Monthly Archives: May 2025

Peace

Last week the American Psychiatric Association released results from their annual survey of anxiety in America.

The survey found that Americans are anxious about all sorts of things:

  • 40% of us are anxious about job security
  • 53% are anxious about the impact of climate change
  • 59% of us are anxious about our health
  • 61% are anxious about paying our bills
  • 62% of us are anxious about keeping ourselves or our family safe
  • 67% are anxious about current events in the world

This survey has been conducted nine years in a row now, so at this point a few things are clear. Pretty much everyone in our country is anxious about something. Many of us worry about lots of somethings. And these high levels of angst don’t appear to be going away any time soon.

Comforter
Today we set our sights on the tail-end of John chapter 14. Here Jesus speaks to eleven of his disciples right after the Last Supper. And right before he was crucified. Here Christ offers guidance and wisdom about what life will be like, when he is no longer with them.
The disciples, Jesus knows, are understandably anxious. He wants very much to soothe their fears. To do so he tells them about the Advocate, who will be with them forever. Not understanding him just yet, Jesus shares other names for their newfound friend.

  • Spirit of truth
  • Teacher
  • Comforter
  • Helper
  • Holy Spirit

Here Christ foreshadows what happens on Pentecost in the upper room, when the active presence of God in our world, aka the Holy Spirit, descends on the 120, and began guiding the early church outside their four walls.

The Advocate will remind you of all that I have said, he shares. Verse 27 of the passage in particular stands out:

Peace I leave with you, Jesus begins.
My peace I give to you.
Do not let your hearts be troubled.
Do not let your hearts be afraid.

This is the promise of Christ.
Doesn’t that sound great?

But
And yet we know, all too well, of anxiety.
We know all too well of fears, worries, angst.

We aren’t anxious 100% of the time. But –
100% of us are anxious, some of the time.

The world gives us anxiety.
There’s no way around it.

We wear it on our faces,
We listen to it in our stories,
We act on it in word and deed.

Christ wants none of that for us.

To which it’s worth asking, how on earth do we receive and live into this peace?

Here
I’d suggest one of the best ways to receive Christ’s peace happens right here in worship. Any ideas which part does just this?

The passing of the peace.

Many of you know this liturgy well.

P: The peace of Christ be with you all!
C: And also with you!

I adore this part of our liturgy so much I encourage us to share Christ’s peace with each other lots of different ways – by handshake, hug, fist bump, holy kiss.

Love
Early church Father John Chrysostom wrote that sharing the peace is the church’s “fuel of love” and happens “so that we may love each other as siblings love siblings, as children love parents, as parents love children.”

I love that.

The passing of the peace happens in an important place during worship.

It comes immediately after the prayers of the people, where we give thanks for all we have, asking for what we need for ourselves, our neighbors, our leaders, our country, our world.

During Lent this portion of our prayers end with this: Receive the prayers of your people and draw all things together in your love, in the name of Jesus, who leads us from death into life.

Drawn together in Christ’s love we then share this love with the passing of the peace, following the nudge of the Spirit to share this peace with one another.

Immediately after passing the peace we celebrate holy communion together. Now reconciled with one another, now fully at peace, we come to the table. Taking the bread and the wine into ourselves reconciles us with our Creator, just as we have now been reconciled with one another, and makes us one with Christ.

Nourished and forgiven, in this moment all our needs are met. We are at once at peace with our God, ourselves, each other.

Not too long after that we go out, exiting this familiar space, and share the peace and love of Christ we have received with all we encounter.

We do that all week long.
We then come back next week.
We refuel with the peace of Christ.

We do that again, and again, and again.

Another
Sharing the peace is part of worship in many settings, including among Lutherans, Catholics, Episcopalians and Presbyterians. When I first experienced it in college – I wasn’t raised in any of these environments – I was instantly drawn to it.

Scott Vaughan, a friend and church communications consultant, has visited hundreds of churches over the years, across dozens of denominations, as part of his work. Most his life has been spent worshiping in Southern Baptist churches; I like to joke that he’s my favorite Baptist 😊. When Scott experienced his first “peace be with you” as an adult he didn’t know what to do initially. But he knew, in the moment, that it felt good.

Wanting to learn more, I asked Scott about what this peace passing means to him, since, for him, it is still novel. He shared that it isn’t just welcoming guests or people sitting near you. It is expressing the peace and joy that comes from following Jesus. A lot of people who come to worship attend because they are in some kind of acute pain. They are looking for sanctuary.

Passing the peace of Christ opens us to the work of the Holy Spirit among us, bringing us physically, emotionally and spiritually together in this space.

Passing the peace of Christ gives all of us, no matter what burdens we bring in the doors with us, just that.

Show of hands, who here, on occasion, feel anxious sometimes. Statistically speaking this includes all of us. The ways of the world can’t help but make us feel anxious, worried, troubled, filled with angst.

People of God, hear the words of Christ:

Peace I leave with you.
My peace I give to you.
Do not let your hearts be troubled.
Do not let your hearts be afraid.

Receive it. Share it. Live it.
Do so again, and again, and again.  Amen.

Shall Not Want

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.