“Brought to You By the Letter R’”
A Sermon by
The Rev. Mike Elliott
June 6, 2010
Psalm 23
The 23rd Psalm is probably the best known, most loved, most quoted portion of Scripture. It is so familiar that people who seldom if ever read a Bible or go to church can still quote at least a portion of this Psalm. So hear the Word of the Lord from the Book of Psalms….and please feel free to recite out loud along with me if you would like…
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for you are with me.
Your rod and thy staff they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies,
You anoint my head with oil,
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
Like so many pieces of Scripture that get associated with specific times and seasons of life, like First Corinthians 13 at weddings; Psalm 23 is so often requested at funerals, we have grown used to associating Psalm 23 with death. In fact, I can’t tell you the last memorial service I performed or was in the congregation for that Psalm 23 wasn’t read. Truly though, this Psalm is really for the living. It speaks to the living about the process of living and of what things the very act of living sometimes brings our way. Psalm 23 speaks to us of the good times of our lives lived in those green pastures beside the still waters just as much as it comforts us in the times we spend in the dark valleys of the shadow of death.
The 23rd Psalm paints for us many different pictures involving the imagery and language of sheep and shepherding as was used in Palestine back in biblical times. If we don't know anything about the customs of shepherds and the unique relationship between shepherd and sheep, then much of what this Psalm has to say simply passes us by. Now, I don’t know about you, but the closest I got to a sheep in the first 21 years of my life was a wool sweater for Christmas or leg of lamb at Easter time. Other than the wonderful and reassuring images that Psalm 23 paints, I will be the first to admit that parts of the Psalm are just not easy for me to understand.
One thing that I discovered this past week in doing research is that the Valley of the Shadow of Death is, in fact, a very real place in Israel. The writer of the psalm is not just using figurative speech. The image the psalm paints is based on reality. The valley of the shadow of death is found on an ancient sheep path that lies between Jericho and Jerusalem. Passing through this valley would be one of the quickest ways to get to Jerusalem from the west. It may have been a place that Jesus walked through on his final trip to Jerusalem from Lazarus’ village of Bethany. For all we know, it, or a similar place, may have been the setting for the Parable of the Good Samaritan.
It is a valley, actually a mountain pass that got its name from the local shepherds because of its steep sides and sheer rock walls. It was a pass that enabled the shepherds to lead their sheep from one mountain pasture to another. However it was a terrifying place for skittish, defenseless, fearful sheep because in the steep cliffs on both sides of the valley there were many caves and rocks and crevices that were perfect hiding place for animals of prey - and for people who wanted to rob passing travelers. Sounds and voices would echo and amplify in the valley, making it a terrifying place for sheep and people alike. The perfect place for an ambush.
The point is, the valley of the shadow of death is a very real place filled with very real dangers. It is not just some spiritual or psychological state of mind. The comfort that I find in the words:
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for you are with me.
is that they speak to the actual times and events in my own live when I have felt that dark and looming sense of fear and danger closing in on me. When the very real fears of economic or relationship or illness or other events leave me paralyzed and empty. You know, that fear that’s so strong that you can almost taste it? That fear that threatens to overwhelm you as you stand by the deathbed or wait for the doctor’s report or for the word from your lawyer? Real. Tangible. Spine-tingling fear. Author Ellen Bergh tells this story:
“Amtrak's Coast Starlight train was filled with excited passengers, craning their necks to enjoy the Oregon scenery as the train rolled through green forests. A shining lake gleamed through the trees, and cheerful conversation filled the air. Suddenly, the light, airy feeling was gone, like a candle blown out in a draft as they entered a tunnel. Expecting the sun to reappear quickly, Ellen was uncomfortable as it became even darker.
The happy sounds were a thing of the past. Everyone sat in awe of the inky blackness. The longer they traveled in the tunnel, the harder it was to remain calm without any visual cues to reassure them. Even the movement of the train seemed to fall away into pitch darkness. When they came out of the tunnel, laughter and relief filled the compartment.
"My life in Christ is like that unforgettable train ride," Ellen reflects. "Events may plunge me into darkness where I have no clues to sense the Lord's presence. Yet I can trust God is with me even when I can't see what lies ahead."
Sometimes we so desperately want to hear:
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
That image of still waters and green pastures is so refreshing and peaceful and reassuring. It is a place that I can and would love to spend my whole life in. Wouldn’t you? There is just one little problem though. That’s not what life is all about!
