Shepherd King, Part 9: Surely

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     I’m afraid of absolutes – the words known as absolutes, I mean. My tongue is reluctant to form the syllables that make up words like “always,” “never,” “forever,” and “shall.” They’re just too big. Words like those write checks my strength can’t cash. Therefore, I am happiest to leave the absolutes in God’s vocabulary.

     Thankfully, God uses those words generously, without flinching and without apology. Oh, not for his benefit – he has not a thing to prove to anyone – but for ours. He even lets us borrow them, as long as we’re talking about what he, not we, will certainly do. Thus is my “abso-phobia” put at ease.

     In our ninth and final meditation on the Twenty-Third Psalm, we’re going to take the sixth and final verse, the closing sentence, as a chunk, paying special attention to the absolutes within. The psalmist has been making some monumental claims about the Shepherd King already, and saves the biggest for last:

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever (Psalm 23:6).  

     Count the absolutes – one “surely,” a pair of “shall’s,” one “all,” and the clincher: “forever.” That’s a lot of high-caliber words to show up in so little space. How could one human be so presumptuous as to borrow so heavily on accounts he doesn’t control? To answer, let’s consider briefly the life of the psalmist, David, son of Jesse, who was the second king of Israel.

     The timing of Psalm 23 is up for debate. Some scholars say it was written in David’s early youth, others during his warrior phase, still others say it was after he’d gained experience as king. For what it’s worth, I favor the earlier-origin theory, in which the psalm would have been written when David was a shepherd lad himself, walking with the sheep into green pastures – and, of course, through the valley of the shadow of death. Not that the later-origin theories have to be wrong, but if David wrote and sang this song just as he launched out into the big-scary world, his use of so many absolutes is even more presumptuous – and faith-filled.

     As the eighth and youngest son of Jesse, there was nothing but tending sheep in David’s foreseeable future. With all of David’s life in our hindsight, we know that’s not how it turned out. Try to imagine, then, what it must have been like to encounter his experiences in real time, and then overlay the biblical record.

     There were times he thought he had sinned beyond forgiveness, but called to the Lord for mercy anyway. More than one once he faced annihilation at the hands of an enemy, but called for deliverance. He lost an infant son, but rose up to worship God. He lost an adult son who had led a bloody insurrection, but returned to Jerusalem to carry on as king, according to the Lord’s anointing. In all these troubles and more, David, in many ways the archetypal child of God, certainly stumbled, was certainly bruised in battle after battle – but never crushed. Why?

     Because of the absolutes.

     What does it mean for goodness and mercy to “follow” someone? The details of your story and mine will be different from David’s, but as children of God and joint heirs with Christ, the outcome is the same: to dwell in the house of the LORD forever. From a mortal perspective, it’s an odd arrangement: goodness and mercy following. We’d prefer them to be out front like a shield – or maybe a plow, pushing troubles aside and clearing a level path. We’d prefer to be spared the troubles altogether. The temptation is to think there’s been no goodness or mercy involved, since the troubles weren’t prevented. But where do you find that in the human story, including the story of God’s kids? Even Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, had to ask if there might possibly be an alternative to the cross.

     The absolutes are proven by way of two measurements: hindsight and hope. Pause and reflection are required to see where goodness and mercy have done their work. We can’t live every moment of every day rushing headlong into the driving rain.

     Wait.

     Breathe.

     Give thanks.

     And just before resuming the headlong rush, let’s remember what our hope is. True: we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience (Romans 8:23-25).

     Whether in the green pastures, on the battlefield, or to the throne, the words God breathed out, and David breathed in, are immortal – living and active (Hebrews 4:12). One very famous pastor has said that all the Psalms can be summed up in six words: life is hard; God is good. As we close out this meditation on Psalm 23, feel free – and I will, too – to presume upon the Shepherd King’s absolutes.

     He’s good for them.

 Grace and Peace (surely),

 

John

 

Shepherd King, Part 8, Prepared

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Have a seat. Relax. Be nourished. Take your time. Stick around for seconds. There’s no rush.

