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.