Holy One,
It’s Sunday morning, early, and I am second-guessing my sermon.
Word-smithing cannot help me.
I am second-guessing,
calculating the day of the cycle,
wondering where my words will fall within it.
While I read think pieces
by people who got a day ahead of me,
and monitor the backlash,
the predictable cycle continues,
with a dash of conspiracy theories
and notes of white supremacy,
and fresh outrages of
people stalked
by officers of the law.
How is every day *not*
a day of outrage?
I backspace, rearrange,
try to land somewhere
between lament
and exhortation
because you did not
create us helpless,
and the power
to break the cycle
is ours.
(Any way *that* will preach?)
In your name, for your sake, I hope so. Amen.
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