Psalm 23 May 11, 2014

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Vanessa Edwards
6 years ago
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1 Finding Our Voice Ben Johnston-Krase Psalm 23 May 11, 2014 The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name s sake. 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. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. 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. Our Confirmation Class retreat took place yesterday here at the church, and I stopped by for a bit to do what I ve done with each Confirmation Class over the past few years. We went on a sort of in-depth tour of the church. In particular, I took them right up there, above where we are sitting right now. We walked along above this sanctuary and stood there, next to the chandelier. And it was there that we stopped to look around and to talk. I pointed out to them these massive old growth pine timbers that hold our roof over our heads each one maybe 16 or 18 feet long all of them pulled into place with mule teams back in the mid-1800 s. Then we went part way up the bell tower, to a landing where the light came in through a south window. Again, we were surrounded by these enormous pieces of timber, under our feet, holding us up, and stretching overhead to support the tower and the bell. And it was there on that landing where we got out our Bibles and read Psalm 23 together. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul Whenever I m up there in the attic or in the bell tower and I shared this with the confirmands yesterday whenever I m up there I wonder about all the times over the years, when the people below, here in this room, have found their voice with a psalm like Psalm 23. All the women, men, and children for whom the reality, The Lord is my shepherd, came alive at some moment in worship. All of those people who were sitting here in these pews but who found themselves lying down in green pastures and beside still waters their souls restored. It s powerful to stand up there above us and to sense the history of this family of faith, gathering here year after year. It s powerful to stand up there and wonder about all of those people who have walked through the valley of shadow of death. The NRSV translates this a little differently; it says Even though I walk through the darkest valley, but this is one line that I prefer in the old King James Version: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death That s good language to describe that experience many of us have had Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of losing a parent, losing a sibling, losing a child

2 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of round 3 of chemotherapy, round 4 of heart disease, round 5 of the custody battle at the courthouse Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of my own loneliness, my own failure, my own regret Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of unemployment, of having to start over, of having to say to myself and to the world, definitively, The life that I have right now is not the life I wanted. Part of the great power of Psalm 23 is that it names for us a lost and painful place where we will all find ourselves at least once in our lifetime. In the 70 s and early 80 s the country of Uruguay was ruled by a brutal military dictatorship. It used fear and terror to demoralize the population, taking thousands of political prisoners. Once in prison, the prisoners were not allowed to talk without permission, or whistle, smile, sing, walk fast, or greet other prisoners; nor were they permitted to make or receive drawings of pregnant women, couples, butterflies, stars or birds all potential symbols for the counter-revolution. One such prisoner was Didasko Pérez, a school teacher who was tortured and jailed. Didasko s daughter, Milay, was five years old, and one Sunday afternoon, she visited him. She brought with her a drawing of some birds that she had made. The guards took it and destroyed it at the entrance of the jail. On the following Sunday, Milay brought her father another drawing, this time of some trees. Pictures of trees were not forbidden, and so this one got through. When Didasko saw it, he praised her work and asked about the colored circles scattered in the treetops, many small circles half-hidden among the branches. Are they oranges? he asked, What fruit did you draw here? The child put her fingers to her mouth. Ssssshhh. And she whispered in his ear, Silly. Don't you see they're eyes? They're the eyes of the birds that I've smuggled in for you. [1] Sometimes life is difficult. In fact, sometimes life is too difficult to name or even think about. And so sometimes reading a psalm is like smuggling language into our minds and hearts language that names the stuff that s too painful to talk about or too painful to hope for. And sometimes the psalms smuggle in a hopeful word or two. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For you, God, are with me. Sometimes those are words we can t manufacture ourselves. When life just stinks. When we re stuck in the valley. When we try to say something good but everything just sounds like empty, hollow religious platitudes. Sometimes we find our voice when a psalm smuggles in a word or two like I will fear no evil, for you God you are with me. I have a good friend for whom Mother s Day is always difficult. She herself is not a mother, as she and her husband have made a conscious decision to not have children. Though this hasn t always been easy, and at awkward times she has felt like she needs to somehow justify that decision in the midst of her family s expectations. Beyond that, she has a difficult, conflicted relationship with her own mother.

3 And so every year, when Mother s Day rolls around, what can she do but take it like a punch? That s what it feels like life s annual cruel and unfair punch, reminding her what part of her own valley of the shadow of death feels like. Now maybe you ve seen this if you go on Facebook much. Lots of people, on Mother s Day, go on Facebook and change their profile picture to a photograph of their mothers. It s sort of a nice way to pay tribute to mom stick a cute picture of her on Facebook for the world to see. Well this friend of mine has never posted a picture of her mother on Mother s Day too hard, too painful. But this year, she has posted dozens of pictures of all the people in her life who have mothered her in loving, affirming ways. Friends, neighbors, teachers, pastors, extended family members, women and men all of these people who have mothered her in her life. I love it! Mother s Day is a wonderful day, on which we honor and affirm mothers in our lives. But for people who have lost mothers, and for people who struggle to get along with their mothers, and for women who wish they could have children but cannot, and for women who have lost children, Mother s Day can sting fiercely. What I love is that amid all the sappy, over-commercialization of Mother s Day, my friend is using Facebook to smuggle a different reality into people s lives a reality in which we celebrate, Yea, though I walk through the valley of broken family ties, I will fear no evil, for God is with me, and I do indeed have good mothers in my life. That s what the psalms do for us, friends they smuggle promising, hopeful language into the valleys of our lives language that empowers us to find our God-given, God-blessed voice a voice that doesn t ring hollow with well-rehearsed religious right answers, but rather a voice names the reality of God s abundant love with us and for us, never abandoning us, always coming, always loving, always mothering us with compassion and grace. Part of today s message is: Be on the lookout for the living psalms that will smuggle a word or two from God into your life. Be on the lookout. A pastor recalls a time in his church one fine spring day like today when the children of the church stood up to sing, and something was different. They were all standing up there as they did from time to time, and the congregation was beaming at them as they always did. Like most children s choirs, they had gathered there at the front of the sanctuary without any sense of decorum or formality, and standing there, they were antsy and giggly and wiggly, smiling and waving to their parents. Only this time, there was one child the most wild of all the children standing there as no one had ever seen him stand before. James.

