Remembering The War Prayer Today, This Memorial Day 2025

by Mark Twain 1904 & Kevin Reynolds 2021

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and sputtering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spreads of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country and invoked the God of Battles, beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpouring of fervid eloquence which moved every listener.

It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came – next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their faces alight with material dreams-visions of a stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! – then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation – "God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest, Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!"

^above^ Fallujah-Iraq after US bombardment

Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was that an ever – merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory.

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there, waiting.

With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside – which the startled minister did, and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said,

"I come from the Throne – bearing a message from Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd and grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import – that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of – except he pause and think.

"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two – one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of His Who hearth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this – keep it in mind. If you beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

"You have heard your servant's prayer – the uttered part of it. I am commissioned by God to put into words the other part of it – that part which the pastor, and also you in your hearts, fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. The whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory – must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God the Father fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle – be Thou near them! With them, in spirit, we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it – for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

(After a pause)

"Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits."

The War Prayer Continued
~By Kevin Reynolds 2021

A stunned silence swept over the congregation.

The pastor stood off to the side. Within him were burning hot coals of righteous indignation. The pastor found his voice, “Blasphemer!” he cried. “How dare you speak such blaspheme in this house of God!”

Now the congregation arose as one voice, shouting down their pastor, screaming, “Begone, you horrid stranger! You have no place among the righteous! You dare utter such words in this sanctuary. Begone! We will not look upon your visage anymore.”

The pastor waved the congregation into silence, finding his voice once again, “You claim to be from the throne of God! You are a lunatic and a blasphemer! No servant from the throne of God would dare utter such words against the patriotism and the honor of our young men going into war against an enemy of this great Christian nation. God sitting upon his throne of judgment, honors the sacrifice of our young men doing their duty to God and country to fight this enemy.”

The pastor paused to catch his breath and look in his notes for more hyperbole. The aged stranger stood there as tears fell from his eyes, staining his robe, washing his feet. Not really shocked by all the vitriol that was being spewed forth towards him, the stranger stepped away from the pulpit and descended the stage.

He slowly walked down the aisle between the pews. The eyes of the congregants burning red with the fire of hatred, followed the stranger as he walked by. With his head bowed and tears leaving a path with his footsteps, the stranger walked through the double doors of the church not bothering to close them. He descended the steps at the front of the church, stopped, turned, and looked up at the cross upon the steeple. The stranger sadly shook his head, turned and walked towards the long and winding road, never to be seen again.

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

But was there no sense in what he said? Was there? I am one like that man. I write and speak of the atrocities of undeclared wars and police actions that maim and kill thousands of innocent children, women and men who have never in their whole life lifted a finger in defiance to the United States. My recent article from two days ago explains WHO I AM. And if you don’t see the truth in what I post, you are the ones that have dead man bones in your being. You are the ones that follow the path of the adversary when you venerate murderers in the name of God and Country and raise up high those who would do harm to others who have never caused any harm to the people of this country. I and many others like me stand for the Kingdom Of God, not for man made boundaries that are filled with psychopaths ruling and betraying the very foundation of the country they control. There is NO war that should be fought EXCEPT in self defense….As my signature on my Strike The Root Articles used to say…by Mark Reynolds, who lives with his wife and four sons in the place most folks call Arkansas. Memorial Day May 26th 2025C.L.

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