As part of my reading and writing on the subject of prayer, I have been keeping my eyes out in charity shops, and so on, for books on prayer. Occasionally this gives up some gems, and so today I'd like to share a prayer about money that I found particularly helpful. Whilst some of the language is a little dated, and the amount that five pounds can buy has clearly changed, I reproduce it here from 'Prayers of Life'.
Lord, see this note, it frightens me.
You know its secrets, you know its history.
How heavy it is!
It scares me, for it cannot speak.
It will never tell all it hides in its creases.
It will never reveal all the struggles and efforts it represents, all the disillusionment and slighted dignity.
It is stained with sweat and blood.
It is laden with all the weight of the human toil which makes its worth.
It is heavy, heavy, Lord.
It fills me with awe, it frightens me.
For it has death on its conscience,
All the poor fellows who killed themselves for it...
To possess it for a few hours,
To have through it a little pleasure, a little joy, a little life...
Through how many hands has it passed, Lord?
And what has it done in the course of its long, silent trips?
It has offered white roses to the radiant fiancee.
It has paid for the baptismal party, and fed the growing baby.
It has provided bread for the family table.
Because of it there was laughter among the young, and joy among the adults.
It has paid for the saving visit of the doctor,
It has bought the book that taught the youngster,
It has clothed the young girl.
But it has sent the letter breaking the engagement.
It has paid for the death of a child in its mother's womb.
It has bought the liquor that made the drunkard.
It has produced the film unfit for children.
And has recorded the indecent song.
It has broken the morals of the adolescent and made of the adult a thief.
It has bought for a few hours the body of a woman.
It has paid for the weapons of the crime and for the wood of the coffin.
O Lord, I offer you this note with its joyous mysteries, its sorrowful mysteries.
I thank you for all the life and joy it has given.
I ask your forgiveness for the harm it has done.
But above all, Lord, I offer it to you as a symbol of all the labours of men, indestructible money, which tomorrow will be changed into your eternal life.
I really like this prayer. It caused me to reflect and think about the way I use money, and the stories behind individual notes, the lives that money touches, makes and ruins, births and deaths. I hope this prayer helps some of you as you reflect on money.
Prayer before a Five Pound Note
You know its secrets, you know its history.
How heavy it is!
It scares me, for it cannot speak.
It will never tell all it hides in its creases.
It will never reveal all the struggles and efforts it represents, all the disillusionment and slighted dignity.
It is stained with sweat and blood.
It is laden with all the weight of the human toil which makes its worth.
It is heavy, heavy, Lord.
It fills me with awe, it frightens me.
For it has death on its conscience,
All the poor fellows who killed themselves for it...
To possess it for a few hours,
To have through it a little pleasure, a little joy, a little life...
Through how many hands has it passed, Lord?
And what has it done in the course of its long, silent trips?
It has offered white roses to the radiant fiancee.
It has paid for the baptismal party, and fed the growing baby.
It has provided bread for the family table.
Because of it there was laughter among the young, and joy among the adults.
It has paid for the saving visit of the doctor,
It has bought the book that taught the youngster,
It has clothed the young girl.
But it has sent the letter breaking the engagement.
It has paid for the death of a child in its mother's womb.
It has bought the liquor that made the drunkard.
It has produced the film unfit for children.
And has recorded the indecent song.
It has broken the morals of the adolescent and made of the adult a thief.
It has bought for a few hours the body of a woman.
It has paid for the weapons of the crime and for the wood of the coffin.
O Lord, I offer you this note with its joyous mysteries, its sorrowful mysteries.
I thank you for all the life and joy it has given.
I ask your forgiveness for the harm it has done.
But above all, Lord, I offer it to you as a symbol of all the labours of men, indestructible money, which tomorrow will be changed into your eternal life.
Michael Quoist, Prayers of Life, (Gill and Macmillan, Dublin, 1963), p. 23-24
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