(Or maybe we should say, “A Poem Out of Sorts.” I’m embarrassed to post this, but perhaps some pastor somewhere will connect with it.)

It’s Saturday night and sermon time–

When the brain starts to panic

And fears shift into overdrive.

I’ve worked on this message all week–

Labored over the text and yes I’ve

Checked the Hebrew and also the Greek.

You’d think by now I’ve have it down

To a system, a method, an art,

But here in my study, my brain has shut down.

It’s not that I don’t know what to do,

It’s certainly not a new spot to be in

When the calendar and the clock say a sermon is due.

I’ve got twenty-eight points and need just three;

Four directions and hardly a clue.

Dear Lord, I could use your simplicity.

What shall I do with all these notes?

Take them into the pulpit?

That would be a joke.

Maybe if I laid them aside

And went on to bed

My subconscious would organize

Everything God has said.

I’ve heard of preachers who can work all week

With hardly a thought of next Sunday morn,

Then stand and let it flow, organized and neat.

But that’s not me, Lord–O that it were!

To stand and proclaim with hardly a stir,

And know that I had delivered life’s elixir.

So, back to the study; back on my knees.

Here I am again, Lord; help me please.

Refresh my staleness with Thy heavenly breeze.

And then, Monday morning, I run across

The notes and recall how I tossed

And turned all night through

Worrying, “Lord, what should I do?”

The sermon went well if I’m any judge.

I’m not, of course, I’m happy to say.

But God really blessed this homiletic drudge.

I really felt His power, He was definitely there.

The message came together.

You could feel it in the air.

“Wow, that was something, Pastor,” they said at the door.

I didn’t need to hear it.

The Spirit had said it before.

“Father, why do I worry? why so much doubt?

Why do I repeat this cycle

Week in and week out?”

This time I will learn and do better,

Start earlier, pray stronger, work harder.

I’ll be preaching Paul’s Ephesian Letter.

But if the past is any indication

If I know my self as I do,

Saturday night will be my ruination–

When all my anxieties come due.

I have thought of a possible solution

One every pastor will adopt–

Let’s remove Saturday nights altogether

Ask Congress to see they are dropped.

But then there’s one more possibility

Something that appeals to my mind–

A date with my wife on Saturday night,

Dinner and a movie and her time.

The sermon would have to be finished

By Friday if this is to have a chance–

Then when the Saturday night anxieties show up

They’ll learn I’ve gone to the dance.

(My deepest apologies to everyone who knows how poems should be formed.)