Today begins a series on the 23rd Psalm, which we read from the King James Version. Out of curiosity, let’s have a quick show of hands. How many of you (unlike me) had to memorize this as a child? How many of you have memorized it just from hearing it in church? Interesting. Thank you!
Memorization in general seems to me to be a more common teaching technique for previous generations. I don’t want to get into why or what’s best, but I do want to acknowledge the importance of repetition and ritual in a life of faith. Repetition and ritual can certainly be taken too far and then become entirely meaningless, but there are also times and places where it can offer meaning and hope when all else is lost.
In my faith journey, I have found that to be particularly true with the 23rd Psalm. Admittedly, this Psalm is most often shared at funerals, and there’s a reason for that. This Psalm acknowledges the providence of God, promises restoration, and offers hope when all hope is lost. Hope is the theological piece, and it’s what we need when we face the ultimate mystery of death and look toward our faith to comfort us.
The other part of it, especially for those of us that memorized it – whether by intent or osmosis, is the emotional impact of saying these words out loud together. Humans are a mixed bag of biomechanical, chemical, and electric processes, and whether it is some deep memory of approval for the task or the recognition that generations before and after find meaning in it together, these words can check some boxes that we don’t even realize that we have.
The first time I experienced the Psalm in this way was at my Father’s funeral in 2008. As a young pastor, I was thankful that my step-mom did not ask me to lead the service (I just wanted to be cared for), and I was honored to represent my siblings by reading the 23rd Psalm. Now, my father and I had a hard-fought but close relationship, and his passing was very hard for me. Still is. Always will be.
When I stepped to the pulpit the loss hit me in a way that I was not expecting, so I said, “The 23rd Psalm is one that so many of us know, and I’d love it if any of you who have it memorized would say it with me.” Then the coolest thing happened. They said it with me!
Something about the sound of all those voices echoing and confirming everything that this Psalm has to say about God and about each of us as God’s beloved ones gave me what I needed. Hope. It gave me hope. It gave me hope that Dad was ok, and so was I.
Sometimes we all need to hear that, and not just at a funeral! So, as I said before, we’re going to spend the next few weeks wandering through this Psalm together and pairing its verses with other passages to see how it can offer us the hope that we need.
Today, we’re just going to look at verse 1, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” Admittedly, that may be a little tougher than it seems. What does it mean to us that God is indeed our “Shepherd,” and what does it mean to be without “want”?
Our old friend John Calvin subscribes to the view that King David, who is traditionally believed to be the author of the majority of the Psalms (though that view is somewhat contested by modern scholars), is a paragon of faith (which really does not play out as you read through 1st Samuel), and he suggests that David wrote this psalm in a time of peace and prosperity. He essentially argued that King David was expressing his own humility as a sheep in God’s fold and God is likewise expressing how far God will go for us, given the humility of the station of a shepherd.
Well, classism and modern scholarship aside, David had himself been a shepherd. Whether he penned or commissioned these words, and whether they were written before or after he consolidated the Kingdom of Israel, he knew what it meant to be a shepherd. He knew it was a risky thing to do, and this Psalm speaks of a God who is willing to take a risk for your sake and for mine.
Richard Bruxvoort Colligan, a more modern composer of music for the church, suggests that the vulnerability of God – as it continues into the New Testament – is not limited to the function of keeping the threats away. As we see it in the life of Jesus, the vulnerability of God becomes more and more about inclusion.
In John 10:16 he says, “I have other sheep that are not of this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice.” In Galatians 3:28 Paul says that, in Christ, there is no distinction between Jew, Gentile, Women, and Men, and in our reading from Luke’s gospel we see that Jesus praises the shepherd who flat out leaves the 99 in search of the 1 sheep who is lost!
The context here is about repentance, and Jesus is telling this story as a warm-up for the parable about the prodigal son – a story that ends with a cliffhanger. You may recall that the younger brother had gone away and wasted his inheritance. On his return, his dad through a party, and we are left with his elder brother fuming over it and being asked by his father to rejoice in his brother’s return.
Repentance, in this context, is about restoration to the community. In the story of the prodigal son, the father barely listens to his youngest son’s confession. In the parable of the lost sheep, the return of the lost one is the only cause for rejoicing, and Jesus tells this story to those who grumble over the fact that he is associating with people they consider to be “sinners”.
Austen Hartke, a graduate of Luther Seminary and author of Transforming: The Bible and the Lives of Transgender Christians, asks the “what if” question about this passage. What if the one sheep was missing because the ninety-nine chased it away? Clearly, this is well outside of the actual context of the parable itself, but it’s still a good question. Given that Jesus was responding to criticism that he was eating with sinners, maybe it’s not too far out of bounds to ask if the one God seeks is the one we reject.
