It's Saturday again. The sermon is coming along fine, though I haven't had the "a-ha" moments I would like to have when preparing. I suspect that's due to the disjointed nature of my week. A disjointed week usually equals a disjointed sermon. Next week should be smoother (famous last words).
In this week's sermon I'll open by taking a trip down memory lane, back to my life as a ten-year-old. Hopefully it will be at least mildly entertaining as I attempt to make the point that the things we used to worry about have changed dramatically in the past 30 years (goodness . . . I turn 40 later this month). Tomorrow's sermon comes out of Matthew 6 and Jesus' words about not worrying, preferring that we seek first the kingdom of God and God's righteousness.
I usually write out an entire manuscript and then break it down into sermon notes. This week I skipped the manuscript step. I'm tempted to worry about that . . . but . . . well . . . I'm trying to practice what I'm about to preach.
I like tomorrow's prayer because I stole phrases from my mentor-by-proxy, A.E. Whitham. If a phrase in the following prayer strikes you as especially poetic it is probably from Whitham's work.
Prayers of the Church for Grandview
July 15, 2007
O God, who penciled in the lily and put fire in the heart of a rose; who set the rainbow against the storm rack and gave sweet laughter to humanity. You create beauty so magnificent that we find ourselves celebrating before you—awestruck. What can a human say when staring over the edge of the great canyons in the west, when nestled in the bosom of the plush Appalachian Mountains, when the beach thumps and rumbles beneath the collapsing waves, when the fields dance in unison to the rhythms of the wind, when the stars fill up the skies, and when we turn to the affirming embrace of a loved one? What can we say, but “Great is our God and worthy of praise.”
As the delicate sparrow survives the fierce storm, so too, O God, protect us in our most difficult hours. Shield us. Give us our daily bread. Breathe your Spirit into us. Clothe us with righteousness.
Forgive us for staring at the miracle of life for so long that we, at last, miss it completely. Forgive us for being dull creatures, unaware of the wonder of the universe, unaware of the wonder outside or doors, unaware of the wonder you have placed within each of us.
With a God like you, what shall we fear? Shall we fear tomorrow when you hold it in your hand? Shall we fear our enemy when you are our shield and protector? Shall we fear death when you have conquered it by the resurrection of Jesus?
We come before you humbled by your great works, but emboldened by your Son’s promises, to ask that you would heal our sick, that you would give a peaceful death to those whose time it is to die, give comfort to those who grieve great losses, strengthen those who are called to difficult tasks in this life, protect those who, like Eric Hull, are going through such difficult hours, days, months—years—in order to protect us. Also, we continue to pray for our enemies, because you told us to. Please bless them.
Up against these things and more we are tempted to worry; to be anxious; to reduce life to fear. As we sit quietly before you, please show us the things we worry about that we should just let go:
silence
Take these worries, O God, and exchange them for abundant life, pressed down and overflowing, as we pray together according to the example of Jesus the Christ:
The Lord’s Prayer
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