One of my inspirations describes his early preaching years with the phrase, "I bet they've never heard this before." His goal was to mine the backpages of Nahum and Habakkuk and dazzle his listeners with new Scriptures no one had taken the time to scrub clean. When met with blank stares, he said he felt like he was throwing wingless doves from the pulpit that fell dead before they ever made it to the first pew.
One day, discouraged by the lack of response, he asked a couple in his church why no one said "Amen" during his sermons. They replied, "It's because we've never heard any of this stuff before. We don't know when to 'Amen.'"
That covers one side of the Scripture continuum for us Christians. But the other end can be just as problematic, those passages with which we are too familiar, so familiar that we have hard time hearing them.
I just preached from Psalm 23, which is a monumental task. It is the equivalent of a musician trying to cover a Beatles song. You are treading on territory most people know, and certainly territory where most people have opinions. But when we are dealing with lyrics from a song that is so recognizable, a story-telling experience might be just the thing. So let's take the song line-by-line, tell some stories, and do some fancy translation along the way.
The Lord shepherds me. Literally. Another way to put this first line is not only about who God is, but what God does. God shepherds. The opening metaphor of Psalm 23 is active, something "we" recognize right away. Well, not really. "We" do not hang around shepherds. But to the people who sang this Psalm for centuries, the shepherd was a common person people saw every day. When Jesus adopted this metaphor in John 10 and call himself "The Good Shepherd," it may say something about the way we hear something later in Psalm 23, "... for his name's sake." Since Jesus wears the name above all names (cf. Philippians 2:1-11), Psalm 23 can take on fresh meaning as we continue to hear it in our lives. Couple that observation with the ancient tradition of each shepherd using a knife to cut a recognizable mark into each of his sheep's ear, and you have quite a first line.
I want for nothing. Or to put it another way, "I lack not." We move immediately from the one who is--"The Lord is my shepherd..."--into our own experience of what is not. Because of the one who is, we want for not. Since Jesus gave his life for the sheep, what else could we possibly ask for other than the life of Christ. That is one way of looking at it. But then the Psalm goes into basic necessities: A place to eat, rest, and take on new life.
In grassy meadows the Lord will make me lie down. We switch here from present tense to future. We look forward to a time when we get to leave the wilderness of uncertainty into a lush meadow filled with a place to rest. For the people who sang this Psalm during the early years, those who wandered in the desert, an image of green pastures must have seemed like a figment of imagination. And did you know, by the way, that sheep will not lie down unless they are unafraid, not hungry, and with others of their kind? (Check out Phillip Keller's little book, A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23.) Do you think that might say something about the church today? A place where people can come and not be afraid? No one goes hungry? A place where people can come and be surrounded by, you know, Christians?
Beside waters of rest the Lord will lead me. Speaking of being stuck in the desert. Water. Sounds good. But not just any water. Waters of rest. I remember the chilling statement at the end of Psalm 95 that reflects on the time God told the Meribah generation of Exodus 17 the worst thing ever: "You will never enter my rest." I think I prefer Psalm 23. Waters of rest. Led by God.
The Lord will renew my life. Restore my soul. Refresh my life. However you put it, this is good news. It foreshadows all the "new creation" language of Christian tradition. I cannot help but think of another shepherding parable when Jesus tells the story in Matthew 18 about the 100 sheep. (Especially when that parable is situated in Jesus' preaching material about how to love one another in the church, and how to gather in his name.) So the story is simple. Take 100 sheep. One gets lost. The other 99 will stay together, because that is what sheep do. The shepherd goes looking for the one, not because that sheep is a wild rebel, but because the sheep got lost. Period. He finds it. Hoists it on his shoulders. Carries it back. Puts it with the 99. But there's a problem. From what I have read, when a lost sheep is returned, it is usually traumatized. Sheep are not solitary creatures. No such thing as an introverted sheep. Spend too much time alone, and it cannot function. It takes time for the lost sheep to get her bearings once again. And because of a caring shepherd who saves the sheep from breaking down, we sing a new song: "The Lord will renew my life."
The Lord will lead me in wagon tracks of righteousness. Okay. This is my favorite line. It uses a cool Hebrew idiom about paths cut by years and years of wagons pulled along a familiar road. I remember riding in my papaw's old Ford on his ranch down dusty roads with grass on either side, and a strip of grass right down the middle. Two dirt paths, each one just a little wider than the tires of his pickup, perfectly paralleled and separated all over the ranch. That's the idiom here. Wagon tracks. Familiar paths pioneered by those who have gone before us. Nothing new. Nothing fancy. Just familiar paths already trod by spiritual mothers and fathers who have walked with God before us.
Even though I shall walk in the valley of total darkness I shall fear no evil for you are with me. Here is another Hebrew idiom, but this one is not so cool. It's dark. Literally. Deepest darkness. Dark shadows. Total lack of light. The old way of translating it was "valley of the shadow of death." That about sums it up. But for all the difficulty of hearing such a possibility of walking in that kind of valley, this may be the most faithful statement in the whole song. Did you notice that every line in the Psalm before this one describes the Lord in third person? Each line describes "The Lord." But here, everything switches to second person. Here is where the Psalm becomes a prayer. I may walk through the darkest valley. But... you are with me.
Your weapon and your staff shall comfort me. When I went with my wife to Kenya to see where she grew up, I met a number of shepherds, although they mainly herded cattle. But most of them carried the kind of "rod" described here in Psalm 23, an ancient stick with a large end designed for one thing: To kill predators. The staff was meant to grab wayward sheep and bring them back to the flock so they did not wander off. Come back to the 99. The weapon is a comfort because it keeps you safe from predators; the staff is a comfort because it keeps you from getting lost. I think there is a sermon in there somewhere.
You will spread a table before me in the presence of my enemies. This is not a statement of arrogance. This is not someone taunting their enemies. Instead, it is a statement of reality. The enemies are not going anywhere. In fact, you can see them camped on the side of the hill in the distance. The predators are there. But because of the shepherd with his weapon and his ability to provide, the sheep can eat in peace. Do you think that might have something to say to us today? We live in a culture of fear. It is the goal of advertisers and 24-hour news channels to scare us. But because of the shepherd, we can eat in peace.
You have anointed my head with oil. The opening line of the Psalm, this one, and the next one after this are the only ones that switch to past-present tense. Something happens in the immediate. If you page up, you will notice that most of the lines look to the future. "The Lord shall..." But not this one. "You have anointed my head with oil." Why? Because it medicates, it prevents sickness, and it heals. Simple.
My cup is full. In the present. Now. Not one day. Not far, far away. But now. Today. My cup is full. Not half-empty. Not half-full. But full-full. Back to the first line of the song: "The Lord is my shepherd." The Lord is. Then to the second line: "I lack nothing." Not later. But now. Today, the Lord is my shepherd. Today, I lack nothing. Today, my cup is full.
Only goodness and loving-kindness shall chase me all the days of my life. Back to "shall." We are looking ahead once again. Talk about imagination. Imagine a day when we are no longer pursued by enemies, temptations, and fear. Imagine a day when we are being chased by goodness. Loving-kindness. This is an overstatement to be sure, but it is there for one purpose: to renew our lives, our faith in the Lord.
And I shall dwell again in the house of the Lord for days without end. I love that this closing line of the song drops the shepherd metaphor and simply says, "the Lord." And once again, imagine dwelling with the Lord for days that never end.
Amen.
