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   

 

Shepherd King, Part 7: Rod and Staff

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     The one thing that puts the Twenty-Third Psalm almost out of reach, in my mind anyway, is the shepherd/sheep metaphor. You and I could drive all the backroads of our nearby counties and not find a lot of sheep-herders. I’ve driven hogs a time or two, and rounded up a couple of cows, but the concept of a whole segment of the population who spend 24/7’s with a flock of sheep has had no visual manifestation during my lifetime in this part God’s good Earth. I have to turn on my Old Testament brain to receive much of what Scripture says about our Shepherd King.

     Psalm 23 is roughly 3,000 years old. From what I gather, back in the day a shepherd had two tools: the rod and the staff. Good shepherds were set above the rest of the pack by their ability to wield both with efficiency and justice. To do that, the shepherd would first need to know what each tool was made for.

     Let’s look at the staff first. Unlike Little Bo Peep, a good shepherd is someone who has lost a sheep but knows doggone good and well where to find it. A good shepherd would use the staff – or shepherd’s hook, as it is sometimes known – to pull a wandering sheep out of the thicket, or the ravine, or the not-so-still waters. The staff is a tool for guidance and retrieval – or we could just as easily say it’s an instrument of discipline.

     The rod is a weapon. In a world before bazookas, the rod was a good tool for a shepherd to have. With enough skill and determination, a predator could be run off. Or killed. The rod is an instrument of punishment. The sheep should be glad if their shepherd knows how to use that rod.

     …your rod and your staff, they comfort me (Psalm 23:4).

     In this latest segment of our leisurely meditation on Psalm 23, we’re getting an idea of what the shepherd – or more precisely, our Shepherd King – has at his disposal. He has a tool for discipline and he has a tool for punishment. And he never gets them confused.

     But we do.

     The Father’s wrath is not for his kids. Jesus changed that all up: …but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God (Romans 5:8-9).  If you’re a saved person – a little brother or sister to Jesus – and you’re thinking the Father is punishing you, please let the work of your eldest brother give your thinking a tune-up. True enough, For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, as the writer to the Hebrews has said, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it (Hebrews 12:11). This is the Shepherd King using his staff, and using it well.

     When the wolf or the bear or the predator of any species makes an appearance, the Shepherd King is not shy with the rod. Skeptical? Check this out:

Arise, O Lord!
    Save me, O my God!
For you strike all my enemies on the cheek;
    you break the teeth of the wicked (Psalm 3:7).

    Toothless predators don’t prey much once they become toothless. And for your part (and mine) it’s OK to ask the Lord of Glory to do, in this walk-around world, what he’s going to accomplish in eternity anyway. May his kingdom come.

     The sheep/shepherd metaphor may stretch us a bit, at least for now. But there’s coming a time when faith will be sight, and metaphors will be completely redundant. Meanwhile, the Shepherd King wields a skillful staff and a mighty rod, for our comfort.

 Grace and Peace (under his careful gaze),

 

John

 

Shepherd King, Part 6: With Me

 Hey, Cobblestone,

     Anybody over about 60 will remember when these cutsie little figurines started showing up in stores. Made to look like they were hand-carved and finished in antique-y shades of tan, most of them carried a simple caption like “World’s Greatest Dad… or Mom… or Babysitter,” and so on. And then, as it goes with most things most clever, they got ornery. As if the others weren’t presumptuous enough, one of the blasted figurines stands out distinctly in memory. It was a caveman-ish dude carrying an oversized club, and the caption below read: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil… ‘cause I’m the meanest S.O.B. in the valley!”

     Nah. That’s not how it works.

     In our long and leisurely meditation on the Twenty-Third Psalm, this may seem to be an odd way to get back into it. If that’s what you’re thinking, I will humbly disagree, and attempt to make my point. In forty years as a Jesus-follower and twenty as a Christian counselor, I’ve come to see that believers understand well enough that we’re walking through the valley of the shadow of death, but we don’t understand so well why we get to fear no evil.

