ALTHOUGH THE IDEA FOR THIS BOOK had been brewing for a number of years and people kept asking me when I was going to write my book, I only began seriously writing it in 2020—the year the world held its collective breath, while many, the world over, ironically, gasped for it. For me, it was a year of unprecedented intercession. There were only two days of the week that I wasn’t scheduled to pray with others.

I live just outside New York City. I go to church in Manhattan. In March of 2020 a frightening pall began to fall over the city as the Covid-19 infection rate began to climb. Some friends commented that it felt eerily like 9/11 all over again. Professional sports teams canceled their seasons. March Madness, the perennial college basketball championship series, disappeared. Schools shut down. Churches shut down. The size of legal, indoor gatherings dwindled rapidly from two hundred fifty to one hundred, then to ten in a matter of days. Restaurants boarded up. Curfews were imposed. Streets were jarringly empty. The city that never sleeps was hunkering down for an indeterminate time.

As everything closed up and it was recommended that we shelter in place for two weeks, my mind went quickly to some of the vulnerable in my church community. Those over sixty were strictly warned that they were particularly prone to infection. I thought of some seniors who were alone: my dear friends Funmi and Joy. And then I thought of Louisa, who also lives alone. I checked in with each of them by phone. There was nothing we could do to overcome this invisible, microscopic virus, but I knew we could pray. I asked each one if they would want to pray together. And in the matter of just a few minutes we all had a prayer time scheduled together for the following day.

Wednesday morning I phoned Joy on my cell phone. Now an octogenarian, Joy ran the NYC marathon each year into her seventies. Her body may be petite and frail now, but when she hugs, she squeezes the breath right out of you. She is first at church in the morning and last to leave, devotedly and prayerfully handling the altar accoutrements. She has lived alone for as long as I’ve known her. Aging has been a difficult road for her, but she remains a faithful stalwart of our church community. After Joy happily greeted me, I added Louisa to the call.

A longtime New York City resident, Louisa had careers as a hospital lab technician, computer programmer, and ESL instructor before retiring and continuing her interests in bird watching, Bible study, and church activities. Her single life allowed her the time to serve multiple terms on the vestry, chair the missions committee, and spearhead outreach ministries to the homeless. She’s a long time Episcopalian and helped me one Sunday in Lent, as we were standing together eyeing the treats during coffee hour, by telling me that we were meant to break our Lenten fast on Sunday because it was a feast day. As we reached for our chocolatey, floured treats, I became indebted to Louisa ever since. Merging the calls, I then added Funmi.

Funmi and I share the joy of each being married in our fifties after being single most of our lives. A retired child psychologist and daughter of an Anglican bishop, Funmi not only has a rich prayer life, she also has a completely contagious little giggle that erupts shortly after her shoulders start shaking. I love serving on the healing prayer team with her. You definitely want her on your side praying when you are in need. She and her husband Robert split their time between New York City and Charlotte. When the lockdown came, Robert was in North Carolina with the rest of his family. Funmi was alone in New York City. But with her deep, vibrant faith and a gleam in her eye, she would tell you she is never alone.

So here we were, the four of us embarking on a journey. None of us knew where it would go, but it was important to be together. We were compelled to not only bring our burdens to God, but to ask for his intervention in things that were well beyond our control.

In our fear and uncertainty, we turned to our good Father. We prayed for ourselves, our church, our city; for health care workers, for parents of young children, for the sick, for the grieving, for government officials, for scientists and a vaccine, even for Dr. Fauci. If we had only listened to the news, we would’ve been paralyzed. But as we prayed, our trust in God grew. God is bigger than the coronavirus. Funmi’s prayer lifted me up. Joy’s prayer lifted Louisa. Our burdens were lifted up to Christ and we felt them taken. As we prayed together as a group, our fear melted, giving rise to hope and faith.