Truly, our faith in Christ is about restoration into the community. In the past, I have called this “a more common unity,” but recently I have begun to wonder if I should be saying “a more uncommon unity.” What is common may not be what is fit for the kin_dom and household and family of God. What is common in the world is that we set divisions between us that separate and alienate. What is uncommon is that we include one another; rely on one another; and constantly open ourselves to learn and grow through embracing our differences.
Having said that, I want to be clear that there are differences of opinion and belief, and expression that can be held in tension, unless or until such views and activities seek to dehumanize and harm another person or a group. Unfortunately, Western Christianity has done this over and over through the years and has only recently begun to recognize the harm we’ve done to native populations, people of color, and sexual minorities. Recognizing this harm is a good thing. It doesn’t mean that we’ve never done anything good. It doesn’t mean that the bad we’ve done has always been intentional or with malice, though some have been. Recognizing this harm is a penitent thing. It means that we are able to say that we believe there is a better way.
It means that we can say that we have been found to be wanting, and there is only one reason for that. The reason is not for the lack of providence. It is for the lack of faith and for having the desire to be the shepherd instead of the sheep of God’s fold. Forgive me if that sounds too personal. I don’t mean to point fingers apart from those I point at myself and at the institution of the church. Truly, my hope is to acknowledge the source of our hope. Our hope is always in the providence of God! Our expectation is that even the things that we produce, no matter how hard we work, are provided through the providence of God!
It is sometimes hard to see this when we are in a position of need, whether by the poverty of riches, or of the soul, or just lacking in resources. It’s hard to believe in providence when we consider the plight of those experiencing homelessness – whose faith is no lesser and in some cases greater.
It’s hard to imagine being without want without rolling up our sleeves and working as hard as we can, and yet it is God that sustains us. It is God that provides this strange biosphere in the vastness of the cosmos. It is God that consoles us in our time of loss. It is God who forms us and re-forms us again and again and again into communities of believers where we experience love and trust and forgiveness and reconciliation around a table; beside a font; in the presence of God.
In this ritual of faith, we are offered the assurance that God is active and present. In this ritual of faith, we submit to the care of the One who calls us from isolation and restores us into such an uncommon union as only the heavens may know, and in it the heavens rejoice! That’s our starting point – recognizing the fact that we are held in the providence of God. Next week we’ll talk about Sabbath rest as we continue to explore the providence of God together but rest in this truth today. God will go to any length to let you know that you are loved. That’s what we celebrate around this table today! At least I pray it may be so with me, and with you, and they and them – until us and them becomes just us – and the heavens rejoice! Amen.
Memorization in general seems to me to be a more common teaching technique for previous generations. I don’t want to get into why or what’s best, but I do want to acknowledge the importance of repetition and ritual in a life of faith. Repetition and ritual can certainly be taken too far and then become entirely meaningless, but there are also times and places where it can offer meaning and hope when all else is lost.
In my faith journey, I have found that to be particularly true with the 23rd Psalm. Admittedly, this Psalm is most often shared at funerals, and there’s a reason for that. This Psalm acknowledges the providence of God, promises restoration, and offers hope when all hope is lost. Hope is the theological piece, and it’s what we need when we face the ultimate mystery of death and look toward our faith to comfort us.
The other part of it, especially for those of us that memorized it – whether by intent or osmosis, is the emotional impact of saying these words out loud together. Humans are a mixed bag of biomechanical, chemical, and electric processes, and whether it is some deep memory of approval for the task or the recognition that generations before and after find meaning in it together, these words can check some boxes that we don’t even realize that we have.
The first time I experienced the Psalm in this way was at my Father’s funeral in 2008. As a young pastor, I was thankful that my step-mom did not ask me to lead the service (I just wanted to be cared for), and I was honored to represent my siblings by reading the 23rd Psalm. Now, my father and I had a hard-fought but close relationship, and his passing was very hard for me. Still is. Always will be.
When I stepped to the pulpit the loss hit me in a way that I was not expecting, so I said, “The 23rd Psalm is one that so many of us know, and I’d love it if any of you who have it memorized would say it with me.” Then the coolest thing happened. They said it with me!
Something about the sound of all those voices echoing and confirming everything that this Psalm has to say about God and about each of us as God’s beloved ones gave me what I needed. Hope. It gave me hope. It gave me hope that Dad was ok, and so was I.
Sometimes we all need to hear that, and not just at a funeral! So, as I said before, we’re going to spend the next few weeks wandering through this Psalm together and pairing its verses with other passages to see how it can offer us the hope that we need.
Today, we’re just going to look at verse 1, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” Admittedly, that may be a little tougher than it seems. What does it mean to us that God is indeed our “Shepherd,” and what does it mean to be without “want”?
