Sunday April 21st, 2024 Worship

On Friday mornings, if I have the time and energy, I usually try to at least start my sermon draft for Sunday before I go over to Foss for worship in the Village. It means I spend less time on Saturday morning staring at a blank Word document. This Friday was no different, as I started to map out where I thought my sermon for this week would be heading. If you had asked me Friday morning, my sermon wouldn’t have been this, it probably would have been about what it means to actually find rest or a similar theme from the Psalm. Guess I’ll have to save that one for next year! Because, sometimes the Spirit decides to mix things up and the whole trajectory of my sermon changes. It’s a good reminder that I need the Spirit’s help in this process, and why so many of us still edit our sermons on Sunday morning.
This Friday, in the afternoon time when I usually start focusing more on getting a sermon draft on paper, I was sitting vigil at the beside of someone who was dying. As I prayed through the commendation of the dying and anointed her head with oil, I also spent some time reading Scripture, including Psalm 23. Maybe I’m unique in this, but no matter how many commendations I have done, when I hear Psalm 23, I can still recall the people at whose bedsides I sat vigil while they were dying. It is an incredibly holy space to be in, when I sit there and read again the promises of Scripture.
More than any other Scripture, Psalm 23 and the Gospel stories, like today’s, in which Jesus is depicted as the Good Shepherd, are requested while I am sitting at the bedside of people. For many people these images and readings are so incredibly comforting, especially to hear things like “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me,” and “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever” (Psalm 23: 4, 6).
As we hear these words over and over again, we know that sometimes terrible things happen in life. We know that death happens, even when we don’t know when it will happen. We know that we aren’t protected from all pain and harm, but we also trust that God remains present in those times with us too. It is like when Jesus talks about today how the Good Shepherd lays down his life for his sheep while the hired hand runs away from danger leaving the sheep unprotected (John 10:12). Unlike the hired hands, the Good Shepherd isn’t going to leave us alone to face the dangers. When we desire to hear these words in these moments of death or pain, anxiety or fear, it is because we trust that the Good Shepherd desires us to be cared for and to receive rest. It’s a ministry of presence in the midst of what can feel like the worst days of our lives. The Good Shepherd can’t make all harm disappear, but he sure isn’t going to let us fend for ourselves either. And, this to many people, brings so much hope.
I love the imagery in this Psalm because the shepherd doesn’t just keep the sheep moving from place to place, but there is an intimate level of trust between the shepherd and the sheep. The shepherd knows the needs of the sheep, and desires to meet those needs as best as possible. Right, the shepherd needs to know which ones might be injured or in need of a little more care. The shepherd knows to look for calm spaces for the sheep to sleep so that they can actually rest without them being overwhelmed by their surroundings. The shepherd does whatever is possible to care for the sheep in the way that they need to be cared for. The shepherd doesn’t look at the sheep and care for them the way one would care for chickens, or cows, or goats. It can be incredibly comforting to trust that even when our lives aren’t promised to be easy, that the Good Shepherd wants to help surround us with the care that we need. Sometimes that is an emotional reminder that we are not alone and sometimes that is visible in the ways that we care for one another, when we take care of someone after surgery or bring them soup when they are sick.
Again, this isn’t a promise that no harm will come to us or that nothing will ever go wrong, but it is a promise that we are not alone when those things happen. It’s a much different relationship than what sheep have today if they live in a barn or a fenced in field, where they are subject to windstorms or predators before the farmer may even notice. When we hear these words today, and every time I read them at the bedside, I am reminded of the hope that dwells within these words. There is a deep and abiding hope and trust in God’s goodness, that God does remain present, that God does in fact care. Living into that hope profoundly changes us. Because even on the toughest days, in the darkest moments, we can recall these words and be reminded that we are worthy of this level of attention and care. That God can and does in fact love creation that much. It may not solve all our problems or be the quick fix that we are hoping for, but it can give us strength to keep taking that next step forward even if we don’t know what forward brings.
I feel so deeply honored every time I am able to sit at someone’s bedside and read them this Psalm because I know that it brings them comfort. I may not be able to do much, but I can sit beside them in this challenging moment, when they are scared of what’s happening and what comes next, and remind them that they are loved. And, if we are doing the commendation of the dying from the Lutheran Pastoral Care book, our prayer even includes these words: “Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold…” This language of being the sheep while Jesus is the Good Shepherd is deeply engrained into our life of faith. So, every time that we hear it, may we be reminded of the tender care which the shepherd gives to the sheep as one who knows them by name and cares about all of their needs, and may we be reminded that we too are deserving of that care.