Straining for Wit and Wisdom

There are some weeks when I sit down to write a sermon and everything goes well.  The words come out in a smooth and steady stream.  The images are clear, the ideas distinct.  I feel good in those weeks as I step up to the pulpit to share.

There are other weeks, however, when this is not the way. 

I struggle to compose my own thoughts. I strain for wit and wisdom. And I feel unworthy to assume my place at the pulpit. 

I know that there's no expectation that I'm going to deliver the THE sermon that will forever alter the course of human history.  I know that I'm not likely to share anything that hasn't been said somewhere else by someone else.  I think that I'm a good preacher and I don't worry about being a GREAT preacher, but in these weeks (and this is one of them) I would like the confidence of knowing that what I'm saying - as clumsy and poor as it may be- is helpful (or at least not harmful) to someone.  Is that too much?

This weeks sermon will come from Psalm 146, a great psalm.  It's one of the hallel psalms - a praise psalm.  Psalm 146 is one that is recited daily by Jewish worshippers - even today. 

The theme of 146 is trust.  Who do we trust?  Do we trust princes, and leaders, and politicians? Will they solve our problems?  Do we trust pastors, and preachers, and teachers?  Will they fix everything up just right? Do we trust Joe-six-pack with his homespun, working class, common sense? 

Or do we trust God, "who keeps truth forever"? 

Also in this psalm is an emphasis on social justice.  The praise sounded in this psalm would make Glenn Beck very uncomfortable.   The God praised in this psalm is one who is concerned for the oppressed,  for the hungry, for the incarcerated, and for the (gasp) immigrant. 

I will continue to wrestle with this text, and with my own unwieldy thoughts, and God-willing, it will all come together before Sunday morning.