     As you graze the abundance of the table, your enemies will snarl and slobber, straining at their harnesses to have at you. They will wail and moan at their sudden misfortune, for they thought you were easy prey. But you are not. And neither am I.

     Our eyes will be no help in seeing the greater part of what happens around us – the reality that is no less real for being invisible – the reality described by the psalmist as follows:

    You prepare a table before me
        in the presence of my enemies;
    you anoint my head with oil;
        my cup overflows (Psalm 23:5).  

     Our Shepherd King creates sanctuary in the unlikeliest places. That is his specialty. He is the one who makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the chariots with fire (Psalm 46:9). He piles up nourishment and refreshment and Shalom in heaps – and invites us to table. He turns to the enemies of our souls, puts a holy and unapproachable finger in the middle of his chest and says, “Nope. These are mine.”

     Our eyes, truly, will be more hindrance than help in understanding what the Shepherd King is up to, but our souls will perceive his power and love, and long to enter in. The question “on the table” at the moment is, What will we do with the sanctuary and abundance he creates for us?

     In our family history, there was a time when our early brothers and sisters ran to find help somewhere besides the Lord our God. If you’re not familiar with the story, their choice of allies will shock you. The prophet Isaiah recorded the Father’s displeasure like so:

    “Ah, stubborn children,” declares the Lord,
    “who carry out a plan, but not mine,
    and who make an alliance, but not of my Spirit,
        that they may add sin to sin;
    who set out to go down to Egypt,
        without asking for my direction,
    to take refuge in the protection of Pharaoh
    and to seek shelter in the shadow of Egypt!” (Isaiah 30:1-2)

     Shocked? I used to be – until finally I noticed the same tendency in myself (and many of my contemporaries… nothing personal, Church) – the stubborn inclination toward finite resources.

     There’s a tattoo I’ve wanted for years. Being a cheapskate, I’ve so far avoided it, but if ever I cut loose the funds, the tat will consist of two phrases from the same chapter of Isaiah that I drew from just now. In Hebrew script, reading right-to-left, beginning on the lower right forearm and moving toward the wrist would be “In repentance and rest is your salvation” (Isaiah 30:15a). Hopping over to the left wrist and continuing up onto the lower left forearm would be “in quietness and trust is your strength” (Isaiah 30:15b). Whaddya think? Good?

     Well, besides fiscal conservatism, there’s another stop sign in the way of going under the pin-and-ink, and that stop sign consists of the next phrase from Isaiah 30:15 – “but you would have none of it.” Surely, this bit of prophecy would have to go on a gluteus maximus region. But(t), would have none of it – and I’m just not ready to go there. Unless/until the Lord confirms that he has squashed in me those stubborn inclinations toward finite resources, I dare not receive the first two phrases, and tattoo artists will have to drum up business elsewhere.

     While we have a moment yet, let’s get our heads together and see if we might begin to find a way out of the illusion of self-sufficiency. I have a few ideas, beginning with…

     Give up on claiming victim status. Though it’s the front-running tactic of our day, timeless Scripture says you and I are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:37-39). ‘Nuff said on that idea. One more…

     Stand in the option that glorifies our Shepherd King. Up until lately, the only two options offered by the world have been “fight” and “flight.” More recently, we have “shelter in place,” which is far worse than either of the previous two. And all along, the children of the eternal Father have had this standing offer: “Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will work for you today” (Exodus 14:13). Give the enemy a black eye without even taking a swing, simply by giving credit where credit is due.

     If today resembles any other day, you and I will have multiple occasions to roll out those tactics and disassemble the illusion.

     If it takes a psalmist to give us words for describing what is already real, where’s the harm in that? Most of our walk-around-world existence is tied to metaphor anyway. “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” And in addition to what our minds are able to do with the words, I think the Father would be pleased if we asked for another dimension of understanding: the ability to project the whole scene on the backs of our eyelids. Picture it as a panorama – the table spread over with goodness, and yes, the snarling, slobbering enemy too – and the Shepherd King, fierce and invincible, standing between.

     There could, very well, be more light and less shadow when our eyes are reopened.

 Grace and Peace (and tats, too, if that’s your thing),

John