Open my lips, O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.
Yesterday, we celebrated Palm Sunday, Jesus’ triumphal entry in to Jerusalem, as the priest said in her sermon yesterday, we celebrate his coming on a stolen baby donkey. At the end of the service yesterday, we sung, “All Glory Laud and Honor, to thee Redeemer King” I was struck how well I knew that song. Since we sing some version of it on Palm Sunday and no other time, I was trying to figure out if it’s the familiarity that made me know it, since I’ve probably sung it in over 50 times that I remember, or because of it’s uniqueness, since I only sing it once a year. In either case, it was a heart-warming moment.
And continuing with yesterday’s thoughts about blessings, I actually cried at the altar rail. A father and daughter came up for a blessing at communion. English was not their first language, but they knew to come up to the rail, and cross their arms over their chest. The blue-haired priest bent over, made the sign of the cross on their head, and whispered a beautiful blessing in their ears, about how they were made by God in love, and God loves them always. God’s blessings abound, don’t they?
So this morning, I’m struck by these words in the psalm appointed for the Monday of Holy Week. Every single day in morning prayer, we pray a collective version of this line from Psalm 51. Lord, open our lips, and our mouth shall proclaim your praise. I’ve taken it for granted that it’s just one-line attestation that we’ll soon be collectively praying, opening our mouths, and a prayer that with our open lips, we use them to praise. Sort of a reminder of our intentions for the upcoming time of prayer.
But reading that sentence in context gives me a new appreciation for that proclamation. Psalm 51 is entitled Miserere Mei, Deus, translates to Have Mercy on Me, O God. It’s got an arc that concludes with this proclamation. But not before it goes through some other rough patches. The psalm is full of penitential, miserable images. Blot out all my offenses. Wash me from my wickedness. My sin is ever before me. And my least favorite - I have been wicked from my birth, a sinner from my mother’s womb. Yuck.
From all of this wretchedness, the psalmist asks God to create a clean heart in him, renew a right spirit. Sustain me with your bountiful spirit. And moving quickly on, the psalmist asks God to Give me the joy of your saving help again, and then I’ll teach your ways to the wicked. After all of this.. wretchedness, sin from birth, imploring God to renew me, and sustain me, give me joy, and I’ll teach others – only then do I say, Open my lips O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.
So it’s not just a statement of my intention in today’s prayer. Because I am again reminded of the context, it’s a recap of the power of God. Even though I’ve done wretched things and can’t seem to avoid to repeat that, even as that powerless imperfect mortal, I ask for God’s blessing and strength and joy. Despite all that, I open my lips and my mouth proclaims your praise. I don’t proclaim and praise from a place of strength and readiness, but from weakness and unpreparedness. And yet, I pray this daily.
Today, I want to think about all of the parts of my prayer scriptures that are deep, and have a lot of context I don’t always consider. And I want to extend this hidden depth to the people I encounter too. People have a lot of context and depth I don’t consider.
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