Ps 23

2 March 2008

4th Sunday in Lent

“In Death’s Shadow”

            If there’s one part of the Bible that English-speaking people are familiar with, it’s today’s text from the Psalms.  Even in America, with our dwindling knowledge of the Bible, the 23rd psalm is something almost everyone has at least a passing awareness of.  But it isn’t from the translations done in the past four centuries—it’s the King James Version.  (People often request this psalm for funerals.  For those services, that’s the only version I’ve ever used.)

            One thing that really stands out is in verse 4:  “Even though I walk in the darkest valley.”  Technically, that might be a better translation, but it’s not as dramatic as “the valley of the shadow of death.”  In my opinion—and clearly, I don’t think I’m alone on this—it’s not as powerful.  It’s not as artistic.  The phrase literally reads:  “the valley of death-shadow.”  Friends, that’s pretty dark!

            Those considerations aside, we can see a sense of movement throughout the 23rd psalm.  That would be in keeping with the image of the shepherd guiding the sheep, moving through grassy meadows, by tranquil streams, and yes, through the darkest of valleys.

However, one doesn’t usually think of shepherds as preparing tables for their sheep, anointing their heads with oil, or pouring them cups that overflow.  And here’s a shot in the dark:  I’m guessing that sheep aren’t known for their desire to spend time in the house of the Lord!

The predominant view, of course, is that the last two verses move away from the idea of the Lord as shepherd to the Lord as host.  That would seem to avoid the ridiculous scenario I just described.  One of our teachers at seminary, Tom McDaniel, suggested another way to look at it.  (By the way, Banu and I remember him for another reason—he presided at our wedding!)

            First, here’s a quick lesson in Hebrew.  (I don’t know a whole lot about it, so it will have to be quick!)  Hebrew, the language of the Old Testament, is written with all consonants.  The vowels consist of points—dots—that were added later, sometimes several centuries later.  Obviously, a change in vowels can make a big difference in the sound and meaning of words.  Change one letter, and we go from “sack” to “sock.”  Same consonants, different vowels:  I think the point’s made.

            But maybe you’ll ask, “How could this possibly happen with the Bible?”  Here’s one way.  Before printing presses came along in the 1500s, copies of the scriptures were done by hand.  Sometimes a copyist would receive a manuscript that was difficult to read.  A dot might be added or end up on the wrong side of a letter.  That would be enough to change the pronunciation, and likely, the meaning.  Our friend Dr. McDaniel said that may have happened with our psalm.

            The word translated “shepherd” in verse 1 is the Hebrew term y[iro (ro`i).  With a slight vowel change, we wind up with the word y[ire (re`i), which means “companion” or “friend.”  In fact, it’s the same word used in Leviticus 19:18, which says to “love your neighbor as yourself.”  If Yahweh, the Lord, is our y[ire (re`i)—our companion, our friend, our neighbor—that puts loving our neighbor in a very different light.

            We can see the 23rd psalm as a song of pilgrimage, of travel to the holy place.  We are on a journey, and we are not alone.  The Lord is our companion, and we need nothing else.  Whether by peaceful waters in pleasant meadows or in the loneliest, most terrifying abyss, God is with us.  And God—as shepherd, companion, or both—provides for us, even when those bent on our destruction are all around.

            So far, I’ve given an example of how Psalm 23 is used liturgically, in worship.  I used a funeral service as a case in point.  I just mentioned how it can be looked at academically.  Examining the Hebrew text can yield new ways of understanding the psalm.  But all that stuff isn’t enough.  We need more in order to learn how to live when we are, as my sermon title says, in death’s shadow.

            What does it mean to live with the awareness that the Lord is our shepherd, our companion, and our host?  What does it mean to know that we do not want—that we do not lack?  And even more, what does all that mean if we’re in the presence of our enemies?  What response does it encourage or require?

            In our epistle reading (Ep 5:8-14), the apostle Paul comes from a different direction.  “Once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light.  Live as children of light” (v. 8).  If living as “children of light” isn’t sufficiently clear, he goes on to say, “Try to find out what is pleasing to the Lord.  Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them” (vv. 10-11).

            Works of darkness are “unfruitful”; they aren’t creative.  They don’t accomplish anything worthwhile.  Works of darkness are the methods of control and force and manipulation that we so often use.

            Imagine, preparing a table in the presence of our enemies.  As the Japanese theologian Kosuke Koyama has said, “People enjoying such a feast would make themselves an easy target for their adversaries!”[1]  It would be like a family of squirrels, happily crunching on seeds and nuts, completely unaware of the cats sneaking up behind them!

