13/02/2026
OBSERVING INTERCESSIONS
From the Verger’s Stall
by Alan Dobbs
(I see everything.)
Right. Since the Vicar has flung open the digital doors and invited half the known world onto our page, it seems only fitting that someone should speak up for those of us who have sat, stood, knelt and generally endured the INTERCESSIONS at St Faithful’s for the better part of four decades.
I have heard them all. I have straightened hassocks during them. I have rescued fainting toddlers during them. I have silently located the source of mysterious rustling during them (Perry Wainwright. Mint imperials). I have even, on one regrettable occasion, refilled the thurible during them while someone was still praying for “all known needs”. When the Vicar used to let us have the thurible, that was.
So. In the spirit of Christian candour, and because I see everything, here is my expanded guide.
WHAT INTERCESSIONS ARE NOT
They are not a second sermon.
If you have three sub-points and a moving anecdote, you have drifted. If I can detect a “therefore”, you have definitely drifted. And this is not the place to correct the Vicar's mixed up theology of the Trinity, either - however confused he is.
They are not a parish newsletter addressed to the Almighty.
“Lord, we pray for the boiler, which as you know has been temperamental…” He knows. He was present at its installation in 1987 and at every subsequent repair attempt.
They are not coded warnings.
“Lord, we pray for those who struggle with punctuality…” Everyone swivels. The person in question stares at the floor. This is not intercession. It is liturgical passive aggression.
They are not a geography GCSE.
We do not need to pray through the troubled nations alphabetically. By the time we reach “Venezuela”, Mrs Crowther has checked her watch twice and the choir is settling down for a nap.
They are not a vocal transformation sequence.
If your normal voice is “Hello, lovely to see you” and your prayer voice descends into “O Most High and Ineffable…”, we have entered ecclesiastical cosplay.
They are not therapy with an audience.
If the phrase “as I was reflecting deeply this week” appears, we are edging towards podcast territory.
And — now for the serious bit, which I shall smuggle in while you’re laughing —
They are not for God’s benefit.
God does not require updates. He is not perched in heaven saying, “Ah! Thank goodness someone mentioned Norfolk. I’d completely overlooked it.” If God is omniscient, nothing we say is news. If God is love, He is not waiting to be persuaded into kindness.
If we imagine our eloquence nudges God from mild reluctance to active compassion, we have reduced the Holy Trinity to something like Zeus on a grumpy afternoon — impressive beard, questionable temperament, bribeable, persuadable by humans saying the right words, or offering the right presents.
Intercessions are not a celestial negotiation.
We are not trying to wear God down like the persistent widow in Jesus’ story. And if we are, we have misunderstood it. The widow is not changing the judge’s personality; she is revealing her own stubborn hope. Persistence changes her. It makes her brave. And her hope enables transformation to take place.
God’s entire being is already bent towards the healing of the world. If it were not so, no quantity of “Lord, in your mercy” would shift Him.
So what, Dobbs, are we actually doing?
WHAT INTERCESSIONS ARE
They are for us.
Yes, I said it. I shall wait while you recover.
Prayer does not change God. It changes the one who prays. C. S. Lewis said something very similar, and I have long suspected he had once stood at the back of a church watching people fidget.
When we pray for the sick, something happens — not in God’s information centre, but in our own chests. Faces soften. Names become real. Compassion wakes up and stretches its legs.
When we pray for refugees, we start to picture them. And we might think about how to help them.
When we pray for the lonely, we notice them, and think about visiting them.
When we pray for “those with whom we find it difficult to agree”, we sometimes stop drafting imaginary speeches in the shower.
When we pray for the Havnot community, maybe we'll stop and pick up some litter on the way home.
Intercession is not pushing the river of God’s will in a new direction. It is stepping into the river that is already flowing and discovering it is warmer, deeper, and far more life-giving than expected.
Intercession should awaken the imagination.
It should train the heart.
It should gently sabotage our indifference.
I have observed something, over the years. When intercessions are offered well — simply, spaciously, without dramatic flourishes — the building changes. Shoulders drop. Breathing slows. Even Perry stops unwrapping mints for a minute or two.
The prayer does not bend God towards mercy.
It bends us.
It aligns us with what God is already doing — mending, stirring, reconciling, nudging reluctant churchwardens towards grace.
And here is the part I love most.
After the intercessions, people often act. They visit. They forgive. They volunteer. They bake. They write cards. They give money. They carry one another.
Not because God was persuaded.
Because they were.
So, dear Intercessors — keep it short. Keep it kind. Keep it honest. Leave room for silence (it does not bite). Avoid auditioning for Radio 4. And remember:
You are not persuading God to care.
You are teaching us to care with God.
And from my position by the light switches, seeing everything, that is miracle enough for one Sunday.
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St Faithful’s is fictional. The affection is real. Books by Canon Tom Kennar (including 'The Parish Life' - about St Faithful's) are available in print and e-book. Merchandise lurks online. See [https://tomkennar.blogspot.com/p/st-faithfuls-authors-resources.html](https://tomkennar.blogspot.com/p/st-faithfuls-authors-resources.html) for more details. AI may assist. The responsibility is entirely human.
