In April, when Gov. Rick Perry asked the nation to pray for rain and issued a proclamation to that effect, the press and commenters alike seemed to leap at the chance to mock him.

People get up in arms about declarations of faith from presidential candidates. Mother Jones magazine wrote about Perry's skepticism on global warming and quoted a professor of atmospheric sciences from Texas A&M University, Andrew Dessler, as saying: "I certainly don't think that praying will hurt. My concern is that the governor has no Plan B. If praying doesn't work, what then? If we don't start taking reasonable steps to protect ourselves soon, then I will indeed be praying - for better leadership in Austin."

But in the face of a historic drought that has brought devastating wildfires and costs of more than $5 billion to Texas' farmers and ranchers, less visible people from a variety of faith backgrounds have been praying for rain without issuing proclamations. Unlike the national calls for prayers and tours of widespread damage after the Deepwater Horizon oil spill of 2010, localized calls for prayer are embedded in rituals that can be personal or shared by an entire group, said Austin religious leaders in the Jewish, Christian, Catholic and Hindu communities.

For most of the summer, Catholic Bishop Joe Vasquez has made praying for rain one of his ongoing intentions. An intention is a specific, special prayer offered during Masses.

Rabbi Cookie Lea Olshein, at Congregation Beth Israel and Rabbi Rick Brody, who now leads Congregation Kol Halev, wrote about a lovely tradition .

"Traditional Jews actually do pray for rain," Olshein wrote, "in the season appropriate for when Israel needs rain, i.e., in the winter (from the end of Sukkot, in the fall, to Passover, in the spring). In the summer (from Passover until the end of Sukkot), traditional Jewish prayer acknowledges that God is the One who `causes the falling of dew.'"

Brody said there hadn't been any formal or explicit praying during this drought, but he explained more thoroughly some Jewish practices related to rain. "A series of blessings recited three times daily on non-Sabbath days includes a specific petition that God `provide blessing upon the land and satiate us with Divine goodness, blessing our year like the good years (of old),'" he wrote in an email. "The idea behind the seasonal distinction is that rain wasn't expected during the summer months in a Mediterranean climate that is different from ours here; but for us, we know we need rain during the summer in order for us and the land to be blessed fully with Divine goodness - so clearly, our expectation is that the good for which we pray will require rain. Thus, implicitly, we still ask for rain at this time."

Brody also described an ongoing prayer for rain that, among some Jews, can take the form of reciting every morning and evening Deuteronomy 11:13-21, which expresses the idea "that if we are true to God's ways, we will be blessed with rain that will grant us abundance, enabling us to eat and be satisfied; but that if we stray from that path, following `other gods,' God will close up the sky and there will be no rain, spelling doom for us all," he wrote. "Receiving this reminder every day through the ritual recitation of verses of holy text allows us to reorient our priorities towards what really matters - a functioning ecosystem that allows for all life to flourish."

Harish Kotecha, a leader in Austin's Hindu community, explained the Hindu approach to invoking rain. Individual Hindus recite mantras to Varuna, god of the waters, when rain is desired and there are also specific ceremonies that are thousands of years old that are performed. "The River Ganga, who is considered the deity or intelligence behind the River that brings life to millions, may be invoked," he wrote. Last summer, when Russia suffered severe drought, some members of the Hindu community started rain ceremonies in Austin that lasted for three days. A friend e-mailed to say there was a downpour and the drought ended. But, Kotecha said, "nevertheless, sometimes we perform the rain ceremonies and no rains come, such as during the current drought in Austin."

Rev. Bobbi Kaye Jones, superintendent of the United Methodist Church's Southwest Texas Conference, wrote in an email, "Most don't believe you have to move your lips for a need to be known, so how could one not see the need of the land and the birds and animals and not find your heart moved to long for rain? And that would be a prayer, I believe."

Richard Parker, in an opinion piece in last Sunday's New York Times, wrote about the devastation wrought by the drought eloquently, noting that we might need more prayer than just Perry's words, proclamations and intentions, he muses. "Up in Austin, Gov. Rick Perry is moving toward a run for the presidency. But he has had precious little to say about the drought that is devastating his state," Parker wrote. "He did organize a prayer for rain back in April. Looking at that blazing hot, clear blue sky up there, it seems heaven isn't listening."