A Liturgy For Hypochondriacs

My husband asked me what I was going to do differently. I said: go back to a counselor, and write a liturgy. This latter idea is 100% shamelessly copied from my new favorite book, Every Moment Holy a book rich and wonderful in everyday liturgies, like one for morning coffee and shopping and Christmas! But (how weird!) there wasn’t one for this! So I wrote it.

Liturgy For Hypochondriacs

Not your run-of-the-mill blog title, so let me explain. I have struggled with anxiety in my adult years. I’ve kind of gotten warm and usual with the presence of fear (which often manifests in diagnosing miscellaneous ailments). It’s funny and it’s not at all funny. In fact, recently some dear friends called me out, in the most beautiful way, that this sin destroys the abundant life.

My Father, my Creator,

I was nothing, and you made me. I had nothing, and you gave me everything. You are the Giver of good gifts, the Breather of Life, the Molder of cells and blood and marrow and tissue.

All things are in your hands. Not a leaf drops to the ground that you do not know. Not a hair falls, not a cell divides, not a heart beats that you have not intimately known.

In your great mercy, I am alive today. In your great mercy, I am not only alive, but overflowing with blessing after blessing I do not deserve. Hands to hold, children to love, sunshine to feel and see. Everywhere I look, there is a gift from you.

You have been so faithful all of my days. I have lacked no good thing. You have never left me. You hold me close when I am sad. There has not been a moment in my life you have not been good, have not been near. My days past are one long story of your abundant faithfulness, kindness, and generosity.

And yet, I fear.

I see the burdens of others–and I wonder. I feel the tinge of weakness, the reminder of frailty–and I worry.

Will you really always be good?

Why do people suffer so?

Why don’t you answer and heal?

What if your goodness ends?

It is here in my doubts that I am laid low with my sinfulness, and I confess it to you today.

I confess that You Are God and I am not. You are the Big Omniscient, Omnipotent, Omnipresent God and I am a little created thing. You rule kingdoms and nations and time. You formed heaven and earth. (No place can contain you.) You are the maker and I am the formed.

I confess that I have claimed to give you my life, yet hold onto it so. I release that life again. I hold it up to you–sweaty, clamoring hands–and surrender what belongs to you anyway.

I give you my life. I am yours. I repent of demanding that my life looks the way I want it to. I repent of trying to be god of myself. I repent of withholding this or that or them. Yes, it all belongs to you; do what you may.

I repent of doubting your goodness.

I repent of squandering my days in worry, in not enjoying this one good life.

I repent of fixing my eyes on myself.

I repent of not believing in Heaven.

Help me, O Good God. Help me to unclasp my hands and open them to receive the gifts of this life. Have mercy on me when doubts and fears overwhelm me. Fill me with faith that You are really good, always. Help me to be present in the today. Bind that old foe Satan and his pathetic workers and lead me not into my temptations. But deliver me from evil. Thine is the Kingdom. (Not mine — blessed relief–but Thine.) And the power and the glory forever and ever.

Amen.

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