By The Rev. Anne Bolloes-Beaven, Sabbatical PriestBrowning wrote: God’s in his heaven all’s right with the world. Well, it’s true God’s in heaven but all is certainly not right with the world. Honestly. Here we are already dealing as best we can with the war in Iraq, terrorism and clawing our way out of an economic downturn—against a backdrop of global warming, natural disasters and genocide—only to find ourselves gripped by the threat of a flu pandemic: as my husband is fond of saying: if it’s not one thing it’s three others.
And how do we know given the news yesterday that the outbreak in Mexico is smaller than it first appeared, “whether a global illness monitoring system was sensitive enough to save lives, or so sensitive that it alerted the world to a virus no more dangerous than seasonal flu.” Is this a real danger or just one more thing blown out of proportion like: the Y2K bug, Mad Cow disease, Ebola, SARS and brain cancer from cell phones? It gets to be: “Door alarmed 24 hours a day” you know? And this is just the communal stuff not to mention the personal realities that break our hearts and try our souls day to day.
Frankly, I don’t know about you but I don’t want to live like this anymore. I’ve about made up my mind to turn down these seemingly endless invitations to live in fear. I’ve decided fear is its own kind of disease. I just can’t believe Jesus came and lived and died and rose so that we could be alarmed 24 hours a day.
Scripture tells us Jesus looked at the crowds tagging along after him, and had compassion on them for they were, “harassed and helpless” he said, “like sheep without a shepherd.” He could have been describing us. “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.” We are not sheep without a shepherd, though sometimes, forgetful, we act like it. The lessons every fourth Sunday of Easter come as a gift calling us to remember who we are and Whose we are. “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”
There’s no more beloved picture of Jesus than the good shepherd. It’s the oldest illustration of him—dates from around 200—a simple line drawing of a man carrying a sheep over his shoulders, found on the wall of the Roman catacombs—where the early Christians were buried. We still hold it before us 2000 years later in the words of the 23rd psalm said at every funeral. God as shepherd of his people is woven throughout the Old and New Testaments. Isaiah, Ezekiel, Jeremiah and Jesus all speak of it. In their eyes, to see these weather beaten souls leaning on their staffs keeping watch over their scattered flock 24 hours a day, 7 days a week through all kinds of weather, through all kinds of danger, willing to lay down their life for their sheep was to see the face of God. “The Lord is my shepherd,” sang David, “I shall not want.”
In those days sheep were plentiful and shepherds a common sight. The land in Palestine is rough and rocky better for pasture than for agriculture. Sheep were kept mostly for wool and stayed in the company of the shepherd for years who often named them for things that had happened to them or personalities they had. “Bossy” who was stubborn, “Peg” whose leg hadn’t been the same since she got it stuck in that crevice. “Pokey” who was always lagging behind; it’s humbling to think what nickname God has chosen for us…?
“He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters.”
Well, Jesus wants to make us lie down in green pastures, and to lead us beside still waters, to point us in the right direction. But we are full of our own ideas. Like Adam and Eve we forget to check in. We wander off, nose to the ground, intent on our own way. That’s what sheep do, by the way. They nibble and wander, nibble and wander without looking up, until finally they DO look up they find they’ve wandered acres away from where they started out—lost. Most of us can relate.
My second year of college I decided to take a break from church. I’d just transferred to Barnard and had decided to give it a rest for a while. After all, my dad’s a priest. My mother also has her master of divinity. You know 1010 WINS? All news all the time? Well in our family it was—all church all the time. Undoubtedly our kids would tell you the same thing. What can I say? It’s an occupational hazard. Anyway, I decided to give church a pass for a while. I nibbled and wandered like a sheep without a shepherd and got myself until I was thoroughly lost. I decided: maybe I better head back to the fold and get my bearings. I stopped in to Cathedral of St. John the Divine in NYC for evensong one Sunday afternoon and didn’t understand a word. The whole service was in Spanish! I had wandered so far that “home” had become a foreign language. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. I was an English major then. I GOT it. God spoke to me in a language he knew I would understand. I recognized the voice. Long story short, it turned out all right in the end. I ended up changing my major to religion, went to service at the campus chapel where I met my husband and ended up up here. Believe me: no one is more surprised about it than me.
