We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us.

This is Max Locato, the groans of the heart.

You have heard them, you have made them.

They are the vernacular of pain, the chosen tongue of despair.

And when prayers won't come, these will have to do. Yet these raw appeals

find their way into the presence of God the Father, because they are entrusted into the care

of the Holy Spirit. We're accustomed to the Holy Spirit's mighty deeds, fire falling on Peter,

doors opening for Paul, because of the Spirit, Ezekiel saw dead bones rise, and Moses saw the Red Sea open.

Yet of equal import is this.

The Spirit curates and translates the incoherent prayers to the week until they are heard in the

tribunal of heaven.