Background On the eve of the New Year of 2025, I found myself torn about whether to stay awake until midnight to watch the fireworks on my street. In Berlin, you don’t need to go to Alexanderplatz or Moritzplatz for a fireworks display; the streets themselves often provide a spectacular show. My street, in particular, …
Background
On the eve of the New Year of 2025, I found myself torn about whether to stay awake until midnight to watch the fireworks on my street. In Berlin, you don’t need to go to Alexanderplatz or Moritzplatz for a fireworks display; the streets themselves often provide a spectacular show. My street, in particular, is known for its intense competition with neighboring streets, making New Year’s Eve a dazzling and noisy affair. From the window or up close, one can witness an explosion of colors and sounds. Yet, I was conflicted this year, exhausted and unsure whether to stay awake or simply go to sleep. Eventually, fatigue won, and I drifted off—until a loud, thunderous firework jolted me awake at exactly midnight. Drawn to the window, I watched the display before deciding to step outside. Instead of lingering on my street, I chose to walk, using the moment to thank God for the new year amidst the fireworks, the partying, and the revelry.
As I walked and prayed, I was struck by the sheer intensity of the fireworks. Every street and open space seemed to be alive with bursts of color lighting up the sky, thick smoke filling the air, and the unmistakable scent of firecrackers mixed with gunpowder. Revellers, many with bottles in hand, hugged, drank, and celebrated exuberantly. Amid this sensory overload, a thought crossed my mind: could my prayer life be as powerful as these fireworks? The fireworks brought joy, sent shivers down my spine, and lit up the sky with vibrant colors—could my prayers illuminate and inspire in the same way?
Therefore, after my walk, that night as the New Year was still fresh, I wrote a poem/prayer:
Poem: Oh that My Prayer Life
Oh, that my prayer life
Might burn as brightly as Berlin’s fireworks,
Crackling in the sky,
Sending vibrations through the air,
Drawing spectators everywhere.
Oh, that my prayer life
Might bloom as beautifully as Berlin’s fireworks,
With vibrant hues of the rainbow,
Flashing over Pankow’s rooftops,
Dashing through Schildow’s shadows.
Oh, that my prayer life
Might echo the fireworks of Berlin,
From Eichenstraße’s gentle sparks
To Schloßstraße’s thundering booms,
Turning Berlin’s gaze to the Almighty.
Oh, that my prayer life
Might embody the power of gunpowder,
The essence of every firework’s burst—
Igniting at midnight,
An explosive force
To spark revival
On Berlin’s streets.
Oh, that my prayer life
Might be as powerful as the fireworks of Berlin
Might release its smoky remnants,
Drifting to the nostrils of unbelievers,
A fragrant reminder to the faithful:
That Prayer is dynamite.
Pr. Chigemezi Wogu