     Where are we exactly in Psalm 23? Let’s get a run at it and catch up…

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
     He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
     He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
    for his name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
    I will fear no evil… (Psalm 23:1-4a)

     And let’s pause – not too long – before considering the next few words of this psalm/prayer. I’ve yet to meet the Christian who claimed to be “the meanest S.O.B. in the valley” in so many words. But I’ve met many a Christian, including the one in the mirror, who walks through the valley as if. As if there were no one greater to help, or if there is, he might be off somewhere helping someone else. We tiptoe cartoonishly through the valley hoping no one meaner springs into the path.

     In all the universe and all of eternity, there is a singular reason why you and I – brothers and sisters together and joint heirs with Jesus the firstborn – get to walk through the valley of the shadow of death and fear no evil:

…for you are with me… (embedded in verse 4).

     This phrase, the object of our meditation today, sits at the mid-point of Psalm 23. Of 108 words in the psalm, you are with me brings us to #53. By the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, the psalmist realized he had used precisely enough words talking about God, and it was time to start talking to him. The psalm continues in this theme: the Shepherd King is with his flock, his people, always and everywhere.

     The valley is long and indeed shadowy. And as I heard lately, we’ve all got to go through just enough to kill us. According to 1Corinthians 15:26, The last enemy to be destroyed is death. We would have had death destroyed yesterday, if not before, but that’s not how this rolls. Wishful thinking and whistling in the dark will only take us so far, which is to say, not nearly far enough. Fearing no evil would be stupid – evil’s a thing, I’m sure you’ve noticed – if the Shepherd King weren’t with us.

     There’s a trick we play on ourselves, and if this letter to you accomplishes anything at all, Dear Church, my hope is that it begins to put an end to the self-deception. Like the popular singer, Jelly Roll, we stride up to the microphone, hit a few licks on the guitar, and belt out, “I only talk to God when I need a favor. I only pray when I don’t have a prayer. So who-the-hell-am-I, who-the-hell-am-I to expect a Savior?” It’s not a bad psalm if you ask me, mainly because it sets up the necessary question, When don’t I need God’s favor? When don’t you?

     Since the offer is let loose in creation and can never be rescinded, let’s take the Shepherd King up on his promise to be with us. For the sake of building up our most holy faith (Jude 20) and maintaining hope, let’s give a nod to the valley and its realness, and then take another step. “This hurts… you are with me.” “The way is dark… you are with me.” “The enemy is smarter than me… you are with me.”

     It might do each of us some good to take a quick inventory of times we’ve needed to be especially aware of the Lord’s closeness – and ask, Was I or Was I not… especially aware, that is? Better still to take this very moment, if you’re able to at all…

     (We interrupt this letter to bring you an important news flash…) No, really, Church, check this out. In the middle of writing this letter, the Lord brought a young brother to me I hadn’t met before. For my part, I was simply on the front porch (my favorite office) tapping away. For his part, this young brother had taken an entirely literal step of faith, out of his house and onto the sidewalk, hoping the step after that would make him aware of the Father’s presence. Knowing that my block is about 1,200 steps around, I’d say he took about 200 of those next steps before the Lord brought us together. Turns out we were after the same thing: a sign of the Father’s favor. And we got it. Maybe someday I’ll tell you the rest of his story. Better yet, maybe he will. For now, my fingers are trembling so that I can hardly type – Glory!

     There. I’ve testified. I’m done for now.

 Grace and Peace (all over you like it’s all over me),

John

Shepherd King, Part 5: Even Though

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

 Our slow-roll through Psalm 23 takes us, today, to the strangest two-word phrase in the English language: Even though. Even though leads off verse 4, and precedes I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Let’s pause right there, and marvel at the strangeness of Even though.

