My Psalm 68

Arise, God, and scatter your enemies!
Make all your foes run scared.
Blow them away,
like campfire smoke in a windstorm;
Disable them completely,
like wax on a hot stovetop.

But make the righteous glad,
and let them skip and dance and sing before you;
make them giddy with laughter.

I will sing to you, God,
I will sing praise to your name;
I will boast about you, Cloudrider,
and I will rejoice in your presence, Yahweh,
father to the fatherless,
defender of widows,
Holy One,
family-maker,
adopter of the lonely,
liberator of prisoners.
The rebellious reject you
to their own desiccation.

March out before your people, O God,
march us through this rough terrain,
as you did your people long ago,
when the earth shook,
and the heavens poured down rain,
before God, the One of Sinai,
before God, the God of Israel.

You sent refreshing showers, O God;
you renewed your weary ones.
Your people settled in the land,
and out of your generosity,
out of your plenty, O God,
you provided for the poor.

Do it again, Lord.
Do it for us, please.
Announce your word here in our time,
in our land,
and multiply the company of those who proclaim it.
Rout kings and armies flee;
dump the plunder of the wicked into our laps.
Show your power by prospering your people
even while we sleep!
Just as you scattered the kings of Canaan,
just as you made jealous the mountains of Bashan,
make the powers and institutions of this world
gaze in envy on your people, Cobblestone,
because you are pleased to reign among us,
and with your presence comes your power,
with your working comes mighty wonders,
and great joy,
and vibrancy.

Commission your chariots, God,
twice ten thousand,
even thousands of thousands,
and come to us,
abide with us,
fight for us.

When you ascended on high,
you led captives in your train;
you received gifts from men,
even from the rebellious—
O LORD God, do it again,
among us,
for us,
through us,
in Jesus’ name!

Bear our burdens.
Save!
Deliver from death.
Crush the heads of your enemies,
turn the heads of those who go on in their sins.

Make “The Loft” your parade ground, O God,
make it your gallery of fine art.
Lead us in triumphal procession
over these coming months,
day by day, week by week,
and make your praise glorious,
contagious, drawing hundreds into your church,
making paupers into princes,
cripples into athletes,
the dead into living,
the sick into the thriving,

Parade your power, O God,
and show the whole community around us
just how faithful and generous you can be.

I sing your praise.
I write your praise.
I speak your praise,
Sky-Rider,
Cloud-strider,
Lightning-scribe
and Thunder-composer.

I give you my praise,
my standing ovation,
for all you have done
and all you do.

Show us your beauty again,
your terrible beauty, O God,
your awesome splendor,
like that you wrote in the heavens,
like that you showed to Israel.

Show your power and might
to your people, Cobblestone,
such that we will never get over it.
Amen.