RVCC Pastor's Sermon

Sermon - April 13, 2008

“Never Quite Forgotten”

By Rev. Nancy Foran
Psalm 23

I first learned it in Mr. Gilbreth’s Sunday School class. All twelve of us sat, lecture-style, on old wooden chairs, the ones with a wide arm designed to take notes on, and he taught us line by line. We recited it throughout the year – and promptly forgot it come summer.

But that was not the end of the 23rd Psalm. It came back to us once more in eighth grade as we sat in more the comfortable sofas in Rev. Haynes’ office with its warm maroon Oriental carpet and floor-to-ceiling book-lined shelves. We all remembered bits and pieces of it – a phrase here, an image there. We recited it for the final test – and forgot it shortly after Confirmation Sunday.

But that was not the end of the 23rd Psalm. I heard it read again at my Grandfather’s funeral, and I saw the tears in my Father’s eyes as his lips moved soundlessly around each syllable. I found it bookmarked in a black worn leather-covered copy of the Bible – King James Version – that my Mother keeps by her bedside. The 23rd Psalm just kept cropping up as the years went by – and it still does.

The 23rd Psalm is perhaps the best known and most deeply loved passage in all of the Bible. As Edward Marquart writes, “It has become a personal symbol, living deeply in our individual psyches. It also has become a historical symbol, living through the centuries. ..The 23rd psalm has become…woven into the psyches of the centuries, woven into our (historical….and) personal sub-consciousness.” Each one of us – in our own way – has been one of the countless people who have found in its spiritual insights a deep and sincere expression of faith.

And yet, the imagery of this Psalm is so far removed from what we know and what we remotely experience in our everyday lives. After all, David is said to have dreamed up the Psalm as he lounged in the back 40 with his flock. Not surprisingly, he wrote about a shepherd – and sheep.

Now most of us are pretty sure we know what a shepherd looks like only because of the finely crafted work of Hallmark artists at Christmastime, and about the only contact we have with sheep is through the sweaters we might wear and the occasional lamb chop we might order with mint jelly in a first-class restaurant.

As Scott Hoezee notes, we are “far more familiar with lawyers, doctors, plumbers, and mechanics than we are with shepherds. We've had more experience with police officers directing traffic than we have had with sheep being directed along by a shepherd.”

Yet, in spite of the obvious disconnect between our culture of fast moving cars and faster moving technology and the Psalmist David’s bygone bucolic imagery, we never seem to quite forget the 23rd Psalm. Its soothing popularity persists, and what should be an archaic literary relic falls not on our ears like a string of foreign phrases but as something we hold fast to in our hearts.

When you really think about David’s images, it would make far more sense in our “me-oriented,” technocratic culture if the psalm went something like….

God is the caretaker of my lawn and my groundskeeper
I shall not want for money, fame, or invitations to social gatherings
God points me in the direction of the green grasses of the 18th hole
And leads me beside the ornamental pool I built last year in the backyard
God gives me whatever I need – the courage or whatnot – to get up and do what needs to be done
God helps me navigate the paths of political correctness for his (or her) name’s sake
Yea, though I walk through the shadowy and impersonal halls of my office building to a roomful of shadowy and impersonal clients and supervisors
I will fear no pink slips or crocodile tear-filled speeches on downsizing
For God is my copilot.
The blessings of my economic circumstances and the latest computer technology will comfort me.
God will have me talking at a barbeque with the little league coach on the opposing team
And will grease the skids for me in all I do
My wine glass overflows with Beaujolais Nouveau air shipped from Paris
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

But, of course, such a version does not make more sense. It makes less sense, if any sense at all, because the essence, the imagery, of the 23rd Psalm as David sang it is engraved somewhere, somehow upon our very hearts.

Of course, in some ways, Walter Breuggemann is correct when he writes, “It is almost pretentious to comment on this psalm. The grip it has on biblical spirituality is deep and genuine. It is such a simple statement that it can bear its own witness without comment.”

