I am not alone when I say that I suffer in the solitude of prayer.
Not to belly-ache, but to make a point in solidarity with millions of invisible American strugglers, I offer my daily prayer to the God of Scriptural and Ecclesial promises, in hope of ending this desert journey through years of unemployment. Languishing in the shame and squalor of hundreds of employment rejections, many a 'friend' and blood relative has left me behind for greener pastures.
For they have already crossed the Red Sea and found the Promised Land of personal fulfillment; after all, why would they want to return to Massah and Meribah, in the desert, and have to endure the cries of the poor like me?
And at Sunday Mass, I would expect a home for the downtrodden in intercessory prayers for the unemployed, and homilies on seeking the strength of God in tough times. What I have found, rather, is the Church in competition for the almighty dollar; as I struggle to rub two wooden nickels together, the Pastor pitches for donations for this foreign mission and that far away seminary.
I guess the local desert inhabitants don't count as charity!
So, what are we to do?
As Jesus hung on the Cross, near naked, beaten to a pulp, gasping for air, bleeding from multiple wounds, He didn't receive much help from the Roman soldiers, the High Priest and Pharisees, or the gawking onlookers. All He had was Mary, John, and a few lady saints praying for Him.
I guess we (the unemployed/the forgotten) have to hang here for a while, while the civil authorities shoot dice for our clothes, while the High Priest's, and Pharisees, of the unfeeling Church, do their business, while the 'haves' gawk at the downfall of the 'have nots.'
All we can do is ask for the intercession of Mary and the saints, and wait for the Resurrection of Jesus.