The God of Green Pastures: Speaking to the Soul, April 27, 2023

Let me give thanks and praise to God,

my Shepherd and Provider,
who claims and unfailingly loves me as God’s own.
I lay all my trust at the feet of the Almighty,
Lover and Seeker of my soul.

The One Who Sees leads me into verdant, abundant pastures
filled with all I need, and gives me rest and security.
God restores and refreshes my soul,
tending and guarding my inmost being.
My Shepherd sees my weariness, and lifts me up;
guiding me in right pathways,
that I bring honor to God’s Name.

Searcher of the Heart, You shield me with your strength and vigilance;
may I always remain at your side.
No matter what terrors or trials approach me,
I am not afraid
for You,
Emmanuel,
are with me, even if death overhangs me.

Maker of Peace, You provide for me plentifully and exalt me,
even as my enemies look on,
helpless to harm me.
You have consecrated me
and blessed me abundantly,
and the cup of my blessings overflows
like a spring in the desert.

O God That Formed Me, your promise to love me
envelops me in goodness and mercy,
following me as my companions throughout my life.
I am secure as a child in God’s arms,
and my home is with you forever,
even into eternity.

This was first published at Episcopal Journal and Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on April 27, 2023.

God, My Shepherd: Speaking to the Soul May 5, 2022

The 23rd Psalm

The Holy One is my Shepherd;
there is nothing else I need or lack.
In verdant fields God urges my rest,
by clear, sweet waters God leads me.
You refresh and revive my soul,
and are my guide to holy pathways
that I may glorify Your NAME in each step.
Even if evil and death overshadow me
and the walls of the deepest valley tower over me,
no fear of evil shall overtake me;
for You are my companion alongside me always;
Your rod and staff are ever between me and danger,
and I am comforted and at peace.
In the face of those who seek my harm
You prepare a feast;
You have marked me as holy and beloved,
and have filled my cup to overflowing.
The sureness of Your goodness and mercy
is the foundation and lodestar of my life,
and my home is with You in each moment,
and eternally.

Image: The Good Shepherd, by Laura James

This was first published at Episcopal Journal and Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on May 5, 2022.

Beyond the Stormy Seas: Sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 12B)

“I go down to the edge of the sea.
How everything shines in the morning light!”

-- Mary Oliver, from “Breakage”

Yesterday, St. Martin’s celebrated a momentous day: the ordination of the Rev. Shug Goodlow to the priesthood in the Episcopal beanch of Christ’s one. Holy, catholic, and apostolic church. Apostolic, because at her consecration, Shug had hands placed on her by her kindred priests and by her bishop, a tradition we proclaim that stretches back in an unbroken line to the apostles. For me, the tears started at Veni, Spritu Sanctus, that ancient prayer. There were a multitude of witnesses and a multitude of hnads pressing down on Shug across places and centuries. It was obvious to me that the Spirit of God and God’s abundant grace were in this place.

Today in our gospel, we hear another reminder of God’s abundance. Last Sunday we omitted Mark’s recounting of the feeding of the multitude from the gospel reading in the lectionary, and many of us wondered why. This week we pick up that story, yet we are given the version in the gospel of John, not Mark, and the author of John lays out the story in a very specific way. The first part is familiar: Jesus feeds a multitude even though there is only a little food at hand; yet when everyone has been satisfied, there are heaping amounts of food left over.

The Gospel of John then makes an interesting claim: in response to the feeding, the crowd comes to believe that Jesus is “the prophet who has come into the world,” and they leap from prophet to emperor. Jesus is then said to realize that they are about to try to force him to become king, and withdraws away to the mountain by himself. As evening approaches, the disciples eventually get into the boat and set off across the sea toward Capernaum, toward home, after they have waited in vain for Jesus to join them. As the apostles propel themselves across the water, the sea gets increasingly rough, even as home beckons once they get beyond the storm. Finally, in the darkest part of the night, they see Jesus approaching them—by walking on water.

John’s account doesn’t include Matthew’s story of Peter impulsively hurling himself over the side to join Jesus’s perambulations. In Mark and John, the disciples resolutely stay glued in the boat as Jesus approaches them, walking on the waves as you or I would walk on a sidewalk, and yet they know they are three or four miles from shore. Matthew and Mark measure the distance travelled by the disciples’ boat by time: they claim that this miracle happens during the “fourth watch of the night,” which would be a time right before dawn, a time when the sages say it is darkest—you know: “It’s always darkest before the dawn.” For three watches, the disciples had been struggling against the oars, against the wind and the sea, against their own repeated inability to understand and accept who exactly Jesus is.

They’re still trying to wrap their minds around this miraculous feeding of a crowd and now Jesus is treating water as if it is solid ground, even as it crashes against the boat. John’s gospel states that the Passover was near at this time, and now Jesus is passing over the water toward them. Passover is the time when it is remembered that the angel of death had swooped over Egypt, carrying off the firstborn of every household that had not splashed its doorposts with blood—a night that is also follows a meal. Now here’s Jesus passing over and through storms and crashing waves like an angel himself. It’s no wonder those who were sitting in a boat amongst turbulent waves became afraid—of the storm yes, but also of this Jesus who comes to them in his own way, untroubled by the storm that encloses them. The crowd has still betrayed their misunderstanding of Jesus, and probably now the disciples too fail to understand. They are so busy goggling at how Jesus approaches them that they don’t notice that they are very near to the shore.

The feeding of the multitude and Jesus’s path across the stormy seas are told as one story for a reason. On one side of the sea the multitude is fed and on the other side of the sea Jesus is revealed as one who transcends limits. In between is the sea filled with our confusion, our doubt, our insistence that we not be shaken too much in our understanding. We are hungry for God, yet cast adrift by our own inability to accept who Jesus really is. We want Jesus to feed us but not transform us. We insist that Jesus to come to us in ways we can understand.

Jesus comes to us and expects us to wrap our minds around the fact that he feeds those who follow him, worthy or unworthy, lovable and unlovable—all are invited to the table, and all are filled to overflowing like that cup that runneth over in Psalm 23. In fact, there are small facets of the 23rd Psalm that glisten like precious gems in the midst of this story today, there for the finding: the very abundant grass in that place where Jesus bids the crowds sit down on is a detail only in John’s version of this feeding of the multitudes. Jesus feeds this multitude in a pasture—and this reminds us of the verse in the 23rd Psalm: “He makes me to lie down in green pastures.” Mark’s version even states that Jesus has compassion on the hungry crowd because they were “like sheep without a shepherd.” In John’s telling, Jesus is their shepherd, and he makes them lie down in green pastures so that he can spread a table before them.

This radical feast may very well overwhelm us, in a world in which we have programmed ourselves to respond to artificial scarcity created by advertisers and politicians determined to weaken us by driving us apart and teaching us to see each other as competition rather than kindred. This may scare us, in a world where we try to justify the deaths of people in jail cells or slums or war zones, who shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

This may terrify us, in a world where we continue to misuse creation and each other in countless ways to erode the bonds among us, and then angrily denounce how lost and alone we feel in the world, and how cut off we are from this good earth which bears us in its arms even as we declare ourselves aloof from its embrace. This may cause us to believe there is not food enough. This may cause us to push away from the shore, to resolve to stay adrift in the storm we know, no matter how awful it is for us. To embrace the nihilism of defeat and division from the Princes of Lies among us, rather than radically trust and accept the Jesus whose love promises to change us once we embrace who he really is—our living bread, our good shepherd. In this pandemic, there are far too many around us who have decided to embrace destruction, to embrace being in the midst of the stormy sea, divided and suspicious of each other. Yet aren’t we all, sitting here, hungry for that kind of grace and love that Jesus offers our starving souls?

It starts with receiving Jesus as our savior and the glorious transformation he offers us, rather than pushing our boats out into the stormy sea through pride and fear. It starts with also being willing to tend to each other in tenderness rather than fighting each other as enemies and strangers. Just like those apostles, we tell Jesus and ourselves We have no food to feed all these people. And yet Jesus insists we all sit together and eat.

Jesus continues to respond to us: together, we are called to give them something to eat—together, not as “us” and “them.”

We are called to understand that Jesus is not sent to us to be a bureaucrat, enforcer, or magistrate-- but to be the one to lead us into a new understanding of how we ourselves are called to be. Even with the little we think we bring with us, abundance and well-being and peace and satisfaction—all those things which we can’t seem to generate for ourselves due to our own fears—come from allowing ourselves to be blessed and fed by Jesus and his radical gospel of love. But we have to stop trying to remake Jesus according to our ideas of justice, which divides people into winners and losers, and let him come to us without trying to force him into our boat, to travel as we do. Once we see Jesus as he is, we realize that the shore is right before us, and the waves no longer threaten.

Lord, it has been a hard path through the darkness and the stormy seas these last many days. We continue to struggle against the storms within our hearts that drive us from You and leave us famished. May we always remember that, even when it is darkest, You are beside us, loving us. May we always remember that in You, there is more than enough- enough bread, enough mercy, enough grace—and let us allow ourselves to be filled, and to believe in our power and our duty even to fill each other—an obligation you place upon us as our shepherd.

Lord Jesus, beloved Savior, you are our bread and our cup, our peace and our path leading us home, beyond the edge of the sea to the shore of our home, our harbor, our God who sustains us in all things.

Preached at the 10:30 am online and unperson service at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO, on July 25, 2021

Readings:

2 Samuel 11:1-15
Psalm 14
Ephesians 3:14-21
John 6:1-21

Homily for the Funeral of Dee Robinson

Readings:

Isaiah 61:1-3

Psalm 23 (NRSV)

I John 3:1-2

John 5:24-27

We are gathered today to remember and celebrate the ongoing life and love of Dorothy “Dee” Robinson, a woman of incredible strength, grit, joy, humor, and faith.

There are some people whose personalities are just too much to be contained by their bodies. Dee Robinson was apparently one of those people.

When I first was talking to the family about Dee, I made the mistake of referring to her as “Dorothy.” Apparently, no one knew her as Dorothy. She was Dee. Dee as in “determined.” Although she lived 50 years of her life under a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis, one cannot say that she was a “victim” of MS, or even that she “battled” MS. No, Dee also stands for “dominate,” because she dominated MS and any wayward body part such as a foot that would dare not bend itself to her will. Dee “stands” for determined, because she faced the world on her own two feet even if one of those feet got ridiculous ideas about disobeying this lady’s absolutely resolute will.

Dee stood for D as in “dynamic.” Dee lived her life with certain distinct preferences: vegetables, no; extra vermouth in her Manhattan, yes. When it came to vegetables, and her repugnance for them, Dee also stands for the D in “dramatic” in the best and most charming sense.

And frankly, Dee stands for “d” as in “dynamo.” She loved and raised five kids, including her beloved Wendy, who is interred next to Dee and Mel in our columbarium. Her kids Deborah, Cindy, Ron, and Chuck in turn raised their seven kids, who in turn are raising, at last count, 8 great-grandkids and this web of love, loudness and laughter all traces itself back in all its glory to Dee. This is the ultimate testimony to a life well lived on Dee’s own terms.

One of the greatest challenges in preparing for services such as funerals is our misconception about them—and sometimes, the Church itself does not help. Some of the funeral readings provided for as suggestions in the Episcopal Church and elsewhere in Christendom can get downright depressing. Readings such as those would not have shone any light on the reality of Dee’s long and determined life. Yet Dee was also a woman of deep faith. And the readings we hear today reflect that.

The passage of Isaiah speaks of good news being proclaimed to those who most desperately need it—and that IS perfect for a funeral service. In particular it contains words of comfort for those who mourn. These are the same words Jesus read from the scroll in his hometown synagogue, after his baptism and temptation in the wilderness. He arrived back into town after those 40 days of testing, shook the sand and dirt out of his hair, got himself presentable – and if he followed Dee’s example this would include some anointing with the first century equivalent of Chanel No. 5. I know I did that today, from a bottle my own mother gave me, in memory of her.

Jesus sat himself down among a bunch of people who were undoubtedly ready to underestimate him—and proclaimed himself as the Messiah—the one to free captives and prisoners, the one to declare a Jubilee at a time when most people were bowed down under Roman occupation, and to encourage those who mourn to put on their party clothes and get ready to dance from joy at the fact that liberation from death and disease and pain and anxiety was there in the midst of them. I think Dee admired chutzpah like that. I am sure some people made the mistake of unserderestimating her too-- to their immense regret.

Jesus’s life and values of care and protection for those who are his own like Dee are also woven deeply into the fabric of our beloved 23rd Psalm. This is a psalm that is so beloved for a reason: its very movement from speaking about God to speaking TO God in just six verses reminds us of the general path of movement in our lives of faith. Did you hear that? If not, try listening again, this time in Robert Alter’s beautiful poetic version rendered just a couple of years ago:

The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
In grass meadows He makes me lie down,
by quiet waters guides me.
My life He brings back.
He leads me on pathways of justice
for His name’s sake.
Though I walk in the vale of death’s shadow,
I fear no harm,
For You are with me.
Your rod and Your staff—
It is they that console me.
You set out a table before me
in the face of my foes.
You moisten my head with oil,
my cup overflows.
Let but goodness and kindness pursue me
all the days of my life.
And I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
for many long days.(2)

This psalm reflects the struggle we all face in our lives of faith and shows us the way forward. When we speak of God as distant, it is not God who has wandered away. Many of us have experienced times when we have felt that God is far from us. Or we may feel that way due to the scars and wounds the world has inflicted upon us. We may feel unloved and unlovable, and treat ourselves as disposable- or allow others to treat us that way. It’s the same way sometimes in our relationships in our families.

It’s important to remember though, that it is not God who has wandered off. So, remind yourself that God is your shepherd, and the blessings and love and grace God shows upon us—especially when we might not deserve it. Grant each other that same forbearance as you grieve together. Return to God, and then repeat to God: “I know You are with me. Your rod and staff comfort and protect me, and remind me that you are my portion and my cup, that overflows with love and mercy.” Dee knew this. Dee knew God’s presence alongside her, especially in times of trial that demanded every ounce of her formidable will.

Our final two readings work together so beautifully because they also bring this point home: we are God’s, and nothing we can do will change that. God’s love is that all-encompassing, God’s love is that strong. Stronger that any obstacle. Stronger than death itself. She is not gone, but instead has gained the victory over anything that dared get in her way in life. That is the testimony of Dee’s life for all of us. Her strength and her love lived boldly endure, in each and every one of you. And that strength welled up from her faith, her certainty, in Jesus as our Savior, our Redeemer, our protector, our guide, our shepherd.

In the months since Dee passed away, the reality of her absence has certainly been a terrible ache for this family, her friends, and all who loved her and her indomitable spirit. But I am hoping also that at the same time, signs of her ongoing love and care and how it continues to animate her extended family have also become apparent. The strength and force and faith with which she lived her life cannot be quenched even by death. For all of you who knew and loved Dee, I hope you can look within yourselves and see the way that she inspired and inspires you, challenged you and challenges you still, and encouraged and encourages you to seize life—and faith-- with both hands, and get the most out of it.

1) Image from The Daily Mirror, UK.

2) Robert Alter, from his translation of the TaNaKh, 2017.

--Preached at the Service of Burial for Dee Robinson, July 10, 2021 at 11 am online and in person at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.

The Shepherd's Duty: Sermon for Easter 4B (Good Shepherd Sunday)

Deep in the Western Australian countryside, two tourists were walking through a quaint town sightseeing. They suddenly ran into what in that town was a traffic jam—caused by a smallish herd of newly shorn sheep being moved through town. Drivers in their cars stopped their engines and got out to stretch their legs as the flock threaded through the dusty center of town. Black and white dogs darted back and forth, keeping the sheep bunched together. At the rear of this mass of animals walked a man. He was yelling out commands with little effect, driving the sheep with a whip in his hand, snapping it over their heads and at times on their sides and at their heels. When the whip made contact, the sheep would jump and scatter, only to be brought back together by the dogs. It was slow going.

“That’s funny,” said one of the tourists to her companion. “I didn’t know that shepherds used whips.”

A bystander overheard and leaned over. “They don’t,” he confided. “That bloke’s no shepherd. He’s the town butcher.”

Today, this fourth Sunday in Eastertide, we hear-- as we do each year-- passages from scripture about shepherds. It might seem strange if this was less usual, but we hear these stories every year, and so even in our context where I am betting most of us have only been near sheep in a petting zoo at Purina Farms, we listen and nod appreciatively. We work with a kind of limited understanding of what real shepherding is all about (it’s lonely, and exposed to the elements, and kind of stinky and dirty in real life) because we know this to be a metaphor to talk about our relationship with God and God’s relationship with us.

But I am hoping we can lean in a bit today to what our readings say to us in our own lives right now—both in our lives together as a community and a nation, as well as our lives together as disciples of Christ, mostly through the lens of our beloved 23rd Psalm.

I started with this anecdote because the part of this psalm that has been speaking to me most loudly is the image of the rod and the staff that is at the very center of our psalm. It’s like the fulcrum. So let’s actually start there. 

The rod and the staff show up in our psalm when the sheep are in the most danger—in the valley of the shadow of death. Now in normal times, shepherds lead their sheep from the front when they are guiding them. But once in danger, the psalm suggests  that God goes from walking in front of us to walking beside us, as our companion who will use the rod and the staff to protect and comfort rather than to abuse or chastise. That’s why this psalm doesn’t mention the one who cares for us driving us with whips. That would only add to the terror, and change the role of the shepherd from protector and shield to one who rules by fear and infliction of pain.

As I've been thinking about the verdict in the trial of the murderer of George Floyd, and meditating upon this psalm this week, that image of the rod and the staff have been haunting me. I've been thinking about when we invest people with tools and authorities that can cause injury and even death, we do so with the idea that those tools and authority are going to be used not against us but for us. In fact, most of us take that for granted. But we have to acknowledge that our own lack of concern is not shared by all of our kindred. 

On the night of the verdict coming down, I listened to our own Presiding Bishop speaking with great emotion about how he too grew up knowing that the color of his skin could lead his interactions with the police to not be those of protection but to be those of suspicion at first sight. And this usually optimistic man of God, whose greatest theme is that God is love and God is the answer, was weeping in relief that perhaps with this small measure of accountability we could begin the work of making our justice system and law enforcement less a means of control of people of color and more a system in which all receive equal guidance and protection under the law.

We give our shepherds authority over us, expecting that they will protect us and care for us so that we may live together in peace and without anxiety. We see the presence of the rod to be used against those who terrorize and pose imminent threat to the sheep—not against the sheep themselves, even when they do stupid things, as sheep-- and people-- are prone to do.

It’s part of the lore of this psaslm that King David himself wrote this psalm, and before he was king, he was a shepherd. His musical skill was honed as her practiced his harp playing to the sheep, singing to them during the long days, and in that singing, intimately acquainting them with the sound of the voice of the one who was there to protect them and lead them. The shepherd constantly sings out to his sheep—some even read to them—so that running to the sound of his or her voice becomes instinctive. And indeed, in all my years working with adolescents, the best educators knew it was the power of their voice and the power of their relationship with the kids that most helped guide them and help them to feel safe enough to lower their guard and trust us as teachers-- and to de-escalate when the kids needed to calm down. It is the same way with shepherds.

So there are two roles being described here as we consider the shepherd as model of the good leader or protector, and that of the sheep as the protected, and what that protection means. This psalm is about the leader—and those who are led. And there are implications for our lives in examining both of these roles.

The psalm starts with a simple declaration: God is my shepherd. It’s a straightforward, wonder-filled statement in sureness (and sureness will be featured again in the last verse of the psalm). And if God is my shepherd, I know that he will feed me and care for me so that I will not be in want. All anxiety is therefore vanquished --dispelled in the imagery of green pastures of plenty and still waters to lie down beside. And all of us deserve that assurance in our lives with each other, too.

This reminds us of the responsibility we bear as sheep. In our current political climate, the term sheep is often used contemptuously to represent someone who just blindly follows without thinking for themselves. But the obverse is just as dangerous to our common life together: those who refuse to follow any guidance but their own prejudices, their insatiable appetites, their refusal to privilege facts over their own often paranoid opinions certainly seemed to be the loudest sheep around us at times. And that not only endangers the well being of all of the members of the community, it also denies the authority that God rightfully is owed within their lives --and ours.

We know that provision is also a vital part of leadership, despite what some leaders who are only interested in power say. They want to divorce their obligations from their power, and that only leads to the tyranny of the whip.

The power of the rod and staff is a grave responsibility. We know that the rod and staff are meant for assurance and protection rather than intimidation by our next image in Psalm 23: that of God as host and provider. That same shepherd who was willing to put his life on the line to protect us is also willing to offer us plenty even in the face of those who wish us ill. God doesn't just provide us with a meal --God provides us with a banquet right in the face of those who would torment us. Where we might otherwise be afraid to take our eyes off of those who wishes harm, God instead calls us to lay aside any concern, and instead to feast at a banquet prepared of the best things.

The descriptions of safety, plenty, belovedness, and abundance described in verses 1-5 of our psalm lead the psalmist to come to a conclusion of what this special relation of protection care and guidance means for their life: With God leading us, goodness and mercy will follow us through every moment of our lives. In other words, our lives are bookended by God In God's plenteous, unwavering gifts. God at the forefront, goodness and mercy bringing up our rearguard.

And so where does that leave us? Dwelling within the household of God for all eternity, yes, but most importantly, in the time we have right now. Some scholars originally took this last line to mean that the best life was one that was lived in the temple, within its boundaries. And yet the bulk of the Psalm actually doesn't suggest so. This is a psalm about living your life out in the world in the certainty of God’s love and in testimony and witness to God’s love --not shutting yourself up away from the vagaries of life. This last observation gives us the courage and strength to persevere through whatever may come, knowing that in the end nothing will ever separate us from the love and care of God. Not even death. 

The purpose of the shepherd is not to conquer by division. The purpose of the shepherd is to make possible the creation of a good life. This psalm reminds us that God as our shepherd walks with us through our trials, even our own mistakes and foolishness, guiding and delivering us. We are never alone. We are always beloved. God has chosen us and anointed us, and provides us with all our hearts and souls need. But it also reminds us of how we should remember our common cause with all of the members of God’s flock, and how the leadership that God especially in Jesus models for us is a path of goodness and mercy for all of us as leaders and as followers. Jesus states flatly that he is willing to “lay down my life for my sheep…. of my own accord.”

Jesus seeks out all the lost sheep, and calls for us to do the same, remembering that we all fall within that category at times in our lives. Jesus calls to us, relentlessly, compassionately, taking the initiative to move toward us because only he can, and it is only when we still our own bleating that we can hear him. Luckily, he will wait and call us in the spaces and brief silences of our lives. We are scattered—but he calls us into one flock, despite our tendency to wander. Despite our tendency to fear. And goodness and mercy will follow us all the days of our lives, bringing us into our true home.

With God, and with each other.

Amen.

Preached at the 10:30 online service on Good Shepherd Sunday (the 4th Sunday in Easter) April 25, 2021 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church in Ellisville.

Readings:

• Acts 4:5-12
• 1 John 3:16-24
• John 10:11-18
• Psalm 23

Citations:

1) Top image: The Sheep, the Gate, the Shepherd, copyright Laura James. Used with Permission.

2) Last Image: The Good Shepherd, copyright Laura James. Used with permission.

Prayer from the Sheepfold: Speaking to the Soul for April 22, 2021

Psalm 23

In peace, we pray to You, Lord Christ,
our hearts and faces upturned and open to your glory.
Holy One, You are our shepherd;
we therefore rejoice,
and offer you our thankful hearts,
centering our lives in You.

You gather us into your arms, Blessed Jesus,
and carry us in safety and love.
We rest within your mighty embrace, O Redeemer;
You cover us in the mantle of your grace and truth.
Each breath we take is precious in your sight, O God;
you know our lying down and our rising up.
We know that we are yours forever;
nothing can separate us
from the love and mercy of God our Savior.

Lord of Life, Prince of Peace,
You strengthen the trembling;
You comfort those who mourn;
You bear within You those who have fallen.
We can endure and overcome all things through Christ;
in You we root our trust and our hope.


Holy One, we place before you
the names and cares of all who call upon You this day,
and ask that You grant them peace and solace
by the power of the Holy Spirit as we pray.

Amen.

Prayer, day 2622: Based on Psalm 23

Let me give thanks and praise to God,
my shepherd and provider,
who claims me and unfailingly loves me as God’s own. 
I lay all my trust at the feet of the Almighty,
Lover and Seeker of my soul. 

God leads me into verdant, abundant pastures
filled with all I need, and gives me rest and security. 
God restores and refreshes my soul,
tending and guarding my inmost being. 
My Shepherd sees my weariness, and lifts me up;
guiding me in right pathways,
that I bring honor to God’s Name. 

God, You shield me with your strength and vigilance;
may I always remain at your side. 
No matter what terrors or trials approach me,
I am not afraid 
for You, 
Emmanuel, 
are with me, even if death overhangs me. 

O God, You provide for me plentifully and exalt me,
even as my enemies look on,
helpless to harm me. 
You have consecrated me
and blessed me abundantly,
and the cup of my blessings overflows
like a spring in the desert. 

O God, your promise to love me
envelops me in goodness and mercy,
following me as my companions throughout my life. 
I am secure in God’s arms,
and my home is with you forever,
even into eternity.

Amen.

Prayer of the Blessed Sheep: Speaking to the Soul, March 19, 2020

Psalm 23

We all know this Sunday’s psalm. We’ve heard it in movies and on TV shows and at funerals. We’ve prayed it in times of stress, or maybe, as I often do, to go to sleep at night. Although most of us go automatically to the KJV of it, with its magisterial language, translators are continually rewording it, trying to get the nuances of the psalm right.

For instance, listen to these different interpretations of the first verse alone:
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. (NKJV)
Yahweh is my shepherd; I lack nothing, (New Jerusalem)
O God, You are my shepherd; I shall not be in want. (St. Helena Psalter)
O my Beloved, You are my shepherd, I shall not want; (Nan C. Merrill, Psalms for Praying)
The Lord takes care of me as his sheep; I will not be without any good thing. (Bible in Basic English)
God is my Shepherd! I don’t need a thing! (The Message)

The image of the shepherd who is devoted to his or her flock is an image for leadership and governance throughout scriptures. When it is applied to God, it becomes yet another startling metaphor for its listeners, who knew that shepherds were humble folk, and most of the time when we think of God, “humble” doesn’t immediately come to mind. But maybe it should.

Too often, we think of God and emphasize might, power, vengeance. Smiting. I love that scene in Bruce Almighty when an infuriated Bruce yells up at heaven, “Smite me, O mighty SMITERRR!” Of course, he then gets smacked by a semi, but only so that he and God can have a talk—so he will stop bleating long enough to listen TO the Shepherd’s voice.

God’s insistence on being associated with the concerned, caring shepherd who knows us intimately and loves us deeply is one that we need to hear and treasure no matter how many times we have heard those words in the 23rd Psalm or every year during the Great 50 Days of Easter. Notice, though, that God goes from being talked about in the third person to be addressed personally in the second parson a third of the way in. This is a personal relationship. But you’ll notice that the relationship isn’t just one way—it’s up to the sheep to follow the shepherd, not wander too far off, listen when he or she calls.

For us right now, who face a time of unprecedented anxiety and uncertainty in this time of global pandemic, being asked to shelter in place and remain out of gatherings of more than ten people, it is nonetheless vital for us to remember that we are all part of one large, beloved flock, under the loving gaze of the Lord Our Shepherd (Adonai Ro’i in Hebrew).  And so, today, and in the days to come, this is my prayer.

Prayer of the Blessed Sheep

God is our shepherd and provider,
You claim us as your own, and we are yours.

God leads us into pastures that supply all our needs;
You give us rest and security,

And call us to share your peace with each other

And embody your light in the darkness.

God refreshes and revives our souls anew;
leading us into truth,
trusting us to follow and glorify God's Name

for the sake of each other.

You shield us by your strength and vigilance;
when trials approach us,
we have no fear,
for You hold us in your hand
even when the darkness of death looms--

your love, O God, never sleeps.

You provide a rich banquet for us even as enemies look on;
You have consecrated us and blessed us abundantly.
Your steadfast promise of love enfolds us,
and goodness and mercy are our sure companions
as You lead us through our lives.

We rest securely in your arms,
and our home is with You forever

and right now.

Amen.

This was originally published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on March 19, 2020.

ImAge: Sheep grazing in a field near Iona Abbey, Scotland.

Better Sheep: Sermon for the 4th Sunday of Easter C (Shepherd Sunday)

We all know today’s psalm. We’ve heard it in movies and on TV shows and at funerals. We've heard it in funerals in movies and on TV. We’ve prayed it in times of stress, or maybe, as I often do, to go to sleep at night. Although most of us go automatically to the KJV of it, with its magisterial language, translators are continually rewording it, trying to get the nuances of the psalm right.

For instance, listen to these different interpretations of the first verse alone:
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. (NKJV)
Yahweh is my shepherd; I lack nothing, (New Jerusalem)
O God, You are my shepherd; I shall not be in want. (St. Helena Psalter)
O my Beloved, You are my shepherd, I shall not want; (Nan C. Merrill, Psalms for Praying)
The Lord takes care of me as his sheep; I will not be without any good thing. (Bible in Basic English) 
God is my Shepherd! I don’t need a thing! (The Message)

Just this year, Robert Alter completed his sweeping translation and commentary of the entire Hebrew Scriptures, and his version goes like this:

The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
In grass meadows He makes me lie down,
by quiet waters guides me.
My life He brings back.
He leads me on pathways of justice
for His name’s sake.
Though I walk in the vale of death’s shadow,
I fear no harm,
For You are with me.
Your rod and Your staff—
It is they that console me.
You set out a table before me
in the face of my foes.
You moisten my head with oil,
my cup overflows.
Let but goodness and kindness pursue me
all the days of my life.
And I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
for many long days.(1)

The image of the shepherd who is devoted to his or her flock is an image for leadership and governance throughout scriptures. When it is applied to God, it becomes yet another startling metaphor for its listeners, who knew that shepherds were humble folk, and most of the time when we think of God, “humble” doesn’t immediately come to mind. But maybe it should.

Too often, we think of God and emphasize might, power, vengeance. Smiting. I love that scene in Bruce Almighty when an infuriated Bruce yells up at heaven, “Smite me, O mighty SMITERRR!” Of course, he then gets smacked by a semi, but only so that he and God can have a talk—so he will stop bleating long enough to listen TO the Shepherd’s voice.

God’s insistence on being associated with the concerned, caring shepherd who knows us intimately and loves us deeply is one that we need to hear and treasure no matter how many times we have heard those words in the 23rd Psalm or every year during the Great 50 Days of Easter. Notice, though, that God goes from being talked about in the third person to be addressed personally in the second parson a third of the way in. This is a personal relationship. But you’ll notice that the relationship isn’t just one way—it’s up to the sheep to follow the shepherd, not wander too far off, listen when he or she calls.

I have written daily prayers for nearly every day for almost seven years now, and several times I have written prayers based on the 23rd Psalm. One of the ones that I have written that has gotten shared the most is this one, because I wrote it with that mutual nature of the relationship in mind:

O Lord, You are our shepherd;
help us to be better sheep.

When You give us green pastures,
help us to be grateful and not refuse to eat.

When You lead us beside still waters,
help us quiet our souls and be refreshed.

When our cups run over,
help us not to obsess about the mess
but shout for joy at the abundance
you give us always. 

When You lead us to right pathways,
help us not to be hardheaded and go astray.

When we are in the darkest valley,
help us to remember that You are ALWAYS with us.

When you spread a table before us
in the presence of our enemies,
help us invite them to join us,
that their hearts may be turned by love.

Help us to stop bleating long enough
to hear Your voice calling us to You.

May we remember that your goodness and mercy
follow all of us all the days of our lives.
Amen.

In our gospel reading, we again hear Jesus describe his followers as sheep—last week, Jesus told Peter three times to care for or feed Jesus’s sheep as a sign of Peter’s love for Jesus. Sheep that know their shepherd’s voice and recognize it as the voice of one who will do anything to save them. We NEED to remember that—especially when we feel lost, or not good enough. The voice of the one who loves us is always calling for us, but especially at times like those.

I love that image of the shepherd—because it’s another metaphor for God that isn’t necessarily male. In fact, it definitely has a certain mothering quality to it, one I hope we have all experienced and we have all emulated for someone else in our lives, whether we are actual mothers or not, whether our mothers are with us or not, whether our mothers were always there for us or not. Hearing the voice of love, with tender love and care, calling us back from where we have gotten lost.

So I have a story to share. I had just transferred from the middle school to the high school, and was asked to come up early in the summer to meet with some of my colleagues to discuss some curricular matters. But I had no one to watch my kids, so I brought them with me. Of course, one of them wandered off while I was in another room for a couple of minutes. And I didn’t know the building. Practically no staff was there. It was a brutally hot day. So after making sure that there was no pool in which my child could drown, I began going all over the building looking high and low for my child, while my one colleague watched my other two kids.

