism that corrodes our national spirit. It is a way of softening our hearts, of recognizing that even those who stand on the other side of the aisle are, in the end, our fellow travelers.

Of course, prayer alone is not enough. A prayer without action is a tree without fruit. But action without prayer can easily become unmoored, driven by self-interest rather than the common good. As we advocate for justice, engage in debates and participate in elections, prayer grounds us. It reminds us that our ultimate loyalty is not to a party or an ideology, but to a set of values—justice, mercy, truth and love.

America’s founders understood the need for divine guidance. In his inaugural address, George Washington spoke of the “benign Parent of the human race” and invoked blessings on the nation he had been called to lead. Abraham Lincoln, during the Civil War, called for a day of national humiliation, fasting and prayer, reminding Americans that their destiny was inextricably linked to moral and spiritual renewal.

Today, our leaders face challenges as daunting as those of Washington or Lincoln. They navigate a world of geopolitical instability, climate change, economic disparity and cultural fragmentation. Their decisions will shape the lives of generations yet unborn. Whether or not you believe in divine intervention, surely we can agree that such burdens deserve our goodwill, our empathy, and, yes, our prayers.

So let us pray—not as a substitute for civic engagement, but as its foundation. Let us pray that our leaders are guided by compassion, courage and wisdom. Let us pray that they resist corruption, and the seductions of power, remembering their obligation to the least among us. And let us pray, too, for ourselves—that we might be better citizens, better neighbors and better stewards of the fragile experiment in self-governance that we call America.

As January 20, made for a day juxtapose by strange bedfellows, let it remind us of who we are and what we are called to be—a people united not by uniformity, but by a shared commitment to the common good. In an age of division, that is no small thing.

The Rev. Z.M.D. McGregor is the Senior Pastor of Zion Baptist Church, Cincinnati.

Feature Image: Congregants at Zion Baptist Church, Cincinnati, in prayer during Martin Luther King Day on January 20. Photo provided