Apathy or Action

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
 he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
 he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
 thou anointest my head with oil;
 my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
 and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

As I prepared to preach this week, these words from Psalm 23 echoed in my ears, reverberating louder than the words I was reading in the New Revised Standard Version. It appears that somehow, over time, these words have etched themselves into my heart, into my soul. Without trying, I repeat these words in this antiquated language, and the psalm transports me into the very presence of God.

I do not know how these words came to be etched on my heart. Perhaps they were some of the many verses that I learned in Bible classes as a child. Perhaps it is because they are spoken at so many funerals. Certainly I have heard this psalm read in many places, repeated over and over again. And somehow, these words carried their way past my conscious mind and into a hidden place in my heart. Generally, I am suspicious of Bible verses that are so ubiquitous as this. I have heard so many verses repeated over and over, used to hurt people, to deny people their life, their dignity, their truth. Many verses become darts spat at people or groups, at "others" whom we fear or hold in contempt. Alternatively, we sometimes love Bible passages because, when taken out of their larger context, we allow them to leave us placid, apathetic toward the injustice within ourselves and our society against which the whole Bible cries out.

Perhaps Psalm 23 is a favorite for that reason. But this time, I think not. As I repeat it again and again, it is this phrase that reverberates the loudest: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil. For thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." Maybe this line strikes me because I've been too close too recently to my own death-shadows. I don't think so, though. I think this line strikes me, because I think it strikes all people. The human condition means that each of us, in our own times and in our own ways, face valleys darkened by clouds or rain or cliffs so high the sun simply doesn't penetrate to where we are. Whether we struggle with our own mortality or a loved one hanging on only by a thread, our own deep depression or watching the torment of a sister or son, terror over trying to stay afloat in a house that's underwater or seeking meaning in a world where 70 innocent people who are just out for a good time are shot and 12 of them killed, each of us faces death-valleys in our lives.

Our valleys look different from each others', and we stumble or fall or run right into them at different times in our lives. But once we're there, watching the wolves circle closer and closer, feeling our back up against the rock wall, our souls cry out with the same questions: Who am I? Do I exist? Do I matter? Am I alone?

And here, the shepherd responds, with rod and staff to guide us. Who are you? You are mine. I have marked you and sealed you, called you and claimed you. Do you exist? Out of the dust I have created you in my very own image. Do you matter? I know what plans I have for you, plans to give you a future and a hope. Are you alone? Here I am, always with you.

Perhaps this comfort may leave us apathetic. But I don't think so. Death-valleys paralyze. Filled with fear, we have no space for faith, for hope, for movement, for change. Faced with death or our own annihilation, we cannot move, cannot act, and so often even cannot pray. So words etch themselves onto our hearts, into our souls. Words that will come back to us in moments of terror, in days of faithlessness. Words that can still our fears, give breath to our bodies, hope to our souls. Words that will stir us to action, into a closer relationship with the One who frees us. Words that return to us to the presence of God, and our own voices to cry out to others in their death-valleys. Ultimately, words that lead us into our own witness, our own prophetic work against the injustices we see in our own souls and in our world.


And surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.