When Prayers Got Honest
How Lent Reshaped a Congregation’s Conversation with God
At St. Dunstan’s Episcopal Church in Madison, this Lent wasn’t about giving something up—it was about letting something go: the need to be nice in prayer.
This year, their community book study took on two titles at once—Irreverent Prayers by Episcopal priests Maggie Foote and Kellan Day, and My Body Is Not a Prayer Request by Amy Kenny. While very different in form and tone, the two books share a focus on what it means to live in a body—especially one shaped by illness or disability—and how that experience interacts with faith.
Some participants read one book, others read both, and they discussed them in tandem. According to the Rev. Miranda Hassett, “That was a lot, but it also worked pretty well. They’re notably different books but there are some big overlaps in theme and tone.”
They read them side by side. Some participants took on both. Others stuck with one. But what took root across the board was this: people started praying differently.
Real Talk with God
Many participants found Irreverent Prayers especially transformative. “I limited myself in how I prayed… you don’t allow yourself to think like that,” one said. The prayers in the book—raw, dark, and sometimes surprisingly funny—offered a new language for grief, frustration, and faith in the midst of suffering.
“They noted the authority and vulnerability of reading prayers like this written by two priests,” Hassett shared.
“People feel like they can be more honest with God in prayer,” Miranda added, “and bring their more difficult emotions to God in prayer, instead of being nice and polite all the time.”
Embodiment and the Church
The second book, My Body Is Not a Prayer Request, opened conversations around ableism—both in the Church and in individuals' own self-perception. As Hassett described, “My Body Is Not a Prayer Request raised our awareness of our own ableism, not only for non-disabled folks but also for our disabled members, who sometimes feel shame, frustration, and anger at not meeting their own expectations of what they ‘should’ be able to do.”
The group talked about “the fear of not being valued or seen as fully human and worthy of care and respect,” and how churches can unintentionally send those messages. One member captured the book’s impact simply: “At least one person in every parish should read this book.”
More Than a Study
The conversations didn’t stay in the meeting room. They made their way into pastoral conversations, Sunday prayers, even casual coffee hour chats. The honesty of the readings seemed to ripple outward, softening the edges and opening people up.
A sentiment one participant shared near the end, “I didn’t have to perform for God anymore.”
In their final session, one participant offered this heartfelt reflection:
“As someone with multiple disabilities who often feels alone with them, I found the books we read in the Lent study group really thought-provoking. The authors’ words were raw, honest, and true. They really resonated and sparked new thoughts in me about how I as a disabled individual fit into our church community and into the wider group of non-disabled folks who make up the rest of the world that I circulate within. I am hopeful that the thoughts and conversations about the books that the study group shared will help me make changes in how I consider my own disability. The group I shared the books with will also have the opportunity to expand the consciousness of our wider congregation and community. Everyone has a place on this earth, no matter what our experience with our bodies and abilities are if we can think of each other as worthy and loved by God.”
What Changed? Their Prayers Did.
At its best, Lent isn’t just about giving something up—it’s about transformation. Lent is often framed as a journey—and for St. Dunstan’s, the destination wasn’t perfection but permission: to show up to prayer unfiltered. That transformation came in the form of prayer that was braver, more honest, and more embodied. These weren’t easy conversations. But they were sacred ones. And they left something lasting.
They may not return to the same book stack next year. But they likely won’t return to polished, surface-level prayers either. Because once you’ve learned that you can bring your full, complicated, beloved self before God—there’s really no going back.