            But that’s okay, he says, because “this is none other than an expression of the supreme wisdom and strength of God, whose foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and whose weakness is stronger than human strength.”  In verse 4, when the psalmist says to God, “I fear no evil,” what reason does he give?  I have security through advanced firepower?  Or, I have enough money to bribe anyone?

            Or maybe is it “for you are with me”?  Koyama adds, “God’s vulnerability is stronger than human invulnerability.  Through a banquet table—not guns and warplanes—God wills to transform us and our world.”

            It’s indeed a blessing, a gift of grace, that none of us is dependent upon our own experience—certainly not our own strength—to secure the friendship of God.  It’s been said that, as the psalmist finds out, his God satisfies every need and transforms his circumstances.

“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” (v. 6).  By the time we get to this final verse, we see that the psalmist is “no longer hunted down by his enemies, but he is literally pursued by the goodness of God.”  (I’ll say more about that in a moment.)  What’s more, “this is no temporary situation, but it is going to be the characteristic of his whole life.”[2]

Considering that this is a beloved psalm, most people probably don’t want to hear this.  But it is possible that when the psalmist speaks of having a fine meal while enemies are nearby, it’s less an expression of trust in God than it is a case of “who’s laughing now”?  There are plenty of prayers for revenge in the Psalms.  But then, maybe that’s why he needs God’s goodness and mercy to follow him.  Something needs to set that boy straight!  (Again, I’m just raising a possibility!)

And to be honest, “follow” is too weak a word.  The Hebrew word, #d'r; (radaf), is better translated as “pursue” or “chase.”  I myself can relate to needing, and wanting, God’s goodness and mercy chasing after me.  I can think of times when I’ve felt like I was in that dark valley, the valley of the shadow of death.

I can also think of times when I’ve been petty and spiteful.  I’ve enjoyed the blessings of God, knowing that others have gone wanting; they’ve gone lacking.  And I haven’t lifted a finger to help.  I can only speak for myself, but I want the goodness of God to keep chasing me, no matter where I try to hide.  I want to be the rabbit tracked by the hound of heaven.  I need that life to shine on me when I’m in death’s shadow.

We’ve been reading Jesus is the Victor by Christoph Blumhardt in Sunday school.  In the chapter, “He Lives and Brings New Life,” Blumhardt speaks like someone more convinced than I am of these truths.  Putting it in the framework of the church, he says, “Christ’s resurrection is not just something that happened in the past.  There is resurrection today just as much as there was back then, after Christ’s death.  Our renewal is real to the extent that we find ourselves in an entirely different order.”[3]

Now, if I were sitting there and listening to this, I would be full of questions.  (But then, I’m always full of questions.  If you don’t learn anything else from me, I want it to be this:  people of genuine faith are not know-it-alls.  They ask questions!)

Here’s one question I’d ask:  what does Blumhardt mean when he says there’s resurrection today, as surely as when Christ rose from the grave?  So what about that?  What are some ways in which there is new life, where once there had been only death?

That leads to another question.  When he says, “Our renewal is real to the extent that we find ourselves in an entirely different order,” what is that?  What is an entirely different order?  I imagine that could be a lot of things, but let’s stick with what our beloved 23rd psalm gives us.

            Blumhardt adds that “[o]ur task…is to demonstrate the power of the resurrection.”[4]  When we allow the power of Christ to have freedom within us, enemies are no longer feared or despised.  Evil is de-fanged, in whatever valley of death-shadow we find ourselves.  That may be brokenness in body or heart or spirit.  We also (amazingly!) find it within ourselves to reach out to those we once considered repellent.

            Our friend Kosuke Koyama reminds us, “The table that God prepares for us culminates in the eucharistic table of the Lord,” the table of the Lord’s Supper.  “This sacrament is the ultimate symbol of God’s hospitality, demonstrated in full view of the enemy.”[5]  I don’t care who we consider our enemy to be.  When we dine together at the table “prepared by the very life of God,” enemies become friends.

            Today, as we come to the table of the Lord, come as the one being chased by the goodness and mercy of God.  Come to dine with the risen Lord, who gives you the power to rise from the shadow of death.  Come to the table, trusting that in the journey of your life, God is your beloved, your companion, your shepherd.  Come as those who long to sing with the psalmist:  we shall dwell in the house of the Lord our whole lives long.

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