“Living As Though”
Psalm 23
If you, like so many of us, suffer from a short attention span (the existential hazard of our smart phone-dominated lives), please allow me to cut to the chase.
The eternal wisdom, the all-purpose mantra, the never-changing truth, the one-size-fits-all response to all of our worries and fears, boils down to this:
Because you are with me.
Now the original “you” in this case is the Holy Mystery many of us call “God.”
And for the purposes of discussion, as well as the purposes of speaking to our many different understandings and experiences of God, as well as to acknowledge that—regardless of belief—none of us can find words that adequately convey either the vastness or the intimacy of the Holy One, I invite you to substitute the word or words of your choice.
Because Love is with me.
Because The Presence is with me.
Because the Great Spirit is with me.
Because my Higher Power is with me.
Because the Creator is with me.
Because the Ground and Source of All That Is is with me.
Because Goodness and Mercy are with me.
Because Christ is with me.
Because the Good Shepherd is with me.
Or, if you prefer the God of no name to the God of Many Names, you could just say: “Because I am not alone.”
You get the idea.
Whatever your chosen name or label or feeling or adjective is for God, however you would describe the ultimate source of protection, love, and nurture, the 23rd Psalm invites you to fill in the blank and then give yourself permission to rest in that protection, to find peace beside some still waters, and to let your soul be restored.
In a time where many of us spend our days careening between doomscrolling and toxic positivity, the 23rd Psalm invites us to engage in some pretty radical behaviors: to rest, to trust, to take comfort, and to build our lives on the outlandish premise that, as Frederick Buechner said, “Nothing happens . . . where God is not present with us and for us.”
Or, as the psalmist said: “Because God is my shepherd, I lack nothing.”
It’s a lot to take in. In terms of trust, it’s a big ask.
Which is one of the reasons I considered skipping over it altogether (another one being that we’ve heard and read it so many times that many of us have closed our hearts to it). But that’s a shame, I think.
It reminds me of the time many years ago now when I sat with an ex-wife and two adult daughters to plan the memorial service of a man I did not know who had, tragically, drunk himself to death. The daughters had no preferences or ideas for the service; they simply wanted it done. And when I suggested a reading of the 23rd Psalm, they said, “What is that?”
How sad, I thought.
Because when something written some 3,000 years ago remains relatively well known and, under drastically different circumstances, serves as a source of comfort and strength for millions of people, I can only conclude that it must speak to something deep, universal, and enduring in the human psyche.
And because so many of us, with our busy, fast-paced lives, rarely make the time to get in touch with that part of ourselves or to consider what holy invitations might provide a balm for our anxious and weary souls, I thought we might do well today to really sit with this psalm.
Because, I don’t know about you, but God knows I could use some rest and reassurance these days. I would really like to live as if I trust that it is goodness and mercy—rather than the all-seeing eyes of Artificial Intelligence or the masked gunmen of federal immigration enforcement—that will follow me all my days. I would really love to be able to say that even though my daily newsfeed reminds me evil is on the loose and wreaking havoc, that I need not live in fear of it, for myself or other, more vulnerable people and places.
Because the God of love and light, the God who took on human flesh and dwells within us and among us, is with me.
I realize that this is often easier to say than to truly believe, and that it can be easier even to believe sometimes than to actually feel it.
But I find that it’s helpful to remember two reassuring truths:
The first is that there is direct relationship between faith and feeling. Faith is not dependent on feeling, but faith can carry us through our feelings.
Sometimes we feel so low—so afraid, so discouraged, so alone—that all we can do is trust that this, too, shall pass. That we are not alone; that what we fear will not overcome us; that there will be enough and more than enough; that everything is not up to us but that we have a God who loves us and cares for us.
This is why we say the 23rd psalm at funerals, and why it’s a go-to psalm for many people when they feel their world is falling apart. Saying the psalm doesn’t change our circumstances, but it can change our feelings by grounding us in what we trust is true, by honoring and addressing our primal need to know that we are not alone in this life.
Another reassuring truth is that we have been given spiritual practices and tools to deal with all that life throws at us. There is an entire book of the Bible—the Book of Psalms—that encourages us to express our feelings to God, whether they are feelings of rage, grief, fear, joy, praise, desolation or delight. The psalms tell us our feelings are valid, and that expressing them helps lead us back to the bedrock truths strong enough to build our lives on: that we are not alone, that God is with us, that God is for us, that there is something greater, truer, more powerful, and longer lasting than the most corrupt governments, the most hurtful lies, the cruelest and most hateful policies.
Like all matters of faith, we cannot prove these things are true. We can only make them true by living as though they are.
When I say, “God is my shepherd; therefore, I will not lack,” I begin to experience the world as a place of abundance rather than scarcity—and that perspective changes everything.
When I say that God makes me lie down, leads me beside still waters, and restores my soul, I remember that rest is both a gift and a commandment, and that my soul needs tending as much as my body does.
When I say God leads me in rights paths, I can know that no matter what else is happening, if I’m following the loving ways of Jesus, I am on the right track.
And when I say “even though”—even though I walk through the valley of darkness and death, even though my life is really hard right now, even though I fear for my neighbors, even though I fear for my children and the world they will inherit, even though—you fill in the blank—I can remember that life is more than whatever is happening and whatever I am feeling right now.
When I say “even though,” I can remember that I can find comfort and hope even in the worst circumstances.
When I say “”my cup overflows,” I am encouraged to remember all I’ve been given. I am challenged to reorient my focus to what I am grateful for. I am reminded that somehow, some way God will provide for me.
And when I say, “Surely—surely!—goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, I have arrived at the place of faith where I am all but daring life to prove me wrong. Even though the future feels uncertain, I am remembering to look back and see all the times and all the ways goodness and mercy have been with me, and to trust that they will always be with me.
When life feels scary and overwhelming, the 23rd Psalm reminds us that sometimes the very best thing we can do is to make like a sheep. To let ourselves be led by the Good Shepherd. To let ourselves stop striving and worrying, managing and trying to control things long enough to lie down in green pastures, to let still waters calm the storm raging in our hearts, to follow someone else’s lead at least long enough to allow our sweet souls to be restored. To trust that, even though the valley is deep and long and dark, we need not fear.
Because the Good Shepherd is with us and will not leave us. Because even in the presence of our enemies—doubt and fear and grief and suffering—God has prepared a feast for us. Because no matter how badly we feel, God anoints our heads with love and our cups will overflow with blessing.
May it be so.
