O Lord

The O Antiphons, so familiar from their musical setting, “O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” are said at Evening Prayer these last seven days of Advent. Each day has its proper antiphon, starting with a biblical title for Jesus. The one for today begins “O Adonai”—O Lord—and ends with a plea to come and save us.

Advent or not, that phrase or one like it is on my lips multiple times a day. Just now, the cat appeared at my study window, demanding to be rescued from the roof, and I sighed, “Oh, Lord.” I turn onto the main road to find it backed up, and breathe, “Dear God.” An exasperated and exasperating student taps at my door and I choke back an “Oh God.” “Lord,” I wail, when the phone rings the instant I pick up my pen to grade the stack of homework on my desk—the one I’ve been trying to tend to since nine this morning. I step outside to go home, look up at the fiery sky, and gasp, “Oh, my God.”

I sound thoughtless, I know. And frankly I wonder if this is just a habit, my glib invocation of the Lord of the universe anytime I am startled or something doesn’t go the way I wish. But just maybe, just sometimes, it is the sort of prayer that comes from deep within my soul, that acknowledges my dependence upon the Lord for the very breath I use to call his name. Could it be that I am struck nearly wordless by my Redeemer, so that I can say no more than O God, hoping God will know whether I’m in awe or in need of rescue? O God, I hope so.

— From M. Francl-Donnay, Waiting in Joyful Hope, Liturgical Press, 2020.