Fourth Sunday of Easter
Acts 2:42-47
Psalm 23
1 Peter 2:19-25
John 10:1-10
Life has a language.
And scripture has a word for us that emerges when we give it a chance.
This week, perhaps at a coffee shop, perhaps at a Bible study, or perhaps even in an extended moment in the passing of the peace, ask a simple question: “Is there a verse of scripture that carries special meaning for you?”
Life may seem chaotic at times, but throughout it all there is a verse or two that connect us with God, that revive hope, that help organize our actions, that center and bless our lives. Asking about the centering verse or verses is a prelude to a conversation about life. And more often than not, the chances are that many will say, “I go to the 23rd Psalm.”
This morning, as we begin devotions at a Day Care center for adults, I can't help but ask the question. It takes about two minutes to hear their answers. Sure enough, over half said, “The 23rd Psalm.”
“Why that one?” I asked.
“It puts me in touch with God the quickest,” one said. We noted that its honesty is reassuring. Our souls do indeed need restoring. We know that left to our own devices we might not lie down beside still waters, we are grateful that God makes us lie down. We know we need to be led in the paths of righteousness. And, most of all, we know you cannot go through life without traveling through some very dark valleys. The psalm does not say we should not be in such a place. Instead it affirms that when troubles arise, as they invariably do, we have no need to be afraid. It is a lively discussion, full of stories waiting to be told.
“Our text today, is the 23rd Psalm,” I said. They were pleased. We knew the morning would be full of stories that brought the psalm to life. We sensed the psalm would make sense of our lives, and our lives would make sense of the psalm.
I couldn't help but begin by telling them about Clara, one of my first parishioners. A frail woman in her mid 90s, she shared with me that she recited the 23rd Psalm when she woke up each morning, before each meal, and again at night before she fell asleep. She knew she didn't have long to live. Her son was far away; her husband had long since passed away. She alone lived in a large house graced by a stained glass window. She could no longer climb the stairs. Despair could have taken a foothold, but it did not. Over and over again, sometimes silently and sometimes out loud, she recited the 23rd Psalm to summon courage and revive her faith. It was she who first taught me that the hymns known as psalms are not texts for a day but texts for a lifetime. The psalm centered her life.
I think of friends in Lesotho who were kidnapped from their car after they pulled into their driveway, driven to a field, tied to trees and left for the night. They overheard their kidnappers saying, “What shall we do with them?” Deeply worried, they called on the 23rd Psalm while working to loosen the ropes, reciting it over and over. Finally they broke free and walked to a village, where they found help. When news of their kidnapping and escape circulated, hundreds of parishioners came to their home bearing gifts and prayers. They set the table, and then they celebrated life.
Reciting the verses of the 23rd Psalm in their time of danger brought my friends a measure of 'calm' which could not have been gained through other means.
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.
The next stanza eloquently and precisely conveys what happened when my friends returned home.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
For some the 23rd Psalm defines the work of God.
Not long ago Yadesa Daba, a colleague who previously led the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Ethiopia, gave morning devotions in the nursing home whose ministries we share. He spoke with residents who, despite their frail conditions, made sure they found a way to attend chapel.
Yadesa's text was the 23rd Psalm.
“When I was a child I herded the sheep. One day some baboons came and killed two of my lambs. And then they started to come after me. I was just a child. I ran home. When I told my mother and father what happened I cried because I had not protected my sheep.
“To be a shepherd you must protect your sheep, and you must provide for them. You must move them to better pastures when the grass is thin, and when it is dry you must move them towards water. That is what God does for us. God protects us and God provides for us. On our own we cannot always protect, and we cannot always provide – for ourselves or for those we are meant to watch over. But God does both. For me, that is what the 23rd Psalm is about.”
If we are to exegete the 23rd Psalm we need only to give a careful hearing to our own life stories.
The chances are that when you ask a parishioner about his or her touchstone verses, they will be grateful for the question. Not many people ask. Fewer still take the time to listen. But when we ask about meaningful verses and the coherence they provide, a holy conversation ensues. There are so many ways in which churches provide a wonderful place to frame and share our life stories.
And so . . . we read the psalm, thankful for new translations but perhaps still hearing the rhythms of “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” and grateful for a friend that continues to bless our lives.
God is my shepherd, I shall not want.
God makes me lie down in green pastures;
and leads me beside still waters;
God restores my soul.
And leads me in right paths
for the sake of God's name.
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 God
my whole life long.
This Sabbath, listen as life and text speak the same language. And how does it speak?
It reminds us that we are not alone.
Its search for coherence restores our souls.
It asks us to act—to lie down, to accept guidance as we walk a new path.
It asks us to summon the hope that sets aside fears.
And it ends in a blessing we share whenever we gather together and share our lives.
Thanks be to God for the word that centers our lives, and the stories it inspires.
Larry
I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
larry@leadingcausesoflife.org
Or
larrypray@gmail.com
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