“I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.” God knows us. God knows my name and God knows yours. WE may be surprised by what happens to us, by the things we do, but God isn’t. God has a purpose and a plan and will “revive our souls” and guide us in right pathways for his Names’ sake”—for the sake of who God is. It’s not dependent on us. Whatever we do or fail to do…it’s all compost to God. God uses it all. Nothing is wasted. Though sometimes we resist his voice stubborn as mules, God still calls us, still leads us.
“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil.” It was an actual place by the way, a desolate valley on the way to Jericho full of bandits. It is also the figurative valley we all know. The psalmist is honest, notice it doesn’t say IF I walk through the valley… but “though I walk” and walk we all will. But we will walk through the valley. We won’t take up residence there. We won’t be able to run from it. We won’t escape it. But neither will we lie down there. We will walk through. Evil may be lurking all around but I will not fear it because Thou art with me. Thy rod—used as a weapon against attacking beasts or bandits—and Thy staff, used to guide the sheep, “they comfort me.” Comfort means to console, it’s true. But back then, in a definition now called obsolete it means also to strengthen. Com-fort: with strength.
God the good shepherd comforts--consoles and strengthens the sheep. “You set a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me; you have anointed my head with oil, and my cup is running over.” I read a lovely thing once in a commentary that looked on “those that trouble me” in older translations “mine enemies” as being those things about ourselves that trouble us, those enemies in ourselves with which we struggle. God sets the table even in the presence of struggle. God nourishes us in times of trial; heals us “anointing our heads with oil.” Shepherds poured oil over the sheep’s head to keep out nose flies. The flies drive the sheep to distraction once they lay eggs up their noses—hideous thought but true. And a vivid example of what happens to us when we let fears and worries infest our heads—driving us to distraction and worry.
We’ve really got to be careful about what we allow to take root in our minds. Proverbs says, “As a man thinks, so is he.” Where the mind goes the man follows. Worry and fear can’t keep company with faith. We can have one or the other but not both at the same time. Perfect love casts out fear. “Fear not,” is one of the recurrent themes of scripture. Not that we won’t feel fear—but that we ought not to let fear stop us. We need to press through fear. God is calling us to stand in his power, power that he died and rose to give us, calling us to live in open rebellion against death. Isn’t that a great quote? “Faith is life lived in open rebellion against death.” (Jeffrey Studdert-Kennedy—distinguished Anglican priest, chaplain of British expeditionary force.)
We are surrounded by voices. The voices of people we love, the voices of strangers--televised voices, electronic voices, print voices-- voices of advertisers and marketers telling us who we want to be and how to buy it, voices that belittle or befriend us, voices inside of us shaping how we feel about ourselves and what we believe is possible for us. We have to make a decision about which voice we’ll listen to. God is calling us. We need to hear the voice of Scripture—the voice of God—saying: the Lord is my shepherd. Listen to what voices you may, sings the psalmist: the LORD is MY shepherd. We’re to claim it. To live in faith—in open rebellion against death—we need to respond to fear with the word of God. Say it out loud. Let it pour over your head like oil. The LORD is my shepherd. If you feel silly: Try it. If you feel afraid: try it. If you believe it: try it. If you don’t believe it: Pretend you do and see what happens. There is POWER in the word of God. We don’t have to live harassed and helpless like sheep without a shepherd. We HAVE a shepherd. Willing to DIE for us—and rise again. Blessings abound. Claim them.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” I learned a couple of years ago that the word: to follow used here can also be translated “pursue.” Isn’t that great! Surely goodness and mercy shall pursue me, run after me, all the days of my life. Lovely! Read over the psalm this week until you find a word or phrase that “lights up.” Let go of the rest and repeat that to yourself whenever you feel afraid. Let me close with poet and scholar Eugene Peterson of The Message who renders it this way:
GOD, my shepherd! I don’t need a thing. You have bedded me down in lush meadows, you find me quiet pools to drink from. True to your word, you let me catch my breath and send me in the right direction. Even when the way goes through Death Valley, I’m not afraid when you walk at my side. Your trusty shepherd’s crook makes me feel secure. You serve me a six-course dinner right in front of my enemies. You revive my drooping head; my cup brims with blessing. Your beauty and love chase after me every day of my life. I’m back home in the house of GOD for the rest of my life.
© 2009 The Rev. Anne Bolles-Beaven
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