Our old friend John Calvin subscribes to the view that King David, who is traditionally believed to be the author of the majority of the Psalms (though that view is somewhat contested by modern scholars), is a paragon of faith (which really does not play out as you read through 1st Samuel), and he suggests that David wrote this psalm in a time of peace and prosperity. He essentially argued that King David was expressing his own humility as a sheep in God’s fold and God is likewise expressing how far God will go for us, given the humility of the station of a shepherd.
Well, classism and modern scholarship aside, David had himself been a shepherd. Whether he penned or commissioned these words, and whether they were written before or after he consolidated the Kingdom of Israel, he knew what it meant to be a shepherd. He knew it was a risky thing to do, and this Psalm speaks of a God who is willing to take a risk for your sake and for mine.
Richard Bruxvoort Colligan, a more modern composer of music for the church, suggests that the vulnerability of God – as it continues into the New Testament – is not limited to the function of keeping the threats away. As we see it in the life of Jesus, the vulnerability of God becomes more and more about inclusion.
In John 10:16 he says, “I have other sheep that are not of this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice.” In Galatians 3:28 Paul says that, in Christ, there is no distinction between Jew, Gentile, Women, and Men, and in our reading from Luke’s gospel we see that Jesus praises the shepherd who flat out leaves the 99 in search of the 1 sheep who is lost!
The context here is about repentance, and Jesus is telling this story as a warm-up for the parable about the prodigal son – a story that ends with a cliffhanger. You may recall that the younger brother had gone away and wasted his inheritance. On his return, his dad through a party, and we are left with his elder brother fuming over it and being asked by his father to rejoice in his brother’s return.
Repentance, in this context, is about restoration to the community. In the story of the prodigal son, the father barely listens to his youngest son’s confession. In the parable of the lost sheep, the return of the lost one is the only cause for rejoicing, and Jesus tells this story to those who grumble over the fact that he is associating with people they consider to be “sinners”.
Austen Hartke, a graduate of Luther Seminary and author of Transforming: The Bible and the Lives of Transgender Christians, asks the “what if” question about this passage. What if the one sheep was missing because the ninety-nine chased it away? Clearly, this is well outside of the actual context of the parable itself, but it’s still a good question. Given that Jesus was responding to criticism that he was eating with sinners, maybe it’s not too far out of bounds to ask if the one God seeks is the one we reject.
Truly, our faith in Christ is about restoration into the community. In the past, I have called this “a more common unity,” but recently I have begun to wonder if I should be saying “a more uncommon unity.” What is common may not be what is fit for the kin_dom and household and family of God. What is common in the world is that we set divisions between us that separate and alienate. What is uncommon is that we include one another; rely on one another; and constantly open ourselves to learn and grow through embracing our differences.
Having said that, I want to be clear that there are differences of opinion and belief, and expression that can be held in tension, unless or until such views and activities seek to dehumanize and harm another person or a group. Unfortunately, Western Christianity has done this over and over through the years and has only recently begun to recognize the harm we’ve done to native populations, people of color, and sexual minorities. Recognizing this harm is a good thing. It doesn’t mean that we’ve never done anything good. It doesn’t mean that the bad we’ve done has always been intentional or with malice, though some have been. Recognizing this harm is a penitent thing. It means that we are able to say that we believe there is a better way.
It means that we can say that we have been found to be wanting, and there is only one reason for that. The reason is not for the lack of providence. It is for the lack of faith and for having the desire to be the shepherd instead of the sheep of God’s fold. Forgive me if that sounds too personal. I don’t mean to point fingers apart from those I point at myself and at the institution of the church. Truly, my hope is to acknowledge the source of our hope. Our hope is always in the providence of God! Our expectation is that even the things that we produce, no matter how hard we work, are provided through the providence of God!
It is sometimes hard to see this when we are in a position of need, whether by the poverty of riches, or of the soul, or just lacking in resources. It’s hard to believe in providence when we consider the plight of those experiencing homelessness – whose faith is no lesser and in some cases greater.
It’s hard to imagine being without want without rolling up our sleeves and working as hard as we can, and yet it is God that sustains us. It is God that provides this strange biosphere in the vastness of the cosmos. It is God that consoles us in our time of loss. It is God who forms us and re-forms us again and again and again into communities of believers where we experience love and trust and forgiveness and reconciliation around a table; beside a font; in the presence of God.
In this ritual of faith, we are offered the assurance that God is active and present. In this ritual of faith, we submit to the care of the One who calls us from isolation and restores us into such an uncommon union as only the heavens may know, and in it the heavens rejoice! That’s our starting point – recognizing the fact that we are held in the providence of God. Next week we’ll talk about Sabbath rest as we continue to explore the providence of God together but rest in this truth today. God will go to any length to let you know that you are loved. That’s what we celebrate around this table today! At least I pray it may be so with me, and with you, and they and them – until us and them becomes just us – and the heavens rejoice! Amen.
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