My 13-year-old said it one day as if it had become a daily topic in our family: “Dad, what did Donald Trump break today?” We chuckled, and I shared another statement or tweet from the president that I thought was classless or wrong.

This became the new normal for our family. Each day at dinner time, I would share the latest news, much of it critical of the commander in chief. Finally, one of my kids stopped me—I believe on this particular evening the subject was Donald Trump’s ugly Twitter attack on MSNBC host Mika Brzezinski—and said, “Dad, we get it. You don’t like the president.”

In that moment, something clicked.

As the appointed politics expert in my family, I felt it my duty to share with my kids not only the news of the day but how to interpret that news. Now I realized what they really needed was a way to make sense of the day’s events through the lens of faith—and that if I didn’t change my tune, my kids might begin to dread what we valued most as a family: time spent together around the dinner table.

In my quest to be a good professor at home, I realized, I had failed to be a student of the Word.

In my quest to be a good professor at home, I realized, I had failed to be a student of the Word.

Prayer for our political leaders is something that Catholics do each Sunday at Mass: “For leaders around the world, that they might find ways to bring an end to war and violence, and promote peace and development for all nations, we pray to the Lord…” We passively listen to some variation on this petition and give our assent, but often we try not to think too specifically about our elected officials. We may consider politicians corrupt, self-serving, almost unworthy of our prayers. And that means a missed moment for many of us. In the Mass we refer to the pope and the local bishop by name. What if we occasionally added, during the prayers of the faithful, the names of our president and governor?

There is scriptural grounding for these prayers for worldly leaders during the Mass. 1 Timothy 2:1-2 offers perhaps the most explicit invitation to pray for political rulers. Paul tells his young apprentice, “I urge, then, first of all, that petitions, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for all people—for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness.” When I rediscovered this text, I knew I stood convicted.

At dinner that night, I explained to my family that I would change my tone. While I would still talk about the news of the day, I would also be more mindful of our duty to pray for our leaders.

I do not know President Trump. What I do know is that his job is exceedingly difficult, it is lonely and it carries a weight that no one but the president can grasp. His public statements about his religious beliefs indicate that his faith is young and in certain need of support.

The least I can do is pray for the man. It may be all that I can do, but as with all prayers, the results are often much deeper than we can understand.

For Donald Trump, we pray to the Lord.