4 James stood up in front of the congregation, military and straight. That child at the age of six had his chest stuck out, his skinny chest stuck out like something terribly important was going to happen. His chin was up and the hair fell down his back. Something, something in his manner, said this would not be the same sort of Sunday that it had been before. A little backstory. James was the most unrestrained child in church. James was the kind of boy who, if he loved you, would literally race across the fellowship hall and bomb you with his head, knock the wind out of you and squeeze you. He was the kind of child whose toy in church was G.I. Joe, so that while the pastor could be preaching about peace, he would have G.I. Joe shooting Christians down where they sat. He would shout in church. He would get up and walk up to the pastor, even while he was preaching. Pastor, he said once after the sermon was finished, Pastor when you die, I'm going to be a pastor. The past year had made things more difficult with James. His parents had begun to get a divorce, and the more that family pulled apart, the wilder James himself was. So it was shocking to that church that, of all the children, James would be the only one who stood up formal and straight. The children sang their first song, and all the congregation smiled upon them with the beamings of God, and when they were done, the congregation did what it always did. They clapped! They applauded the children and the children smiled and they waved back and applauded themselves, and then they all tottered off to the front pews and sat down, except for James. James was the only one who had not sat down. Still with his chest out, someone went to the piano and began to play, and the church realized what was happening. James, at six years old was going to sing his first solo in his entire life and he was taking it very seriously. They should have known. Sitting near the front of the sanctuary was James father who was there with his girlfriend. To his right, across the aisle and a row or two behind, was his mother who was flanked on that particular Sunday by her parents, one on one side and one on the other, and they all sat with their arms folded as if this were some kind of an invasion into enemy territory. All eyes were fixed on James, though the whole congregation could sense the icy tension between mom and dad. The piano began to play and James started to sing in an astonishingly pure voice right on the notes, he sang: The Lord s my shepherd, I ll not want; He makes me down to lie.

5 No one had never heard James voice before, and this wild child with his messy mop of hair, with his G.I. Joe attacks, with his vigorous love was singing as sweetly as the angels. And then he came to the second verse. The whole congregation was quiet. Yea, though I walk through death s dark vale. And you know how sometimes when somebody has memorized a song, you can watch by their eyes and you can see that the end of the memorization is coming but the song won t be over? Yet will I fear no ill. Poor James began to feel that the end of the song was going to catch him before the music was done. The whole congregation watched his face. They saw that the song was coming to that very moment that it was going to strike and James the Wild Child wasn t going to find the words but then suddenly, he found them! For thou art with me, and thy rod and staff, me comfort still. Oh, the congregation was with him. He had survived and he went on to sing three, four verses of this beautiful song, only the more that he sang the quieter the congregation became. By the time he got to the fifth verse, the pastor heard a sound near the front of the church and looked. James father s head was down. His father had taken off his glasses, covered his eyes, and was sobbing. And then he looked to the other side, and there was his mother still with her chin up and her arms folded, in enemy territory, but the tears were streaming down her cheeks. Surely goodness and mercy all my days, sang James and the whole congregation fell very still. Something was happening, something altogether different was happening in this church. Members of the congregation were peering so closely at James whose voice was brighter than he knew, clearer than he knew, more holy than he ever realized. Shall follow me, he sang, and in God's house forever more, my dwelling place shall be, he sang. My dwelling place shall be. And when he was done, no one moved. No one could move. His father's head was down, his mother's head was up, and the tears were coming from them both. No one applauded. James waited for his applause and no one was applauding. They were looking down; they were looking up; they were looking away and poor James was lost.

6 So he put closure to the song that the congregation would not applaud. James bowed, bowed vigorously until the congregation began to laugh, broke open with a dear and blessed laughter, that James had been more beautiful, that James had preached more loudly than the wild child had known. [2] JAMES FOUND HIS VOICE. And he smuggled it right into that church, even into that icy, enemy territory. Friends, may today s word become for you a living psalm, giving voice to your joy, promising rest to your tiredness, proclaiming peace to the warring parts of you. And especially if you are experiencing one of life s valleys, may God s Good Word sneak in like smuggled goods, helping you find your voice again, gifting you with hope. Amen. 1. I picked up this story from an Advent resource called An Advent Sourcebook, which is put out by Liturgy Training Publications. But it s originally from Memory of Fire: Volume III: Century of the Wind, by Eduardo Galeano, translated by Cedric Belfrage. 2. From Walter Wangerin, Jr s 1995 Easter Sunday sermon, In Whom Will Jesus Rise Around You, published on the Chicago Sunday Evening Club s 30 Good Minutes.

Love Letter to Max Baptism of Maxwell Zachary Williams Psalm 23; John 10:22-30

Love Letter to Max Baptism of Maxwell Zachary Williams Psalm 23; John 10:22-30 Psalm 23 The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. 2 He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters;