A reflection on Psalm 23

Where are you writing your sermon this week? My wife Kathi was curious. With kids dropped off at school earlier, coffee and cereal consumed, the question was timely.

Maybe I’ll try the backyard, I replied. The weather seems nice.

I gathered scholarly summaries, books, pen, highlighter, laptop and went outside.

Sitting under our pergola in a patio hammock I looked up. Some of the wooden boards we’d repaired and repainted last Fall had begun to rot. Oif.

The lawn, now fully green, and growing fast, was ready for another mow. Hadn’t I just done that last week? I noticed too the back garden fence was tilting over in unhelpful ways. I sighed.

My mind wandered to the to-do list here at church. I have a six-week sabbatical coming up later this summer, from the end of June through mid-August. Sabbaticals are an opportunity to reflect, refresh, relax, retool, renew, recommit to this called clergy relationship you and I are in. Thank you, good people of St. John’s for making this available to your clergy – supporting your pastors in this way speaks well of you.

But until the sabbatical begins June 30? A growing to-do list of survey analysis, staff hires, hospital visits, baptisms, funerals, member meetings, program planning and preaching awaits. Pondering all that in my backyard I sighed some more.

Psalm 23
In middle school, I attended a summer bible camp that encouraged kids to meet a lofty goal: memorize 100 bible verses over the course of a week. There were daily updates, leader boards, prize categories, that sort of thing. I didn’t hit the top target – few kids did – tho did achieve a couple benchmarks along the way.

One passage I memorized was Psalm 23. Partially because the poetry drew me in. There is a certain flow to it, which makes it memorable. And partially because the short text, in terms of verse count, quickly got me up to a score of six 😊.

The King James Version is what I learned in my youth; it is old English that dates to 1611. Most days I can still recall it well:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
he leadeth me beside the still waters.
3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake.
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:
for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Feeling led to focus on this text for this message I pulled out some favorite resources and began to read. Sermon suggestions showing promise were underlined. If it really resonated a highlighter was used. And if something truly inspired? I drew a little star by it. With multiple stars meaning more.

Initial read now complete, words underlined, highlighted, stars placed, I put the papers down and closed my eyes. It was time to ponder where the Spirit might move.

Diving In
The poet begins on a personal note: The Lord is my shepherd. It is the only Psalm of the 150 that personalizes the Shepherd in this way. My shepherd highlights a God guiding God’s people as a group, yet doing so one person individually, at a time.

The shepherd cares for the flock, keeping us safe from the dangers that lurk beyond. I’m reminded of the parable where the shepherd leaves the 99, going out to seek the one. When you’re part of the 99 perhaps you don’t worry so much, there is safety in numbers. But when you’re the one? You better believe you want to be able to say hey, that’s my shepherd! They’re going to keep me safe, and out of harm’s way! The Psalmist here is personal.

The Psalmist here also speaks in real time. Lead, restore, fear, comfort, prepare and anoint are all present tense. This isn’t a fond look back at the past. And it isn’t a fast-forward ahead to better times. The promise is that God is with us in the here and now. No matter how that here and now might appear.

The promises we are given in the Psalm explains, perhaps, why the poem is so beloved.

Green pastures,
Still waters,
Right paths,
Overflowing cups,
Anointed head,
Soul restored,
Fearing not –

These are promises you can cling to. Promises we claim through the life, death, and resurrection of Christ.

The final verse then sets its sights ahead.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.

Said differently we can count on these promises today, tomorrow, forever.

Now at the end, I find myself returning to the start.

Because the Lord is my shepherd, providing comfort, care, cups overflowing, and doing so for all the days of my life, what needs do I have?

Because the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. I need only trust God with my joys, fears, and everything in between. With that these promises are mine.

Back
With eyes still closed sitting in my backyard, still pondering the Psalm, I felt myself slowly relax.

I shall not want. The phrase played repeatedly in my head. I found myself now noticing the chirping of the birds, joyfully singing their song. A bushy tail squirrel scampered along a fence line, making it their personal superhighway, racing back and forth at high speeds. Our dog Churro gnawed on a lamb bone I’d given her earlier in the morning. It was the last remains of our Easter dinner a few weeks prior. The birds, the squirrel, the dog, they didn’t seem to want. Why I wondered, should I?

I shall not want. I looked back at the tall, still-needs-to-be-mowed green grass again. It now seemed more inviting. One blanket laid down just so on it, with a few choice morsels and a cool drink would make for a fantastic picnic spot, I realized.

There were shadows in the yard, yes. Tho they were placed there by the same tree I sat under that provided shade. With an ever-so-gentle breeze paired with sun aplenty I felt awash in peace.

I shall not want. I noticed our firepit. Our family loves sitting fireside toasting marshmallows, munching on Smores, sharing with each other all the trappings of life. But we hadn’t done that for a while. I committed to gathering both firewood and family that night, reigniting that tried, true tradition again.

Every-so-often I’d hear a snip or a pluck from the back of the yard. Kathi, trowel and gloves in hand was gardening, taking a first pass at preparing the soil for the season. Last summer we really got that garden going – it made for a great couple’s hobby. I mentally made plans to grow that garden anew.

I shall not want. Looking across the lawn I put new eyes on our brick home. And couldn’t help but recall a children’s fable complete with a big bad wolf and three little pigs. The pigs who made their houses of straw and sticks couldn’t withstand that big bad wolf and all that huffing and puffing. Those houses blew down. But this 105-year-old colonial? No amount of strong winds – and we’ve had some these past few years – can blow this house down. For we dwell in the house the good Lord pointed us to.

Sitting there I realized something I’ve known for a while but needed reminding of. Surely goodness and mercy has followed me all the days of my life. It always has. It still does. It always will.

Psalm 23 is alive and well.
Right in my backyard.
On a mild, mid-May day.

People of God, please know this: the promises of God ring true. If you would, say the verse The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want with me. Let’s say it together three times.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

May you find this promise in your own backyard, too.