It seemed to go on forever. I went around the building on the outside (106 degrees!) and on the inside, calling my child’s name. I was finally at the point where I was going to call the police. There was one hallway that I had already been in, and it was hot because the air conditioning was shut off in it. Surely she wouldn’t have gone in there—it was miserable. I called my child’s name… and heard a tiny, reedy noise. But I knew that voice. My child knew my voice—and I knew hers. She had gotten locked in at the end of the hallway and could not get out of the stairwell, and thankfully wasn’t strong enough to open the door to the outside, where there was construction and traffic and a quarry beyond the back fence. I was so grateful-- and furious-- but mostly grateful.

When I finally got to my child, I asked her why she hadn’t answered me, and she said she hadn’t heard me because she was so busy calling my name. My much louder voice had cancelled hers out, but she kept calling me, because she knew I would not give up. And, oh, the relief once I had found her. She was my child.

The next morning as I was praying the Daily Office, I was struck by this image in verse 7 of Psalm 95:
For he is our God,
and we are the people of his pasture,
and the sheep of his hand.
O that today you would listen to his voice!

It is through the Shepherd’s voice that we are saved—together, as one flock, supporting each other. Salvation means being protected in the hand of Jesus, to be in his grip, never to be snatched away or pried loose. And we can support each other in trusting in that promise, in having faith enough to share when others are faltering.

This being what is known as “Shepherd Sunday,” we are reminded that Jesus’s sheep know him and his voice, the same way my daughter knew my voice even behind two locked doors. But this recognition works both ways. Jesus knows his sheep—and the sheep know Jesus. The joy that Jesus feels when some of his lost sheep are returned to him, as he describes in Luke 15:4-7, always makes me think of that tear-filled little voice echoing down a hot hallway after being lost for what felt like an eternity.

Maybe some of us don’t have these feeling of being lost—but I know many of us do, at one time or another. We may let our sense of loss and sometimes shame keep us from being able to listen to that loving voice of our shepherd calling to us, loving us no matter what. That’s one of the roles that communities of faith play—they aren’t a place where we are expected to be perfect. They are meant to be a place where we feel safe enough to come as we are, confess where we have gone astray, and then help each other hear that loving voice calling us back home.

As I continue to grieve the loss of Rachel Held Evans, I have been rereading her works, and this is what she says about that tendency we have to let the bleating voice drown out the voice of welcome, of love, and forgiveness that our shepherd uses to call to us. She talked about the blessing that communities of faith play in being supportive and safe, in accepting each other but also encouraging each other at the same time. In Searching for Sunday, she wrote:

We Christians don’t get to send our lives through the rinse cycle before showing up to church. We come as we are—no hiding, no acting, no fear. We come with our materialism, our pride, our petty grievances against our neighbors, our hypocritical disdain for those judgmental people in the church next door. We come with our fear of death, our desperation to be loved, our troubled marriages, our persistent doubts…. We come with our addictions—to substances, to work, to affirmation, to control, to food. We come with our differences, be they political, theological, racial, or socioeconomic. We come in search of sanctuary, a safe place to shed the masks and exhale.(2)

Many of us have experienced times when we have felt that God is far from us. Or we may feel that way due to the scars and wounds the world has inflicted upon us. We may feel unloved and unlovable, and treat ourselves as disposable- or allow others to treat us that way. It’s important to remember though, that it is not God who has wandered off.

A shepherd waterspout in Paris

But if we still ourselves, if we can stop our tremulous crying out just for a moment, we can hear the voice of the One Who Loves Us calling to us, welcoming us home, assuring us that we can never be snatched out of his hand, not even by our own wandering away, not even by the hurts that the world may inflict upon us. None of that matters. Listen-- the voice of Love calls to us, and holds us fast within his hand.

O Lord, You are our shepherd;
help us to be better sheep
And to listen for your voice.

Amen.

Preached at the 505 on May 11, and the 8:00 and the 10:15 on May 12, 2019, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.

Readings:
Psalm 23
John 10:22-30

Sources:
(1) Robert Alter, The Hebrew Bible: A Translation with Commentary, vol 3, The Writings, pp. 70-71.
(2) Rachel Held Evans, Searching for Sunday: Loving, Leaving, and Finding the Church, p. 77.

Prayer, day 2241- Based on the 23rd Psalm

(Based on Psalm 23)

God is our shepherd and provider,
You claim us as your own.

God leads us into pastures that supply all our needs;
You give us rest and security.

God refreshes and revives our souls anew;
leading us into truth, 
trusting us to follow and glorify God's Name.

You shield us by your strength and vigilance;
when trials approach us, 
we have no fear, 
for You hold us in your hand 
even when the darkness of death looms.

You provide a rich banquet for us even as enemies look on;
You have consecrated us and blessed us abundantly.
Your steadfast promise of love enfolds us,
and goodness and mercy are our sure companions 
as You lead us through our lives.

We rest securely in your arms,
and our home is with You forever.

O Shepherd, hear the call of your people and gather them close, especially those we now name.

Amen.
(443)