Do any of you ever notice the herd of buffalo that graze on the land of Sandia Pueblo as you drive up Tramway into town? That’s a drive I make almost every day, so I have been observing their habits for 11 years now! If you look carefully you will notice that what looks like one large piece of open land, from the gas station all the way up to the Tram is actually partitioned off with several wire fences in dozens of pastures. We, like Israel, are little better than desert. Good, plentiful, green pasture and still water is almost impossible to find. As the weeks go by, the buffalo are moved from pasture to pasture to ensure that they have plenty of fresh grass to eat. They are also moved through pastures to prevent them from overgrazing and turning our marginal grassland into barren wasteland. Of course, moving the buffalo to fresh pasture requires a long uphill walk through some nasty patches of cactus and boulders. Sort of like the Sandia equivalent of the Israeli valley of the shadow of death!
As you read Psalm 23, you can sense this movement from lush, green safety to dark terrifying valley and then out the other side and back to lush, green safety once again. It’s a journey that sheep and buffalo must make at some point in their lives to ensure that they survive, and even more importantly, thrive and have abundant life. But it involves some times of fear and unwillingness spent in that terrifying mountain pass filled with danger. That’s where the shepherd comes in. It is their job to see that the sheep make it safely through to the green pastures that lie ahead of them.
The funny thing is that our lives are not so very different than that of sheep or buffalo. Sometimes we get stuck in a certain place or time in our lives and we need the gentle and reassuring presence and nudging lead of our own Good Shepherd.
The Valley of the Shadow of Death are those terrifying, dark, lonely, frightening times in our own life. Times of sickness, tragedy, emotional stress, tension, economic disaster, loneliness. Times when God may seem so far away and try as we might, the twists and the turns of our lives make it impossible to see the green pastures and still waters that lie around the next turn in our journey.
But there is a method to what may seem like the shepherd’s madness. The shepherd takes the sheep from the dry and lifeless places they are in and leads them to new places filled with abundant life where they can flourish. But to get there, the shepherd and the sheep have to first pass through the dark and terrifying valley. It is the shepherd’s responsibility to read the signs and gauge the times and the purposes of our lives and lead us into bold new futures of deeper faith and trust.
Jesus says:
"I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me— just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep.
And so it is with our Good Shepherd, our Lord Jesus Christ, who leads us through the troubled and difficult times of life. But there is a reason, a purpose and that is to lead us to greener pastures of deeper trust and faith. He calls us to trust in him, to put our faith in him, even when we can’t always see or understand his plan or purpose. But we trust the Good Shepherd, because we know the shepherd is trustworthy.
The real power of Psalm 23 comes from its use of two key words: though and through -- the same word except for a single letter "r." And it is that one little letter that makes all the difference in the world. It is the letter that turns our "though" into a "through."
We all know the truth behind that first word "though" – that there are dangers and trials lurking around every corner. There is no "if" about the reality of life's obstacles and problems. Psalm 23 candidly faces the inevitable. It proclaims not "if" but "even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death ...." Life isn't always tables loaded with food, overflowing cups or green pastures. Sometimes we're not resting by those still waters but rather, struggling in the valley of the shadow of death. But while we are walking the valley of the shadow, Psalm 23 reminds us that God is with us in whatever we face.
"Though" none of us gets out of life without walking through the valley, it is still only a valley, a passageway, a temporary condition. The valley of the shadow of death is something we go through. Valleys are not resting places, but passageways. We can walk through our problems. We can walk through our sorrows. We can walk through our pain. We can walk through our mistakes. What Psalm 23 promises us is that, in all these journeys, God will walk through with us.
"Though" and "through" differ only by one small letter -- the letter "r." In American Sign Language, "r" is made by crossing the middle finger over the index finger. But crossed fingers have a history as sign language that far pre--dates ASL. In the first centuries of the Church, when Christianity was illegal and Christians were persecuted, believers found ways to communicate their faith in subtle and secret ways. Crossed fingers were a code sign, identifying Christians to each other as “safe.” The crossed fingers were a symbol for the cross of Christ.
This is what the crossed fingers of the letter "r," the difference that turns a "though" into a "through," still means to us today. Though we may walk in the darkness of the valley of death, we are not alone. Our Good Shepherd is with us. Christ is walking us through the valley of the shadow of death with us. Right by our side.
So, the next time you find yourself in that valley of fear, the next time you find yourself crossing your fingers for luck, think about that little letter “R.” Think about the One, our Good Shepherd who leads us through the valley and brings us safe on the other side. Compliments of the letter “r.”
Amen.