Psalm 23, you see, is a beautiful song of life – and the bits and pieces we remember over the decades – those mystical, startling, and beautiful images that never quite leave us – are the symbols that our own lives ought to reflect. I think that is at least part of the truth of David’s song composed so long ago.

The Lord is my shepherd… At the very deepest core of our being, we all – each one of us – need a shepherd, someone to lead us, someone we can follow, not only into death but perhaps more importantly into life and all it has to offer us, someone who finds us when we are lost, saves us when we have gone astray and gotten too tangled up with ourselves at the expense of the rest of the world’s people.

I shall not want… …or find myself lacking or needing. Oh, there will always be that widescreen TV I can not justify charging on the Mastercard and all that wondering about how the college tuition bill will get paid this semester. But the important stuff will always be there – a church family that cares, people to turn to, a God who loves us, who cares for us, and who has prepared a place for us.

God makes me lie down in green pastures: God leads me beside the still waters… Oh, what we would not give for lush green meadows, the kind you flop down in, cool on a hot summer day, the kind where you lie still and have all the time in the world to look up and see the fluffy white wisps of cloud move and change their shapes from fearful dragons to tender lambs. And still waters – how marvelous they are - deep and clear pools where you can look in and see your reflection looking so calm and peaceful, and you smile and your face smiles back at you.

God restores my soul: God leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake… When I can cause my mind to journey to the meadows and pools, to the quiet places, the holy places, the thin places, the places where I can breathe deeply and touch my spirit, where I can know that there is more to life than technology, then I am restored. I am made new. I am transformed. Then, and only then, can I walk the paths of righteousness, the roads of justice, the byways of peace, the highways of forgiveness.

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… Not only do you, O God, walk with me from this life to whatever it is that comes next, but you walk with me through all the dark and shadowy places when this life – real life here and now – seems so far away - when a spouse becomes ill, a child remains distant no matter how hard and how long we reach out, a grandchild is deployed to Iraq, when a job is lost, a house doesn’t sell, and times are tight – I will not fear because I am not alone. In ways I do not understand, you, God, watch over me – and that brings such comfort.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies… I shall be the guest of God who will take on the task of a woman and set a table for me – a beautiful table with the finest china and crystal – and it shall be in placed in the midst of those I hate and who despise me in return - and we shall know peace, all of us, and the troops will come home, and we shall no longer live in fear of those we do not understand. Imagine that!

Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over… …and it is no longer a question of whether the cup is half full or half empty, whether I am a pessimist or an optimist because my cup runneth over with love and blessings, and I know in my heart of hearts that God is a God of abundance and so there really is enough to go around and more than enough to share.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life… Can you picture it – not goodness and mercy following like “two little puppies following close behind, tails wagging. Now goodness and mercy are the hounds of heaven pursuing lost souls” like mine. (Edwin Searcy).

and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

Sometimes I think that we who seem comfortable with more progressive or liberal brands of Christianity make our religion so cerebral and narrowly focused and, in the end, so difficult at times. What I mean is that we tend to emphasis only the challenge that Jesus sets forth - to serve one another and to work for justice – and that is good (don’t get me wrong!).

However, too often we look to the challenge at the exclusion of the message of comfort that Jesus also brought. In order to focus on the “important stuff”, the social activism that is embedded in the Gospel, we skip over those times that he spoke about the lilies of the fields and urged people to come, come to me all you who labor and are heavy-laden, and I shall give you rest.

I think that sometimes, here in church, we need to simply rest in God. We need to just stop and be in God’s abiding and comforting presence. Sometimes we need to breathe deeply of God’s spirit, stop by the pools of quiet water, reach out and touch the lush green grasses of the pastures, wonder at the comfort we feel as the table is prepared, and rejoice in and relish the abundant life God gives.

That, I think, is why the 23rd Psalm touches us in that deep place within us – and never quite lets us go because, as Martin Copenhauer writes, “the words speak of God's everlasting presence with us. The everlasting psalm is an audible reminder of the ever-present God.”

Sermon - April 13, 2008

“Never Quite Forgotten”

By Rev. Nancy Foran Psalm 23

By Rev. Nancy Foran
Psalm 23