Here is a particular Psalm that rarely makes it onto inspirational coffee mugs.

It does not show up embroidered on throw pillows.
It is never read softly over acoustic guitar music in church foyers.
It does not lend itself to pastel fonts or reassuring Instagram reels.

Psalm 109 is the Psalm people skip.

Not because it is obscure, but because it is inconvenient.

It is the one where the prayer is not gentle. It is not comforting. It is not polite. It does not ask for unity without accountability or peace without consequence. It does not whisper vague blessings over leadership and then quietly excuse whatever comes next.

Psalm 109 is the one where the writer looks at power run amok and says, in essence, I am still praying, but I am done pretending.

Beginning around verse six, the tone shifts. The prayer stops asking God to protect leaders and begins asking God to restrain them.

It asks that those who abuse authority be exposed.
That those who manipulate the law be judged by it.
That those who pretend righteousness while sowing chaos face consequence.

It is, frankly, a prayer written by someone who has watched the system fail and decided to document it.

Which makes it an oddly appropriate devotional for the year 2026.

Because if you live in Minneapolis right now, or if you have been watching Minneapolis burn itself hoarse trying to be heard, the idea that leadership deserves automatic reverence has begun to feel almost quaint.

Federal agents in camouflage with no visible identification.
ICE raids described as public safety exercises.
National Guard deployments justified with press releases that use words like stability and deterrence.
Protests met with armored vehicles and tear gas but no answers.

And over it all, the familiar sermon floats down from Washington like incense.

Pray for your leaders.

The implication, of course, is that prayer is supposed to replace accountability.

Psalm 109 disagrees.

The psalmist does not say, Bless them no matter what.
The psalmist does not say, Trust the process.
The psalmist does not say that both sides have valid points.

The psalmist says: Appoint someone to investigate them.

Which already feels radical.

The text goes on to ask that if leaders transgress the law, they be found guilty. That their prayers themselves be counted as sin when offered in bad faith. That their offices not outlive their integrity.

This is not a threat. It is a spiritual audit.

And suddenly it reads less like ancient scripture and more like a leaked internal memo titled “What Happens When You Break the Social Contract.”

Enter the current administration.

Donald Trump, once again seated behind the Resolute Desk, is governing less like an executive and more like a grievance channel with nuclear codes.

Pam Bondi, Attorney General by loyalty oath, repackaging prosecutorial discretion as personal vengeance and calling it constitutional originalism.

Kristi Noem, head of Homeland Security, is cosplaying as both a sheriff and an action figure while federal agents roam American cities with fewer identifiers than a parking enforcement officer.

RFK Jr. was installed as Health Secretary despite believing that Wi-Fi causes moral decay and vaccines operate through vibes.

Together, they form what can only be described as a traveling revival tent of authority without expertise.

They insist constantly that they are restoring law and order, even as the meaning of law dissolves into whatever they need it to be that morning.

In Minneapolis, this philosophy manifests physically.

Federal presence without consent.
Enforcement without clarity.
Force without transparency.

And when a civilian is killed, when the city erupts in grief and rage and exhaustion, the response is not reflection.

It is reinforcement.

More boots.
More weapons.
More statements about safety issued by people whose security details are larger than most school districts.

Psalm 109 anticipates this moment perfectly.

It warns about leaders who speak peace while preparing violence.
About officials who use the law as a shield for themselves and a club for everyone else.
About those who treat power as an inheritance rather than a responsibility.

The psalmist does not ask that lightning strike them down.

He asks something far more terrifying.

That the truth catches up.

That records be opened.
That motives be revealed.
That legacy be audited.

That the job itself reject the person occupying it.

Which feels especially fitting when watching press conferences where tragedy is reduced to talking points and human beings become unfortunate optics.

There is something grotesquely theatrical about how suffering is managed now.

A woman is killed.
A city mourns.
Protesters gather.

And somewhere, a communications director is workshopping adjectives.

Measured concern.
Strong response.
Unfortunate incident.

Psalm 109 would like a word.

It refuses euphemism.

It names betrayal.
It names corruption.
It names cruelty performed with paperwork.

It insists that leadership is not proven by volume of authority but by restraint in its use.

Which is awkward for an administration that mistakes domination for governance.

Trump calls dissent unpatriotic.
Noem calls militarization preparedness.
Bondi calls prosecutions political unless she approves them.
RFK Jr. calls public health tyranny while running the department responsible for it.

Each insists they are defending the nation.

None seems particularly concerned with defending the people.

This is where the satire darkens.

Because if Psalm 109 were written today, it would not be shouted from the steps of the Capitol.

It would be flagged as extremist content.

It would be labeled divisive.

It would be removed for violating community standards.

Apparently, wishing accountability upon leaders is more dangerous than letting leaders operate without it.

The psalmist understood something modern America pretends not to.

Prayer is not passive.

Prayer, when honest, is confrontational.

It asks whether authority still serves its purpose or has become a performance art funded by taxpayers and enforced by fear.

It asks whether those sworn to uphold the Constitution still remember what it says.

It asks whether leadership has confused being elected with being anointed.

And perhaps most uncomfortably, it asks whether silence in the face of abuse counts as endorsement.

Minneapolis is not confused.

The people are not confused.

They know the difference between safety and occupation.
Between order and intimidation.
Between law enforcement and lawlessness, wearing a badge.

What confuses them is how often officials quote scripture while ignoring its content.

Because Psalm 109 does not protect leaders from criticism.

It protects communities from leaders who believe themselves untouchable.

It does not ask citizens to bow.

It asks God to watch closely.

And then it ends with the line that has echoed uncomfortably across centuries of corrupt courts, fallen empires, and men who mistook power for permanence.

Not a curse.

A reminder.

A clock.

A margin note written in ancient ink that still applies to modern desks and temporary offices.

And may his days be few.