     Lovers of logic have trouble with Even though. Statisticians, too, and planners. Evidence points one way; Even though points the other. Circumstances and probabilities and calculations congeal into a foregone conclusion; Even though says, “Your calculations are fine, but your conclusion is incorrect.” Even though doesn’t deny the facts, but it does presume a different outcome.

     For the people of God, Even though has been the clearest declaration of faith through every generation. Walking through the valley of the shadow of death, only the Father knows how many times our brothers and sisters have chosen Even though, in whatever language was available to them – and us. Those three syllables attach themselves to a spirit-level faith that, while always feeling not quite sufficient, is confident yet in calling for more.

     What is the valley of the shadow of death to you? What is it that reminds you most vividly of mortality and picks away at your hope? Our minds could go a hundred directions here, or more. Preachers, at this point, will find it hard to resist the temptation to build a list for you. Being a pastor, which is something like a shepherd, I can lay off that particular temptation. You don’t need my help anyway – get with Jesus and make your own list. And then start practicing your Even though’s.

     We really ought not to leave verse 4 without wrestling with one more phrase at least: I will fear no evil. Work with me here, and let’s not get into why it’s possible to fear no evil until our next letter. For now, let’s get used to saying it. Knowing full well that it’s not totally true in our lives now, let’s say it anyway, and someday it will be.

     The Shepherd King empowers Even though. Many centuries ago, three young Hebrew men made another three-syllable declaration of faith in God: But if not… (Daniel 3:18). Nebuchadnezzar ordered three men thrown into the furnace, but when he looked in, he saw four. The young men were delivered that day, but they declared ahead of time that they were prepared to wait for another deliverance. The one who accompanied them in the fire – or the valley of the shadow of death, we might say – makes either deliverance a good deliverance.

     “Even though __________________________, I will fear no evil.”

 

Grace and Peace (even though),

 

John   

Shepherd King, Part 4: His Name's Sake

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Of all the Gospel encounters in Scripture, the intersections of Savior and Need-Saved, none carries as much groan factor as the Jews who had believed in him (John 8:31) in John’s Gospel. It’s like an Olympic diver springing from the high platform with great grace, executing every move perfectly, and then throwing arms and legs to the air to end in a crushing belly-flop. The crowd groans, as if they had borne the impact themselves. As if.

     You and I get to be spectators to this Gospel scene for about ten more seconds; then we ourselves shall spring from the platform and see what happens.

     For some weeks now we’ve been meditating on the Twenty-Third Psalm, taking it a phrase (or so) at a time. Here’s what we have in-pocket so far:

    The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

    He makes me lie down in green pastures.

    He leads me beside still waters.

    He restores my soul (verses 1-3a).

     So far, so good – we are well tended sheep with every reason to believe we will continue as such. And then the psalm takes an odd turn:

    He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake (the rest of verse 3).

     When I finally determined years ago to memorize all of Psalm 23, this is the sentence I most often couldn’t recall – kept skipping over to the valley of the shadow of death part. Notice in conversation – or at funerals, where Psalm 23 is most often referenced – and you’ll discover that the second half of verse 3 is the part most often left out. To understand why, let’s go back to Jesus, teaching in the Jerusalem temple so long ago:

    So Jesus said to the Jews who had believed him, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:31-32).

     Here’s the rub: Jesus was offering freedom – true and everlasting freedom – but on his terms only. The people bristled:

    They answered him, “We are offspring of Abraham and have never been enslaved to anyone. How is it that you say, ‘You will become free’?” (verse 33).

     Given the choice of receiving freedom on Jesus’s terms or clinging to their false freedom, the people took Door #2. The encounter did not end well; Jesus kept telling them truth…

So they picked up stones to throw at him, but Jesus hid himself and went out of the temple (verse 59).  So close, and then – smack! – and the crowd groans.

