Scripture: Psalm 23
Today, Psalm 23 is read from the English Standard Version. This English translation of the Bible was published in 2001, and was the work of more than 100 evangelical Christian scholars. Their goal was to be as faithful to the original text as possible, with as much literal word-for-word accuracy as possible.
In some cases, especially when
translating gender-specific words like “mankind” or the simple word “man” or
“he” to refer to any human person, some people prefer a more inclusive use of
language. In the case of Psalm 23, the more
difficult task may be for us to translate the ancient experience of being
shepherded, into images and experiences that are meaningful to us as
twenty-first-century urban people.
Listen to this translation of the psalm
with open hearts, questioning minds, and willing spirits.
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 will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your 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 forever.
Reflection
I don’t fish. But when I was still living in Winnipeg, a friend from church asked if I’d like to join him for a few days of fishing and relaxation at our church camp. I said yes. So, on the appointed day Gary – we’ll call him Gary, because that’s his name – picked me up and we hit the road. Hwy 44 E from the city, and then near the end of the trip, a little further north.
After an hour-and-a-half or so n the road, we pulled into Lake Nutimik Baptist Camp. We parked by one of the cabins, and got out of the car. It was still just late spring and no programs were running there yet, so we had the place to ourselves and permission to be there. We stretched the kinks out of our legs, and walked down to the lake.
The business and busy-ness, and demands and distractions of the city were already far behind us. The hum of the highway was still in our ears, but after a minute or so that passed as well. As we stood with the cool green of the campground and of the surrounding forest behind us, and the stillness of the lake ahead of us, Gary turned to me and said, “I always do this first thing every time I come here. Just stand at the edge of the lake until the ringing leaves my ears, and I can hear the Silence.”
Silence with a capital S. Not just a physical quiet, but something deeply spiritual. Not just the absence of human noise, but the presence of a holy whisper. Not just the stilling of the chaos swirling around in the world, but the stirring of something deep within, a divine flow at the heart of all things and at the deep centre of our hearts.
“The LORD is my shepherd, and I shall not want. For he makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters, and he restores my soul.”
The word translated “soul” here is the Hebrew word “nepesh” and it means something more than just our private, individual soul. “Nepesh” refers to the life-force, the breath, the vitality, the spirit that is God and is of God, and which is breathed into all people and all creatures (yes, creatures … like, animals!) in their coming to life in the world.
It's more than just something we have; “nephesh” or “soul” is something we are. And more than being something we are by ourselves, “soul” is something in which and by which we are connected with God, with other people, with all creatures, really with all life that God has brought into being. Our soul-ness is our relatedness and connectedness with all that is. Rather than being what makes us one, our soul-ness makes us one with all else. Which means that restoring our soul is not just a private pep-talk in a one-on-one with God, but is about restoring our sense and experience of being one and in communion for good with God, with other people, and with all that is.
And isn’t that good news – that there can be moments like this? Especially when we live in a time and in situations that seem ready-made to separate and isolate us, and to wear us down rather than build us up? And I don’t mean just the pandemic. I mean all life.
Some of us, for instance, find our resilience being tested and worn down in our personal lives as our parents age and we became their caregivers, as partners grow ill and need our care, and as we ourselves suffer the breaking-down of our bodies. For many people, family – traditionally seen as a source of support, isn’t what they thought it would be, and it becomes one more concern and problem. School and education, and the impact of social media are making the world less secure, less predictable and less supportive for our kids and grandkids than we remember it being for us.
And what does it do to us all, to be hearing every day about pandemic exhaustion, compassion fatigue, climate anxiety (now nearly a diagnosable disorder in children), cracks and holes in the health care system, the breakdown of society, the need many parts of our society now suffer to atone for sins of the past, lack of trust in our leaders, and the renewed pre-eminence of terrorist and neo-fascist groups and of bully nations taking over the public landscape and the global schoolyard, leading to a more insecure and scarier world for us all?
It wears us down, doesn’t it? It tries the soul and tests our faith. It makes us question sometimes if there really is a promise worth living towards, of life being good for all, and of the well-being of all the world. It can make us just want to find a safe place to hunker down and ride it out. Create a private refuge away from the fray. Find a god who guarantees private comfort and blessing.
Except that only makes it worse, doesn’t it? And that’s not the way of life and of being that God has made us for.
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures – to get the rest and nourishment I need, like at an oasis along the way, so I can carry on in the journey. He leads me beside still waters – so I can calmly drink in God’s love, and be filled again with God’s freshness and vitality for the sake of others. He restores my soul – helps me know I am not alone, but connected in deep, unbreakable, essential ways with God, with other people, with all creatures, and with the well-being of all that God has brought into being.
And it’s surprising when and how this restoring of our soul-ness can happen. Even though the image is of green pastures and still waters, the visible reality is often quite different.
Some years ago, I was attending a week-long spiritual retreat at a Jesuit college at the heart of downtown Toronto – on the U of T campus on the north side of Queen’s Park Circle, the south side of which is dominated by provincial government buildings, hospitals and financial institutions. One of the retreatants was anxious at the start of the week. She had been on retreat before, but only in peaceful rural settings. She couldn’t see how she would come to feel closer to God and to her own higher Self in the midst of all the concrete, the stone, and the constant traffic and din of downtown Toronto.
After a few days, though, she had this to report. Every morning and at set times through the day, she would take to the path around the outside edge of Queen’s Park. Almost at her elbow, traffic whizzed by, sometimes with horns blaring. The noise of the city filled her ears. At times she had to dodge around other walkers.
But as she walked, she prayed the Lord’s Prayer over and over, quietly and meditatively. And she realized that with each step she took around and around the park, and with each word and each phrase that she prayed into her walking, what she was doing was beating a holy path over and over into the heart of the city, and experiencing herself as a vessel and a channel of God’s love at work in the world, in exactly the place she most doubted she would be renewed in that soul-ness. She felt renewed to move on to whatever new stage of life and whatever new challenges there would be for her after the retreat.
The LORD of the journey makes me lie down in green pastures … and you never know just where they may be. He leads me beside still waters … helps me feel the flow of his Spirit in the strangest places. He restores my soul … helps me know I am not alone, not cut off from God and from others, even when and where I think I might be.
I assume that by being here Sunday after Sunday in worship, this is one of the places you count on to be fed, to feel connected with God and with others, and to be encouraged for another week of living in the way of the LORD. I’m glad you do, because I do, too, and it’s nice not to be alone. It’s good to be part of a flock. It’s a big part of what it means to be one of God’s sheep.
And there are other places, too – both for you, and for those who can’t come here as often and as readily as we do. Other places that may not look like it, but are in their own way a green pasture and still water for your soul.
I wonder: where are those places for you? Where else in your life are you able to rest in God’s care and in the promise of God’s love in your life? When else do you feel the flow of God’s Spirit both in you and around you? What else helps you remember your essential, unbreakable connectedness with God, with others, and with all that is – helps you know deep down in your heart what we all long and need to know, that you are not alone? And not meant to be alone?
Let God lead you there. And when you’re there, stay long enough, for it to do the good that it’s meant to do. And then get on with the journey the LORD has for us.
