An American Prayer for Peace
Riffing on The Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi's (Prayer for Peace) for today's time in the United States.
Lately, the Prayer of St. Francis has been on my mind. I don’t know exactly why—it just kept surfacing, lingering in my thoughts. Maybe because it’s a prayer about being a force for peace in a world that feels anything but peaceful. Maybe because it’s a call to lead with love when fear and anger seem to have louder voices.
So I looked it up.
I had always assumed St. Francis of Assisi wrote it himself. But as I dug deeper—and, chatted with ChatGPT about it—I learned that the prayer didn’t appear until 1912, centuries after St. Francis lived. It was first published in a French Catholic magazine, unsigned, just two years before the world erupted into the devastation of World War I.
That timing hit me hard.
People were already anxious, already sensing something shifting, already bracing for what they couldn’t yet name. And then, in that moment, this prayer emerged:
“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love.”
“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love.”
It was an offering, a plea, a reminder that no matter how dark the world becomes, we are not powerless. We can choose to be light.
History Echoes
Reading about the origins of this prayer, I couldn’t help but draw parallels to what’s happening now.
The world today is tense. The weight of conflict, division, and injustice feels heavy. We are watching wars unfold, democracy shake, communities fracture. People are exhausted, overwhelmed, unsure of what comes next.
And yet, just as in 1912, we are not powerless. We still have choices to make.
Jane Goodall said, “What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.” That, to me, is the heart of both the Prayer of St. Francis and the moment we are living in now. Leadership isn’t just for those in positions of power. It lives in the daily choices we make—to listen, to show up, to act with integrity, to be generous even when it’s easier to withdraw.
A Prayer for Now
I don’t think of myself as a poet, or particularly religious, but sometimes words just arrive, asking to be spoken. As I sat with all of this—the history, the alignment with today, the need for something steady to hold onto—I found myself writing. This prayer, An American Prayer for Peace, is my own offering. A way to put into words what I believe: that even now, especially now, we can still choose love.
An American Prayer for Peace
Lord, make me a melody of your guitar.
Where there is flannel, let me be the lace.
Where there is rope, let me be the release.
Where there is rust, let me be the dance.
Where there is sweat, let me be the breeze.
Where there is only red, let me be the rainbow.
O Loving One, let me not push so hard
To be heard, but to hear.
To be welcomed, but to welcome.
To be lifted, but to lift.
To be fed, but to feed.
For it is in reaching out that we are reached.
It is in inviting that we are invited.
It is in embracing that we are embraced.
It is in understanding that we are understood.
And in shedding our ways,
We return to the unspoiled beauty
Of our shared humanity—your will on Earth.
Choosing to Lead with Love
I don’t know what the world will look like in a year, or five, or ten. But I do know this: how we show up now matters. Even when things feel hopeless, even when anger feels easier than love, even when we don’t know if our small acts of kindness will change anything—our choices add up.
May we choose to keep going. To keep trying. To keep failing and learning and trying again. To keep seeing each other, showing up for each other, believing in each other.
May we all, in our own way, be instruments of peace.
