Shepherd

A Psalm of David.
¹ The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. 
²   He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;^* 
3   he restores my soul.^*
He leads me in right paths^*
   for his name’s sake.

⁴ Even though I walk through the darkest valley,^*
   I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
   your rod and your staff—
   they comfort me.

⁵ You prepare a table before me

   in the presence of my enemies;

you anoint my head with oil;

   my cup overflows. 

⁶ Surely^* goodness and mercy^* shall follow me

   all the days of my life,

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord

   my whole life long.

Psalm 23

“Shepherd”

These words from the 23^rd Psalm are so iconic and so deep for many of us, familiar probably for many of us who have heard them so often in different moments of our lives. They are beautiful and telling mostly because of their simplicity—just a few verses overflowing with profound words and imagery, verses that make us think of a God who loves us deeply, a God who welcomes us in life and death, a God who gives us all we need, our God who shepherds through all the days of our life.  This Psalm is one of so many prayed to God—these psalms are a collection of songs to God, prayers of thanksgiving sung in times of celebration, prayers of agony and anguish cried to God in times of darkness and pain.

I imagine that, for most of us when we read this Psalm, we most often focus on the 4^th verse: “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me, God; your rod and your staff—they comfort me.” How many of us have read and heard and prayed this verse in the darkest times of our lives, in the valleys of depression and questioning and sadness, in the times when we have doubted and grieved and not known what was coming next? We say this verse, pray this verse, hoping for the reassurance that God is our strength, our comfort as we walk through the darkest valley, praying that God is walking with us when times seem the darkest. We hear this verse, read it, pray it because we need to be have the reassurance that God is with us, walking beside us, shepherding us just when things life seems most bleak, most sad, just when we feel like we can’t see any light ahead of us. In the shadow of death, we need the assurance that God is with us.

How many of us have read and heard and prayed this verse in hospital waiting room and at bedsides as our loved ones are drawing closer to God, found comfort in these words as they are read at memorial services or at the sides of graves? Most, if not all of us in this room, have experienced death in our lives, whether the death of a parent or a spouse, the death of a child or a relative, the death of a pet or a friend or a loved one. We know what it feels like to grieve and to seek comfort, to need God’s strength and comfort and love in our lives.

It is significant that this text is found first in our lectionary cycle a few weeks before Good Friday as Jesus is journeying towards his own death, walking through his own darkest valleys. Can you imagine how Jesus must have felt as he was journeying toward his death—how he must have felt lonely and abandoned and scared out of his wits? Although he knew he was called to be the Good Shepherd, he needed some comfort of his own, someone to be a shepherd for him, someone to walk with him and comfort him. Maybe he, too, just like we do in those darkest valleys, recited these words to himself, calling and reaching out to God: “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me, your rod and your staff, God, they comfort me.”  

This 23^rd Psalm is used in our Lenten journey with Christ—the imagery of death and sorrow and the need for comfort from this text is deep here. During Lent, we journey with Christ through the deepest valleys of death towards his crucifixion on the cross; we see him face the evils of our betrayal, of our words, of our sin, so much so that he dies for all of us on that Good Friday. But the good news, friends, the best news for all of us, is that—just as Good Friday was not the end of Christ’s journey, Christ’s story, Good Friday is not the end of our journey, our story as Christ’s people. The best news is that our story is a story of resurrection. The best news is that we are called to live as Christ’s people, as Easter people, as people who believe and celebrate that Christ has risen from the tomb, risen from the darkest valley, come back to life to shepherd and lead us again.

I love that the 23^rd Psalm appears again in our lectionary cycle a few weeks after Easter, too. For as much as this text is a Lenten text about endings, it is so much more an Easter text about beginnings for all of us, a text about community, a text about celebration, a text about every day life in the presence of the good Shepherd. In his commentary on this Psalm, John White writes this:

This psalm is often read and heard in the midst of death and dying, at it can offer comfort to a grieving family as well as hope for all who listen, but to limit this psalm exclusively to this usage limits the power and scope of its message…this particular psalm is not merely for moments of death. It needs to be read, heard, and understood more importantly as a psalm about living, for it puts daily activities, such as eating, drinking, and seeking security, in a radically God-centered perspective that challenges our usual way of thinking…Yes, our Lord is the shepherd; God is also our host. Throughout the entirety of our lives, we should never lose sight that we dwell in the house of the Lord. We rejoice in the constant presence and vigilance of a God who has cared for us, and will always care for us, both as individuals, and as a community of the faithful.

His words here reflect the richness of this Psalm.  God is our Shepherd, our Lord. And because of that, God shepherds us along the way and gives us all that we will ever need. God creates a stunning world full of green pastures for us and calls us to stop in the midst of the craziness and busyness of our lives—calls us to stop and lie down in those pastures, to appreciate them and to breathe in the breath of life that comes besides the still waters. God gives us free spirits and free wills, but somehow we walk along paths knowing that we are always somehow tethered back, no matter how dark they may seem. God sets our tables and fills them with all kinds of faces, those familiar and loved, and also with those whom we have deemed our enemies, simply because we never know what we can learn from each other. God fills our cups and never lets them go empty, always serving as host, always filling us and anointing us along the way.

This text does give us the imagery of the deepest and darkest valleys, but it gives us so much more imagery about life—imagery about green pastures and still waters, imagery about restored souls and right paths, about prepared tables and anointed heads and cups filled to overflowing, about goodness and mercy, imagery about living in the house of the Lord our whole lives long. And the best news of all is that this text gives us the crucial imagery of a shepherd who is with us all along the way—walking with us through the deepest and darkest valleys, sitting with us at all of our different tables-tables small and empty, tables long and full, lying with us in the greenest pastures, a shepherd following us every day of our lives.

You know, I have seen that shepherd living in, living through all of you. I would like to take a few moments to thank all of you for being Easter people for me, for being shepherds over the past several years, for showing God’s love to me and encouraging me to get out of the valley to live as an Easter person. When you live in fear every day as I have been doing in the shadow of an uncertain illness, it is easy to stay in the deepest depths of the valley and to not be able to look around to see the green pastures beside you or the still waters around you. But, because you all have been so greatly loved by God, you have greatly loved me. You have welcomed me to your tables and literally fed me with meals.  You have fed me with your prayers and with your love and with your hugs. You have welcomed me with grace and understood when I couldn’t talk and stood with me when I struggled. I can never thank you enough. You all have shepherded me and welcomed me back to life. You have been shepherds for me and the greatest source of comfort I could have ever imagined. Thank you.

I could spend days thanking you, but then I will cry more and it will get ugly! So, since I love to sing and love to hear you sing, let’s sing together. As we take some time to sing our hymn together, take some time to reflect not only on the gorgeous tune, but also on these words, words about comfort in death, words about assurance in life:

“When I walk through the shades of death your presence is my stay; one word of your supporting breath drives all my fears away…The sure provisions of my God attend me all my days; O may your house be my abode, and all my work be praise. There would I find a settled rest, while others go and come; no more a stranger, or a guest, but like a child at home.”

Thanks be to God.  Amen.