The Psalm of a Preacher Man...

My Psalm 
(just before preaching)

All my being seems besieged,
surrounded by sounds of the enemy.
I can't see him, but I sense him.
His voice is silence.

My heart knows of the goodness of God
but my flesh aches in sorrow.
The afflictions of men have visited me
and I cannot shed their weight.

My own iniquities haunt me
reminding me of my sins and shame.
I trust in the faithful forgiveness of my God
I cling to the hope that his mercy is steadfast.

Yet I struggle to shake the shame,
The burden of being human constricts me.
For I will stand and speak of God's Word
while I wrestle with vexing thoughts of inadequacy.

How long, Oh Lord, will my anxiety terrorize me?
How deep do its roots run within my being?
It's as if they are as many as my veins
spread throughout my body to every extremity.

Yet I remind myself of your unfailing love,
your long-suffering and kind soul toward me.
It's as if you know the plight of man,
the gravity and propensity of the fallen state.

Your mercy toward me is my only escape
I cling to your affection with my whole heart.
All my abilities are held together by your power
It is this grip of grace that holds me fast.

But why, oh my soul, are you so restless?
Why do you quake in the face of what lies before?
Have my cries for forgiveness fallen on deaf ears?
Have my short-fallings crippled your confidence?

I tell myself that God is gentle and humble in heart,
that where sin is great, his grace is greater.
But my mind cannot comprehend these thoughts,
it can't hold them and at the same time, my weakness.

I feel like I betray God and then my mind betrays me,
the violent curse of the fall and continued falling of man.
I cower to return as a son and posture myself a slave,
I resist the fatted calf and the signet ring of favor.

But your favor extends far beyond my behavior,
it comes to me as an inheritance that I did not earn.
Your feelings for me stem from my identity,
that I am your child and nothing can change that.

I quiet my soul to feel this truth,
to let have its way with me.
But my disquieted heart resists the peace,
it refuses to be given any gift of any kind.

It seeks to earn trust and deserve responsibility,
proving over time and with behavior my value.
But you remind me that my worth isn't my work,
that my value is found in the finished work of the cross.

You bind up my wounds with your blood
and bring me to life with your resurrection.
My hope is secure in you, Oh God.
My future is held firm, unshaken by emotion or circumstance.

So I lift you up, God, on this day
confessing my sins and accepting your grace.
Speak to me...speak through me,
let me be your vessel, broken and spilled out.  Amen.