Hey, Cobblestone,
Take a moment, please, to consider the incredible staying
power of the Twenty-Third Psalm. How it shows up in places expected and
surprising. How fragments of it are embedded in speech. How it gets used and
misused, with or without the user knowing which was which. And yet the Psalm
rights itself somehow. “The Lord is my shepherd…” and the speaker may or may
not have a sweet clue what that means. But there it is.
More than a moment, I’m asking you to take several weeks,
actually, to meditate on the Twenty-Third Psalm. Best I can tell, I have
permission from the Lord to ask such an audacious thing. I hope you’ll agree at
some point. To that end, please take the very next moment – yep, this one – to
pray for me… maybe something like “Father, let John hear you clearly, and use
his writing to draw us into the beauty of your favor and affection.” Thanks.
We’ll take the Psalm slowly, a phrase at a time. This’ll take
a while, which, if I’m understanding the Lord correctly, is mostly the point.
The Lord is my
shepherd… (verse 1).
Just say it… um, please. Several times. Move the emphasis
from one word to the next with each repetition, and lean into the change. Here:
I’ll suggest with punctuation what I hope we can do with our hearts and minds
and voices:
The Lord is my
shepherd… to the
exclusion of all impostors.
The Lord is my
shepherd… because he
promised to never quit.
The Lord is my
shepherd… though he
tends the whole flock, he won’t lose me.
The Lord is my shepherd… even though I’m still figuring out
the sheep/shepherd thing.
Just so you know, I recited the Twenty-Third Psalm early on
the morning of this writing… out loud, standing barefoot in the dewy grass of
my backyard, arms outstretched. Should’ve been glorious, right? It wasn’t. And
just so you know this also (because the Holy Spirit is insisting I tell you), I
should’ve been out there two hours earlier; I should’ve had my big-boy boots
strapped on, good-to-go; I should’ve been pointing and directing and barking out
orders by then – at least to myself.
The Father’s favorite part of “shoulda” is the “shhh” part:
“Shhh, little one. Don’t should on yourself. You don’t know what you’re
should-ing yourself into. Shhh… now, would you like to hear what I have for
you?”
Reciting the Psalm this morning was awful… except. Except
that, underneath the gyrations of my heart and mind was a steady beat: The Lord
is my shepherd; he knows and he sees; he is here and he is able; his Word is my
guide; his Spirit leads me, now and forever.
Four full decades of following Jesus have taught me at last:
pushing ahead of the Lord’s pace is a greater sin – because it’s more harmful –
than lagging behind. I used to think it was the other way around. I used to
think “helping” the Lord to quicken his pace was a virtue. It’s not. It is so not a virtue. The sheep leading the
Shepherd… how absurd is that?
The Lord is my
shepherd… let it run
on repeat until I write to you again, letting this one simple declaration have
its way, growing in depth and power. Meanwhile, I’ll leave us with a few words
Jesus spoke to an anxious crowd long ago:
“There is no need to be
afraid, little flock, for the Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32).
Grace and Peace (to calm the shoulda’s),
John
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