Hey, Cobblestone,
It’s been a minute, hasn’t it? Since we started our
every-other-week newsletter pattern for the summer, these chats can seem a bit
disconnected. To refresh: we had just started looking into the Twenty-Third
Psalm, one phrase at a time. We’ve now had a full two weeks to meditate on The Lord is my shepherd from verse 1,
and something I’ve noticed (maybe you have too): more than I’ve needed a leader
or advisor, more than I’ve needed a counselor or advocate… I’ve needed a
shepherd. Do you suppose the Lord knew that already? I haven’t wanted to admit I needed a shepherd, but I have.
Reckon the Lord knew that too.
Brace yourself, Church, because the next phrase is even more
humbling: I shall not want (also from
verse 1).
First, a word on semantics: “I shall not want” is a different
statement now than it was three or four hundred years ago. Some modern Bible
translations put it something like “I shall have no lack.” Feel better? Me too.
If to not want meant to not have desires, to not feel short-changed at times,
to never give in to the fear-of-not-enough – yeah, good luck with that. If
that’s what it meant, we’d all be yelling back down the centuries in our
snarkiest tones, “Well, that’s just fine for you, Mr. La-Dee-Dah Psalmist – but I’m stuck here in the real world!”
But it doesn’t, so relax.
But wait, what about “shall”? I shall have no lack? How am I
supposed to pull that off? The angst
builds. And it gets harder before it gets easier. That word “shall”? There’s no
wiggle room in it. This must happen: not wanting, having no lack. Feel better
now? Me neither.
Take a deep breath.
The Twenty-Third Psalm is a song lyric, and it’s a poem. One
of the commonest misunderstandings of poetry is to think of it as fancy speech.
It isn’t. Poetry is the simplest of speech, distilled to the essence. Poets and
psalmists have neither time nor inclination for extra words, so they make
spaces for those to happen at spirit level. As participants in the Twenty-Third
Psalm, we have several words and phrases that click in perfectly, right between
“shepherd” and “I”:
The Lord is my
shepherd… therefore… I shall
not want.
that’s why… I shall not want.
and
so………. I shall not want.
behold……… I shall not want.
The shepherd certifies the shall. The shepherd guarantees
there will be no lack. Shall – and the absence of wiggle room therein – doesn’t
bother him in the least. And so it’s settled, right? All the angst that built
up earlier has dissipated, no? There will be no lack; we have the shepherd’s
word on it. Not a care in the world, have we?
From where we sit right now, and without trying very hard, you
and I could compile a list of approximately 2.2 bajillion things we lack. Lack
is every place and every moment. Lack is the rule, contentment the rare
exception. All I can figure is: the shepherd must have a different way of
calculating lack and not-lack.
Christians of yore talked of the church as “militant” and
“triumphant.” Both terms are easily misunderstood, but in the simplest
explanation, the church militant consists of all Christians living at this
moment, fighting the good fight and keeping the faith; the church triumphant
consists of all Christians who have finished their pilgrimage, and whose souls
are now present with the Lord. That part’s easy enough to understand, but what
boggles my mind is that the old-timers saw no division between the two. Let
that sink in for a minute: no division. One church. Think also on this: the
billion-or-two Christians living at this moment are exponentially outnumbered
by the uncountable billions who have gone on, who are done with this world
until they come back with Jesus to rule it. And remember: no division.
The hardest space for me to get out of is my own head. Same
goes for you; please don’t try to deny it. These skulls of ours, though bashed
easily enough from the outside in, are nearly invincible from the inside out. We
need the shepherd to draw us out of our own estimations, our own economies, our
own way of calculating lack and not-lack, and into his way – if even for a
brief moment every once in a while…
“Jesus, shepherd – help us.”
The Lord is my
shepherd, I shall not want. And with that, we cruise into another couple of weeks of
meditation, especially on I shall not
want. Maybe it’ll help to think of the multitudes for whom this statement
is utterly undoubtable, made true forever: I
shall not want. There is no loss in Christ, and ultimately, no lack either.
The math is his to figure out.
Grace and Peace (as a salve for the wanting),
John
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