PSALM 23:1-6
Upon coming home my pastor friend in Boise said, “I was thinking about you,
wondering if you knew about Boston, and how your sermon you wrote a week ago
would fit. She added that she scrapped hers. I wondered how Earth Day would possibly
approach such tragedy. But then I opened up my sermon this morning and remembered
it was Psalm 23. We are greeting with a Psalm of comfort and which is also a Psalm of
the earth.
PSALM 23:1-6
1The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.
2He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
3he restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths
for his name's sake.
4Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff-
they comfort me.
5You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6Surely 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.
What is the feeling you get when that Psalm, Psalm 23 is read? Does it comfort
you like being wrapped in a warm woolen blanket? Does it soothe you like the sound of
a gentle steam? Does it feel like a protective hand upon your shoulder? What does it
feel like when Psalm 23 is read? When asked if there was a scripture that the Christian
laity turn to when they are in need of comfort sixteen percent said Psalm 23, and
another ten percent said the Psalms in general. There are a few reasons for this, their
cadence is poetry, they are repeated enough to be ritual, and I suspect the Psalms are
also comforting because they use images from nature.
Psalm 23 begins in the pasture. It begins with us as woolen sheep. The Lord is our
Shepherd, and makes us lie down in green pastures. This Psalm of comfort is not only a
Psalm of rote remembered words, but a Psalm of direction, of specific instruction to be
in nature. The Shepherd does not merely suggest we should lie down in green pastures.
It is an order to the sheep. The Lord makes me lie down in green pastures. When is the
last time you did this? When is the last time you laid down in the cushion of the grass
and looked up at the sky, or examined a single blade of grass? When is the last time you
sat in the middle of a field? Perhaps this Psalm reaches us because of the longing we
have to do just that, longing to stop, to lay down, and to be surrounded by nature.
Perhaps we remember doing these things as child? Perhaps this outside world was our
first experience of God, and perhaps we long to return to that place. Perhaps we long to
return to that creation place, that place which also began in nature, in a garden, at the
beginning of the world. The Lord is leading us there.
He leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul. When is the last time you
stood on the edge of a lake? Was it Anthony in winter, frozen over with ice and snow,
or summertime when gentle waves lapped the shore? When was the last time you were
lead beside still waters, because that is where the Lord is leading us. That is where the
promise to restore our soul lies. It lies beside still waters. When is the last time you felt
your soul restored?
He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake. When is the last time you went for
a walk? Did you go on the Leo Adler trail and notice the red winged black birds, or the
little purple flowers that cover the ground? Have you hiked along in the woods, or
down a path where over the years your feet have made a trail? The Lord is leading you
along the path for his name’s sake. That in the name of our Lord, you are asked to go
for a walk. That in walking, you proclaim the Lord’s name, and the Lord is leading you.
Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil for you are with me;
your rod and your staff - they comfort me. I find it like this. That the bigger the city, the
more fear I have walking around at night. But the farther out I am under the stars the
more I am at peace. Even hidden in a tent the noises and shadows can scare me, but
open it up so I can lie and watch the stars and night clouds, and moon go by, I know the
comfort of the Lord. When is the last time you looked up at the stars in this valley, for
you Lord are with me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. Some commentaries
suspect this table could have been a woven mat spread on the ground. I imagine it was,
because there is a peace about having a picnic, and there is a conquering that goes on
when we feast in the open in defiance of our enemies. Out in the grass a blanket spread
with food and drink, time seems to stop, what was once against us fades away for the
moment, and everything tastes so much better outside. You prepare a table before me in
the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil. This ritual, for the coronation of king, was most
likely done with olive oil. When is the last time you nurtured yourself, and your skin,
with the decadence of oil? When is the last time you got a massage? When is the last
time your body was anointed with the earth’s bounty? This celebratory act is offered by
our Lord. You anoint my head with oil.
My cup overflows. We live in an earth of abundance, and earth that regenerates
and heals itself. When is the last time you drank straight from a stream or a glacial
lake? When is the last time you found a field of wildflowers, or spotted an illusive lady
slipper orchid. When is the last time you listened to the plethora of birds chirping in the
morning light, or went on a bird count to find the raptor population more than healthy?
When is the last time you watched the squirrels hop along and didn’t curse them for
being the prettier form of rodent? When is the last time you offered back to the earth its
bounty? When is the last time you planted a tree, or spread wildflower seeds, or spent
the time clearing away an invasive species? When is the last time your cup of nature
overflowed so that you gave back to the bounty? My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me, and I shall dwell in the house of the
Lord my whole life long. This house of the Lord is not a normal house. It is a house of
green pastures, of still waters, of right paths, of dark valleys, of tundra and glaciers, of
desert and cacti, of giant sequoias and tiny alpine wildflowers, of lichen and moss, of
aster and grass, of ferns and mushrooms, of rose and lilies, of mint and mustard, of the
compound umbels of parsley and the smell of sweet peas, of big horn sheep and
protecting shepherds, of birds, of beasts, of bounty, of anointing olive oil massages, of
woven mat picnics with cups overflowing.
Psalm 23 begins in the pasture and throughout its entirety we never go inside. Isn’t
that telling? Perhaps where we are to find the comfort of God is outside, is in creation.
Perhaps that is where we are called to find our Lord. What is the feeling you get in
nature, is it perhaps like the feeling of hearing Psalm 23?
