If you, O God, should keep track of all our failures,
none of us would make the grade.
But your hands heap pardon on all the penitent.
Forgiveness is your middle name.
Mercy is your mandate; pardon, your provision.
Declarations of amnesty flow from your lips.
Every remorse is met with remission.
The feet of your grace rush to our incarcerated souls.
Oh restless, fitful hearts:
Wait for your Redeemer;
for the Word that unlocks prison doors,
that infiltrates our enslaved minds.
Inspired by Psalm 130, reprinted from In the Land of the Willing: Litanies, Prayers, Poems, and Benedictions.
©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org