“Surely”
Psalm 23
John 10:10b
Some 3,000 years before positive affirmations became a tool of pop psychology, internet-inspired therapy, and the self-care industry to make us feel better about ourselves, King David of Israel suggested that the best way to feel better about our lives was to affirm God’s mercy, love, protection, and providence.
Some 3,000 years before neuroscientists figured out that the key to calming our nervous system in stressful situations is the vagus nerve, and that the vagus nerve—which connects our brain to our gut and other organs and can help slow our heart rate, deepen our breathing, and snap us out of the fight-or-flight response—is regulated by a physical, emotional, and spiritual sense of safety, . . .King David wrote a psalm naming and claiming the safety we have in God.
Long before there were multiple meditation apps for our phones, including one called “Calm,” what we now know as the Book of Psalms—a collection of liturgical poems, prayers, and songs was canonized. And long before some churches and Christians began weaponizing our scriptures to divide, oppress, and control people, the psalms held a special place in the hearts of many Jesus followers, because they offered both comfort and permission. Comfort in knowing God’s goodness, presence and care, and permission to yell and rage at God when we feel angry or scared, lonely or heartbrokenb.
It’s a funny thing: Back when I was young and privileged and foolishly thought I had life (and God) all figured out, I rarely thought about the 23rd Psalm. And then in 2007, at the UCC’s 50th General Synod, I heard Lynn Redgrave recite the psalm, and it came alive for me like never before. Maybe it was because she was an actress with compelling delivery, or maybe my response had something to do with the fact that I was at loose and somewhat unsettling ends, having recently graduated from seminary and still searching for a church to serve.
I used to think that affection for the 23rd Psalm was perhaps a generational thing—that the generations that came before mine had a greater appreciation for and knowledge of the Bible in general, and so it would make sense for them to be more attached to one of the most widely known and loved Bible passages. But lately I’ve been wondering if it’s more a matter of age and life experience than generations; as we grow older and experience more of life’s preciousness and unpredictability, we are more open to recognizing our need for a shepherd.
But the 23rd Psalm is more than an affirmation to make us feel better. It is more than a collection of phrases about God strung together to give us hope and a sense of security.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Not that we don’t need all the calm and reassurance we can get in these chaotic and uncertain times.
But I want to suggest this morning that the 23rd Psalm makes us feel better because it speaks to us about who God is and it gives us a new and different way of understanding of what it means to be human in this sometimes scary and unsafe world.
Unlike popular culture, the 23rd Psalm doesn’t tell us we’re enough. Instead, it tells us that God’s love, guidance, and protection are more than enough.
Neither does the 23rd Psalm tell us we have the power, and therefore the obligation, to change the world. Instead, it acknowledges that we are small and vulnerable, and it assures us that Someone is looking out for us.
The 23rd Psalm doesn’t tell us we’re okay and that everything will work out in the end. Instead, it assures us that no matter what happens, God will be with us.
The 23rd Psalm doesn’t say life is a cakewalk. Instead, it presumes we will have problems; it even imagines we will have enemies and encounter resistance and obstacles on our journey through life. But it promises that nothing can get in the way of God’s blessings. God will prepare a feast for us, filling our lives with good things until our cup of blessings overflows.
Perhaps most fundamentally, the 23rd Psalm doesn’t feed our anxiety about not having enough. Instead, it promises us, time and again, that God the shepherd will make sure we have everything we need.
“The Lord is my shepherd,” its says; “I have all I need.”
Now, if you’re anything like me, this may be the hardest part of the psalm for you to believe. This is where many of us get tripped up and turned off—right there at the beginning—because we may not have all we need, or we may have all we truly need but not everything our heart deeply desires.
I get it.
And . . . I think there are at least a couple of things going on here:
The first and most important is a complete shift in perspective. Our culture tells us not only that we don’t have enough, but that we’ll never have enough. We must keep producing and striving, buying and accumulating. And this perspective is based on another, even more fundamental falsehood, which is that there is not enough, that we live in a world of scarcity. There’s not enough to go around, and so life is a contest to make sure we get our share.
This is what our culture—our economy, our politics, and much of our education—tells us.
But our faith is founded on the truth that all we need is here. There is more than enough to go around, and the Good Shepherd will do all they can to make sure that every one of us gets all we need.
Green pastures, still waters, right paths, no fear, deep comfort, a feast made for us, cups that overflow.
This is God’s world. This is life with the Good Shepherd. Life itself is a gift, and this life is full of extras.
And there is more to this “I shall not want” business: It is not about suppressing or denying our desires, but rather trusting that our deepest desires come from God and will be met in and by God. It is an invitation to entrust our needs and desires to the Shepherd who knows us by name, loves us, cares for us, and keeps us safe.
This is the Good Shepherd that Jesus was claiming to be when he said he came that all people might have life and have it in abundance.
The Greek word translated as abundance means over and above, more than necessary, or—as Paul says in his letter to the Ephesians—more than we can ask or imagine.
This is the level of wholeness, safety, peace, comfort, security, justice, and joy that God wants for us, all people, and all creation.
And King David tells us that the first step in knowing that abundance is trusting that God will provide for us, that the Good Shepherd will deliver.
And if all that is not enough to bring some calm and peace into our hearts, there’s more: the promise that the comfort and safety that comes from letting God be our shepherd is not a fleeting, momentary thing.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, the psalm says, and I shall dwell in God’s house my whole life long.
Beloveds, I understand that a psalm—even one as beautiful and potentially perspective-shifting as this one—doesn’t magically make everything better. I understand that the world is still on fire and that some of us are living with fear, anxiety, grief, want, and the stress of uncertainty.
But I hope and pray we will open our hearts to receive at least some of the comfort and assurance God wants for us. I hope and pray that, at least for a moment, we will feel safe and secure. I hope and pray that, at least occasionally, we can lie down in green pastures, let our souls be restored, and rest by still waters long enough for goodness and mercy to catch up with us.
And I hope and pray that the next time we find ourselves feeling alone and tired and afraid of so many things, we will remember that we are not alone.
That Love walks beside us. That Love meets us where we are, as we are, and fills our cup to overflowing. And that no matter how far we stray from the Shepherd’s safe and abundant paths, Love will find us and bring us home.
Thanks be to God.
