Psalm 117, shortest psalm in the Bible, was part of morning prayer today. This is the one that Catholic homeschoolers give their kids to memorize when the competitive evangelical moms in the co-op start going on about all the verses little Joshua and Hannah have already learned.
The New Testament verse we have them learn is "Jesus Wept". Then we get over the scripture memory thing, because we have to get that catechism learned in time for First Holy Communion.
I love Ps. 117 not just because it is easy to memorize and say from memory while I mix pancakes on a Saturday morning, but because it contains the essence of the entire Liturgy of the Hours, which the Church calls a "sacrifice of praise." God does not need our praise. He is not vain or insecure, eternally fishing for compliments. (In other words, he is not me, thank God). God demands our praise because it's good for us.
To praise God is to acknowledge reality. To recognize who we are and what He is. To praise God is to fulfill the highest aim of our nature. To praise God here on earth is to practice for heaven, when we will morph from plodding, fat, aging boomers trying to start jogging for our health, into champion marathoners running along a beach in an endless runner's high.
Loud teenager with autism is demanding a ride in the car which had been promised much earlier. Gotta go.