As I write this review, the sunset in Boston is 4:12 PM. The nighttime is long. Those who live in the northern part of the country can relate. However, I also know that soon enough the days will lengthen again, and the night won’t be so long or dark. What’s harder than short days of physical dark are periods of metaphorical darkness in our lives: prolonged grief, despair, illness, or spiritual fog. And what do we do if God, the light in the darkness, seems nowhere to be found? 

In Prayer in the Night, Anglican priest Tish Harrison Warren wrestles with this difficult subject of theodicy. She defines theodicy as “the logical dilemma of how God can be good and all-powerful even as horrible things happen in the world” (20). And, related, the “crisis of faith that often comes from an encounter with suffering” (20). In short: if God is good, why is there bad? 

Warren’s ability to write competently on the subject comes from her own personal season of darkness in 2017. That year, she and her family moved across the country, her father died, and she miscarried a child. These tragedies left her reeling and disoriented. Even though she intellectually knew the truths and doctrines about God, she felt as if he had vanished. During this season, the scripted prayers of the church (specifically the nighttime prayer service called Compline) gave her a voice when her own voice faltered. 

A final prayer from the Book of Common Prayer’s version of Compline, the eighth and final prayer service of the daily office, serves as the outline for the book: 

“Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night,
and give your angels charge over those who sleep.
Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying,
soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous;
and all for your love’s sake. Amen.” (19-20) 

Each chapter expands on one phrase in this prayer and explores how God meets us in our most vulnerable moments. She weaves a mix of personal anecdotes, Scripture, pastoral observations, and insights from theologians and writers throughout the centuries. While the book does not answer why bad things happen, it compellingly explores how we can walk through these difficulties while proclaiming the mystery of faith. 

Central to Warren’s argument is that Christian faith is not built on stable feelings but on embodied trust: we sleep, and God keeps watch. When we are vulnerable (sleeping, sick, weary dying, suffering, afflicted) God remains good and present. If our faith depends entirely on how we feel or on life experience, a natural deconstruction of faith will take place when suffering comes. But when we allow God to be God and depend on him during these periods of difficulty, we are made able to endure the crisis of faith. Additionally, the testimony of Scripture and the scripted prayers of the church form us long before the moment comes when we cannot pray for ourselves. 

Warren’s work is accessible, easy to follow, and pastoral. Her critique of the American church’s tendency to reach for a “theology of glory” rather than a “theology of the cross” will resonate particularly with Lutherans. 

That said, a word of caution is helpful. Warren gives endorsement to Christian practices such as Christian asceticism which she defines as “self-denial for spiritual formation” (132). Though such practices can have a good origin, history has shown how easy it is for Christian discipline to drift from individual piety (good) to programmed pietism (bad). If using this book with a congregation, pastoral guidance will be needed to walk this line. 

More broadly, it is worth noting what this book is and is not. It is not a deep philosophy text filled with airtight logical arguments and extensive footnotes – nor does Warren intend it to be. If you’re expecting a thorough apologetic on the problem of pain, another source will serve you better. Likewise, it is not a dogmatics textbook. For example, I found her broad use of “sacramental” (154-55) to be imprecise. Tight distinctions are not her focus. Instead, this is a pastoral (we don’t agree with her ordination, yet she has good insight) and personal treatment of suffering. Her writing is accessible and filled with quotations from theologians (Luther makes a few appearances!), poets, and even musical artists. She speaks as one who has suffered and as one who ministers to the suffering.  

Although the main thrust of the book is not to argue for liturgical worship, those familiar with a liturgical church will find a lot to love (though, admittedly, it may be some amount of confirmation bias at play). Of course the ancient prayers of the church are helpful in forming Christian faith! Warren’s reflections in this book pushed me to reflect on my own devotional habits: do I primarily pray ex corde or free form in my devotional life? Is that wise? Could there be value in regularly using the short daily office services available in CW21 or the Christian Worship: Pastor’s Companion? Warren’s nudge towards pastors and lay members alike to rediscover the gift of historic prayer and liturgy—the Psalms, the daily office, and other scripted prayers that shape hearts over time—is worth thinking about. 

This book is particularly helpful for those seeking to speak pastorally about the problem of pain. It may help pastors think through ministry tasks like hospital visits, grief share groups at church, or other moments of crisis when words are hard to come by. A congregation might even choose to use this book for a Bible study or small group. Warren includes five sessions of discussion questions and practices in the back, making it a practical resource for churches. My congregation used one of her other books, Liturgy of the Ordinary, in this way and found it beneficial. 

Prayer in the Night is a refreshing “third way” of approaching theodicy. It doesn’t reduce spirituality to a private encounter with God based on feelings, nor does it treat suffering as merely an academic exercise. We are not the first Christians to struggle with pain or wrestle with theodicy. We simply add our voices to a choir already singing, using the Scriptures and prayers of the church when our faith trembles and voices quiver. In the long nights of darkness, both physical and spiritual, this book directs us to Christ, the light no darkness can overcome.