Oh God, don’t judge me.
1. Oh God, don’t judge me. I tripped the whole way here. I wasn’t sure The Way. I lost it.
2. Invasive examination? Goodness, me, can we skip that today? Fire my mind, my heart? I’d rather not.
3. Ugh, see your kindness, it’s at times too much for me. Who can navigate such steadfastness knowing what’s underneath the surface?
4. For instance, with hollow humans, I’ve cavorted. And with big lies, I’ve retorted.
5. No, I can’t say I hate their company, those who cross the line. I’ve been known to share a seat or two, with folks quite serpentine.
6. My hands, they’re raw from washing. Let’s circle back to your altar another time.
7. I’m crumbling at the rumbling of their thanksgiving claps. Speaking of your wonders, I can only gasp.
8. Why can’t I find peace in the refuge of your home? Isn’t this the place where dignity resides?
9. Hey, wait, please don’t toss me out with all that pain, it’s my blood they’ll drain!
10. Desperate hands make light work of wayward folk.
11. I tripped the whole way here, did I say? Catch me! Be gentle with me!
12. My foot wobbles, but still stands, on uneven ground now. Bless you.
This poem playfully reverses the psalmist’s stance in Psalm 26 while attempting to stay as close as possible to the original imagery and structure of the psalm. Rabbi Kleinbaum has been telling us this from the start: if you don’t know what else to say about the psalm, just try to rewrite it. Take out a thesaurus and go! Don’t fear “it’s not really my own voice” or “this is just an exercise in synonyms.” That is a truth that masks the fingerprints of your selections, your diction, your image.
I have been reading Mary Oliver’s The Rule for the Dance, so, naturally jumped at the chance to play with the deliciousness of meter, verse, and rhyme. Is it my favorite poem? No. But I enjoyed the process of reading closely with the psalmist. If you are looking for a way to meditate on the psalms, I do encourage you to do as Rabbi Kleinbaum taking one, line by line, and speaking it anew.