     Receiving the freedom Jesus offers seems easy enough at first glance. The second glance will undoubtedly reveal that it’s on his terms, and there are no other terms to be had. He offers the freedom to be led and cared for – shepherded – by him. If we’re going to receive true freedom, we’ll need to be OK with that.

     If the second half of Psalm 23:3 engenders anything at all in us, I hope it’s a prayer – a prayer in which we give ourselves a few handy reminders, a prayer that has its crescendo in praise… something like: “Who leads? The Lord leads. Where is he leading me? In paths of righteousness. Who gets to decide what righteousness is? He does. Why is he leading me in these paths? Ultimately, for his name’s sake. Oh, thank you, Jesus, Shepherd and Overseer of my soul! Keep on leading, and I will follow.”

     The King of Glory came to bail us out of the mess we’d gotten ourselves into, true. But he also came to establish himself as the great high priest, tempted in every way as we are, yet without sin. He came to set the deceiver up for eternal damnation. He will come and put every enemy under his feet. He is Shepherd, yes, and he is King forever – and he will share his glory with no one. Mighty handy to remember when the true Armageddon is raging; mighty handy to remember when it comes time to throw Satan into the lake of fire forever; mighty handy to remember in this very moment…

 for his name’s sake.

 

Grace and Peace (on the Shepherd’s terms),

 

John  

 

Shepherd King, Part 3: He Makes Me

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     For many years I’ve wondered what kind of access the enemy has to our thoughts. To be clear, I should specify the enemy in view: the accuser, deceiver. The father of lies. Satan by name, devil by reputation. I’ll presume you’ve heard of him. Has he ever read your mail? Disconcerting, isn’t it? Though I’m reluctant to give too much credit, it does seem that our emotions, thought processes, and forces of reason are vulnerable to his ugly influence. How does that happen?

     I’ve asked the Father about this numerous times, asked to be granted immunity. The answer has consistently been No. I’ve asked to be happy as a clam and just as clueless, to dig deep into the sand beyond the notice of predators. Nope. Which makes me wonder again: Does the Father have a better plan?

     As we meditate on the Twenty-Third Psalm phrase by phrase, this letter is the third installment. Not to short-circuit the plan, but we’ll take three phrases this time because they’re so closely related – the first two set up the outcome of the third:

     He makes me lie down in green pastures.

            He leads me beside still waters.

                        He restores my soul (verses 2-3a).

     Ask yourself: Where is this heading? The enemy will never lead you to restoration. Never. His game is destruction. If there’s any restoring to do, he’s out. The only thing the enemy fathers is lies. Jesus said so, and you can bank on it. Only the Shepherd King restores souls. He makes. He leads. He restores.

     Does the Father ever discipline? Sure. Does the Holy Spirit ever convict? Absolutely. But where is it going? Along with the restfulness of green pastures and refreshment of still waters come the unpleasant yet needful discipline and conviction. It’s of-a-piece: none are mutually exclusive of the others. That’s the Father’s better plan. He even plunks us down within earshot of the enemy, where we have to decide whose voice we will heed.

     Remember: Only damaged things need restoration. The unused, the untouched, the pristine have no need of it. But your soul and mine have been battered. There’s one path to restoration, and only one who leads in it.

     Turn to the Shepherd King.

     For all the books to his credit, for all his vaunted knowledge and respected papers, the recently departed theologian J.I. Packer had a sweet, simple recitation that was part of his near-daily routine:

    “I am a child of God; God is my Father.

    Heaven is my home, and each day is one day closer.

    My Savior is my brother; all Christians are my brothers and sisters as well.”

     I still don’t know by what means, exactly, the enemy influences my thoughts. May never. I’ve heard theories, none of which have been satisfactory, all of which took time I could’ve spent in green pastures. Meanwhile, the Twenty-Third Psalm makes the uncluttered invitation to be led, to be made, by the one who restores souls.

     Come on.

 Grace and Peace (for what more can we ask?),

 

John

Shepherd King, Part 2: Wanting

 

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