Read: Psalm 38

I confess my iniquity; I am sorry for my sin.
-Psalm 38:18

I will readily admit that I am very much on the Anglo-Catholic end of the Episcopal spectrum. I’m happy with the bowing, sitting, kneeling, genuflecting, and standing parts of the pew aerobic routine that is Sunday worship. Holy water? Love it! Ash cross on Ash Wednesday? Let’s wear that baby out in public until it wears off! Stations of the Cross on Good Friday? Totally there. I have two Anglican rosaries because of a former rector who taught me about it and made one of them for me, and I am one of those people that needs something in my fingers to pay attention.

One of my favorite “Catholic” things is the rite of Reconciliation, commonly known as “Confession”. I am a convert to Christianity, and it took me years to believe that I was truly forgiven for things in my past. I dwell on my sins longer than I should and going through the rite once a year during Lent keeps me both mentally and spiritually healthy. (It was essential during the two years I went through my divorce because it helped me work through my part in things.) The feeling of hands on my head and the sign of the cross being made on my forehead is a tactile reminder that I am forgiven and that my sins do not define me.

For this reason, I identify with the psalmist today. I know the feeling of “my iniquities … weigh[ing] like a burden too heavy for me” (v.4), and “groan[ing] because of the tumult of my heart” (v.8). What I need to remember is that the Lord is faithful and will forgive my sins. I need the reminder that God will “make haste to help me” (v.22), and that Jesus died for my sins. It is why I kneel for the Confession of Sin during worship—it is a tactile reminder of humbling myself before God and confessing what I have done that has hurt and me and has hurt others. God forgives me… and will forgive you as well!

Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent. For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us; that we may delight in your will, and walk in your ways, to the glory of your Name. Amen. (BCP, p. 360)
-Jen McCabe

Read: Psalm 61

From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
-Psalm 61:2

Shortly after I moved to Minnesota, I was flipping channels in the middle of the night and came upon a music channel and the refrain of a song kept playing over and over again.

Hear my prayer, O Lord
From the ends of the earth I cry
Your peace will lead me to
The rock that is higher than I

Unfortunately, I never caught who recorded it, and that bummed me out because I could not get the song out of my head. It was not until the end of my time there that I caught the song again on that late-night Christian music show. It was called “Hear My Prayer” and recorded by the Maranatha Singers. I ordered the CD off of Amazon (as this was in the days before iTunes), and the song has remained a favorite of mine for close to two decades.

I love this particular song (and the psalm from which it comes) because of the image of God as a rock that is higher than me, and which is therefore a safe place to be placed. This two year period marked the second time I was put on medication for depression and anxiety, and it was during this time that we found the magic dosage of my current medication that I have been on for almost two decades. It was a time where my former husband’s parishioners were mining my personal life and my web presence to try and to find any negative thing about me to use against me and against my former husband. It was a time when I needed peace, and it was the point I had to separate my faith from my former husband’s ministry because his churches were literally trying to hurt us. The image of God as my rock sustained me then, and it sustains me to this day.

Be our rock and a strong tower above our enemies, Lord. Give us your peace and surround us with your presence. Amen.
-Jen McCabe

Read: Psalm 71

In your righteousness deliver me and rescue me; incline your ear to me and save me.
-Psalm 71:2

Here the psalmist raises another prayer for protection. He laments once again vulnerability at the hand of wicked enemies. He pleads for God to incline an ear, to really hear the cries for help. We humans have a need to be heard, to be truly understood. We instinctually know as newborns that we must cry for our very survival. Verse 6 says, “Upon you I have leaned from my birth; it was you who took me from my mother’s womb.” So, there was never a time that God didn’t hear us. What a comfort!

I’m also reminded of something my mother told me. Now, Mom wasn’t particularly “touchy-feely”; she was definitely a “spare the rod, spoil the child” kind of parent. When I was only four years old, I passed her bedroom late one evening and heard her quietly speaking. Eight months pregnant with my little sister, she was lying on the bed, reading aloud—and alone. When asked who she was talking to, she patted her belly and said, “To your little brother or sister.” Surely wide-eyed, I asked why. In the sweetest tone I can ever remember her intoning, she replied, “So they’ll know my voice already when they’re born. When I call you, you know my voice. That’s because I read to you, too.”

Nearly thirty-five years later, it was my turn to read to her. Mom had Parkinson’s for about 20 years by this point and following hip surgery, she spent about two months at a rehab hospital. I traveled from Texas to Indiana to give my sisters, who lived locally, a break from overseeing her care by spending all day every day with her for my two-week visit. At her request, I read to her from the Bible for hours, always from the psalms, and she frequently asked me to repeat the 71st. She noted that we are not cast off in old age and gray hair, that God is faithfully present throughout our entire lives. We may well “see many troubles and calamities” (v. 20), but God’s promise is repeated revival—life anew over and over.

Indeed, God is our hope (v. 5) and our salvation (v. 3).

