To the God of light

A prayer for summer

Jul 17, 2025

I don’t know what it’s like where you live, but summer is officially inescapable in North Alabama.

Every year, I seem to forget just how hot it can actually get. April, May, and June sort of slip by with plenty of rain showers and cold fronts to keep me comfortable…and then July gets here, and even the pool provides little relief from the relentless summer sun.

But, as I write from my air-conditioned home, listening to the choir of crickets that’s taken up residence outside my window, I must admit that there’s a lot to love about this season, too. Even in our modern world, where global supply chains make it possible to buy strawberries and sweet corn year-round, nothing quite compares to the fruit and veggie harvest of summer. Heirloom tomatoes, peaches, nectarines, watermelon, fresh okra, peppers…I could go on, but you’re not here for my grocery list.

Over the last year or so, I’ve been writing a series of prayers for each season. As I continue to explore and attempt to enact a more liturgical way of life, it seems natural to take my daily observations and turn them into worship.

Summer is a season of inescapable intensity. As you move through the next couple months, I hope you’ll carry this prayer with you, worshipping God along the way.

To the God of light

Holy, perfect God,
Your glory outshines the blazing sun
whose rays bring life,
yet cause delicate leaves to wither;
the source of the warmth we desperately desire,
yet one so powerful that we must shield ourselves
from its unbridled flame.

Summer is a season of richness so deep, it often overwhelms.
The green-gold leaves of spring trees shift to emerald;
The neatly tilled fields of farmland burst with a harvest yet to come;
The air itself is laden with water and heat.

Short-lived whirlwinds descend with thunder and lightning
inspiring terror while nourishing the parched earth.
We are reminded of how you,
El Shaddai—God Almighty—
manifested your presence among your children in the same way.

When Moses led Israel into the wilderness,
you settled upon Mount Sinai in a cloud of lightning and thunder;
only your intercessor could approach you.
Yet, the faithful at the base of the mountain
awoke to manna each morning;
a reminder of your loving provision;
a reminder that the terrible glory on the mountain
is not just a storm, but the One the wind and rain obey.

We have not seen you, but we have squinted against the sun.
We have sheltered from the whirlwind.
We have tasted the manna.

Thank you for doing the impossible;
for making a way for your children to stand in your presence.

Amen.