In the last couple of weeks we’ve had a scare about swine flu. The Centres for Disease Control were on the verge of leaping right past epidemic warnings, to a full pandemic warning. Here, however, is a sobering thought. Last year 36,000 people in North America alone died of regular influenza. In 2006, there were 247 million cases of malaria, and 881,000 deaths in 2008.
Second. I was sent a video, by two different people, of a Chinese woman who has no arms. She lives alone, and supports herself. She can comb her hair, wash herself, cook and clean, and completely looks after herself. The video shows her overturning rocks with her feet, to take out crabs for sale.
These two things took me to the 23rd Psalm - one of the rocks in our statements of faith, along with the Lord’s Prayer - and one of those things we can recite practically off by heart, want at every memorial service, and don’t think about its meaning a lot. Especially the line “My cup runs over.....”.
There is an odd thing about this Psalm - Palestine has not been known for its succulent, lush grasslands; in its place are thousands of square miles of parched ground, desiccated vegetation and desolate desert floor. How could the writer--probably a Bedouin shepherd himself--describe wasteland as "green"? In fact, some shepherds took the time to create "green” pastures; got rid of the rocks, irrigated it, planted legumes and vegetations that had deep tap roots; the green pastures would be scattered throughout the vast territory of the desert and the shepherds would guide their flocks throughout the long arid months from one oasis to the next.
For those of the Jewish faith, this Psalm is part of the Sabbath rituals, recited at the Sabbath meal. It is part of the Jewish funeral service. I can’t imagine there are many here today who have not heard it recited at a funeral or memorial.
I think we need to pay attention to it because its message reaches deep into the places where people live. In the end, the psalm is about finding comfort in times of desperation and despair ...and who has not visited those wastelands? Yet it is also a Psalm of hope in the face of great trial and despair - a Psalm which speaks of living waters and green fields, a place where the cups of our lives run over with everything good.
There is a story about Psalm 23. This psalm is attributed to David, before he became king. David had become a hero after killing Goliath. Though he remained loyal to King Saul, Saul grew jealous, and saw David as a threat. Several times Saul sent David to war, in order to ensure his death. When that didn’t work, Saul got more heavy-handed, with the result that David was forced to run into the wilderness. Supposedly, during this time David composed this Psalm. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”
“God is my shepherd.” This statement is, in Scripture, the first linking of the divine as the shepherd; John expanded on the idea in the Gospel, naming Jesus as the Good Shepherd. Now, if we say the word ‘shepherd’, what image comes to mind? I bet the one we all think of is the handsome strapping fellow with a lamb draped around his neck and looking dewy-eyed at baby Jesus
Is that what it is? The sheep is owned and lives or dies at the whim of the shepherd. Any measure of protection given to the sheep is what a good person gives his property. He can use the rod and staff to keep predators away, but also to herd the sheep, and not necessarily gently. Sheep are not recognised for their intelligence or gentle nature, but for wool and food. They aren’t necessarily beloved pets.
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So in some ways the psalm could be seen as surrendering to someone who owns you and having faith that you will be treated well. In this case, for David, the shepherd does. So we have a beautiful poem about an exhausted and disheartened being finding peace through surrender to God. I certainly know that place, that place of fear and deep anxiety. For that is the meaning here - not literally death, but those times in our lives when we are so far down, we are in the valley of the shadow of death.
You know the saying “There are no atheists in a foxhole”. No atheist in the trenches? No atheist on an airplane about to crash? Rev. Brian Kiely, at the Unitarian Church of Edmonton, writes “For many years, flying would always bring out all my near-death fears. I’d look around at my fellow passengers and wonder if I should get to know them just in case we found ourselves on the brink of death. I’d grip the arms of my seat so tightly during take-off and landing that my knuckles would turn white.
Years ago, on a particularly bumpy flight, (you know, one of those flights when the plane keeps dropping thousands of feet unexpectedly) I found myself sitting next to a crying child. I could barely keep myself from shaking apart. So, I began to sing the one prayer I knew: Spirit of Life come unto me. Spirit of Life, the hymn I’d been singing with Unitarian Universalist congregations for years. Magically, we both calmed. I imagined the Spirit of Life, the Divine Mystery, present with us, and the spirit of my whole religious community singing in unison, holding us close as we bumped through the skies.”
Kiely uses the example of the great Bobby McFerrin, who created a choral setting of the Psalm, substituting She for He.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
She makes me lay down in green pastures; she leads me beside still waters;
she restores my soul…
He says “For me, the word She was a gateway—somehow it opened the psalm’s power for me. How do I explain it? It is absolutely true that I was unsure as any Unitarian Universalist seeker about my own theology, that I did not start praying to God until I found myself in a foxhole, on a flight. I was one big chicken, sure that I was about to die– no matter what anyone may have told me about the statistical unlikelihood. And I prayed really, really hard. I found that I wasn’t praying to be saved in the event of a disaster. I was praying in gratitude for the life I had lived thus far, for all the small, beautiful moments. I was praying that all those I loved would be blessed. I was praying that the world would be blessed.”
“The great American preacher Howard Thurman once described prayer as an inward journey across an interior sea to an island. In the center of the island stands a temple and inside the temple burns a flame. That’s where prayers go. That idea has always moved me. If my prayers go anywhere, they go into me and towards whatever spark of the divine lies within. My prayers call on my inner reserves and whatever capacity I have to summon the peace and confidence that calms my fears in times of stress and anxiety.
And that is the place I come to in the midst of the angst of the last few weeks, the over-reactions and fanning of the flames of fear, trying to convince us we are coming to the valley of the shadow. These are our enemies - the times we fear, the times we despair, the times when we get bogged down in what is wrong with our lives.
In the past few weeks since Easter - with the economy going down, the busy-ness of extra services and extra meetings, hard decisions to make, seeing things come apart no matter how hard we try, it is easy to fall into a kind of dis-ease and despair. For clergy, every year just after Easter, we tend to go under spiritually and psychologically. The longer we are in ministry, the longer it takes to come out of that place. Add into that all the things we read - pirates hijacking ships, a new version of an old flu, shaky economy, loss - it is easy to forget why we come here, why we claim we have faith.
And I come back to that incredible Chinese woman, who could have simply given up on life, who could have despaired. Yet it is obvious from the video that this woman has a life, and a full one at that. Yes, it's a hard life. Yet no harder than life for people with two arms and hands - and it's clear that her attitude is that life is good.
I discovered another version of this Psalm, partly written by a secular humanist.
God is my guide. I am not denied the sustaining power of life.
The green earth provides nourishment, the cool still pools of water refresh my spirit.
A deep intuition leads me along a path that is true, for the sake of existence itself.
Even though I walk through a valley where dark shadows intervene in life,
I will not fear, for the Spirit is within me.
The tools which keep me from despair are a comfort. Even in the face of threats to my life, the Spirit nourishes me, honours me by its presence and reminds me that I really have more than I need. Surely goodness and kindness radiate are always with me, and I will dwell within this universe always.
I think in these times, it is worth going back to this Psalm and using it as a prayer - you prepare a place for me, right where my enemies are. The cup of my life runs over with your goodness. No matter what happens in my life, goodness and compassion go with me. You are with me. Thanks be to God.
Sources:
1. The Good Shepherd by Rev. Thomas Hall
2. The 23rd Psalm by Rev. Richard Kiely, Unitarian Church, Edmonton Alberta.
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