Oh God, you who created us, we thank you for always hearing us when we pray. Amen.
-David Sloat

Read: Psalm 59

Even now they lie in wait for my life; the mighty stir up strife against me. For no transgression or sin of mine, O Lord, for no fault of mine, they run and make ready.
-Psalm 59:3-4a

The social media site Reddit has a subreddit (or a separate message board) called “Ask Reddit” where people can ask questions. A popular post topic is “Medical professionals of Reddit, what is the stupidest excuse you have ever heard someone give for what happened?” Some of the more family-friendly stories involve someone getting stabbed or shot and claiming that they were “standing on the street corner minding their own business” or “sitting on the porch reading the Bible”. The true explanation for how the stabbing/shooting happened is a little more complex in reality, but people really do think that the ER staff believes that they were doing nothing when they got injured.

Unlike these emergency room patients, David really is innocent in all of this. King Saul has fallen out of favor with God, David has been anointed as Saul’s successor, and Saul wants David dead. There is legitimate fear on David’s part, but he has a very strong trust in God protecting him. He looks forward to God showing up his enemies in front of everyone to show off the power of the God he serves. It reminds me of Jim Wallis’s comment that “God is so much bigger than all the things we fear.” God is so much bigger than Saul’s hatred of David.

Remind us, loving God, that you are so much bigger than all the things that scare us. Amen.
-Jen McCabe

Read: Psalm 102

I am like an owl of the wilderness, like a little owl of the waste places. I lie awake; I am like a lonely bird on the housetop.
–Psalm 102:6

In the prayerbook version of this psalm, the first owl is like a vulture, circling above. My Hebrew is too poor to know whether the bird in question is an owl or a vulture, but I know both circle overhead looking for food. The vulture looks for the carcass, while the owl looks for the snake or the rodent. Then there is the swallow, sitting on the rooftop watching for the squiggle of the worm beneath. All hunger. Each needs nourishment. Each must be vigilant. Closing their eyes, they will see nothing. Seeing nothing, they would die.

When I wrote my book, Who the Blazes is Jesus, I couldn’t help but see Jesus (in the Gospel of Mark) as One who always kept his eyes open, but not with a desire to devour what he saw, but to see God at work in the world around him. When Jesus hung upon the cross, I wonder if this passage came to mind. As the people around him circled, and mocked him, and spit upon him, I wonder if he saw them as vultures and owls. As others mourned his death, I wonder if he remembered what he had said about “not one sparrow falling from the sky but that God knows about it.”

It has been a long time since I have felt like smoke blowing away on a gentle breeze. Maybe it is a scary image. Maybe it is a sad and lonely image or feeling. But I trust God’s promise that God will gather us all up at the end. Our lives may decline and dissipate in the manner of all that is organic and corrupt, but I know our Redeemer lives, even when it hurts. That’s all I need, even when the worm turns; the swallow will carry us up to high places in the end.

God, sometimes I am not all here. Sometimes, like smoke, I find myself carried aloft or carried away. And yet, you bring me back. You circle, you see, you find, you grasp, and you save, even when it hurts and especially when it hurts. And you make it better. Thank you. Amen.
-The Rev. Keith Axberg

Read: Psalm 17

Guard me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings.
-Psalm 17:8

Every time I read the Psalms, I feel deep empathy. As a child, I was taught that David was the author, so perhaps that’s why I felt especially drawn to them initially. We know, of course, that writers also included Moses, Solomon, etc., but there’s still an almost mystical familiarity for me. Even now as I near 60 years of age my most common intentional readings of scripture find me in Proverbs, Song of Solomon, the Gospels—and always, the Psalms. I have come to see it as my persistent confirmation of a call to music.

Why empathy? I believe it’s because the Psalms frequently remind us of the emotional states of being human: fear, loneliness, vulnerability, hopelessness—brought about by that nagging worry that, underneath it all, we don’t really deserve love. As is so common, Psalm 17 finds the writer praying for deliverance from persecutors. Again. It’s a recurring lament throughout the entire book. It’s a recurring lament of the human condition!

But there are also glorious mountaintop moments in the Psalms: triumphant songs of confidence, thanksgiving for victory, gratitude for recovery from serious illness, the joy of forgiveness—even an ode for a royal wedding—and of course, the beloved story of the Divine Shepherd’s love and care for us.

I chose to highlight verse 8 because I’m new to Washington State. Sure, I’ve eaten Washington apples my entire life, but I see new meaning here now. We’re not just an apple of God’s eye, but the apple—the fullest, shiniest, reddest, most sweet, juicy, and delicious. We’re Honeycrisps! We’re Cosmic Crisps! Or giant, delightful Jazz apples! And as God’s favorite, each of us, we may feel secure—and loved completely, perfectly, unconditionally—in that protective shelter right next to God’s very own heart. Maybe that’s really why I return over and over to the Psalms.

In verse 15, the psalmist declares hope in the morning: that he will behold God’s face in righteousness, satisfied to behold God’s likeness. That likeness in which we are all created. So even at our worst moments, in the fear, loneliness, vulnerability, and hopelessness of life’s lowest places, we can look in the mirror and find comfort.

Oh, God, hold before us your divine countenance; may it always be our aspiration. Amen.
-David Sloat