The Rev. Kathi Johnson
21 April 2013 – Good Shepherd Sunday – C Easter 4
Text: Psalm 23
Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Grand Prairie, Texas
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This past week has been a tricky
one. We faced the horrors in Boston last Monday and our hearts were filled with
hurt as we watched a city suffer. I felt so emptied after the events in Boston.
I felt so depleted by the pain of that event. I wrote on my blog that day,
reminding others – reminding myself, too - of the steadfast love of God.
Then I preached on Wednesday
evening about Jesus calming the storm and about the wonderful passage in
Romans: “I am convinced 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
I had picked those lessons to help
us, as a community, to work through some of our collective pain following
Monday’s events. I didn’t know that evening just how quickly we would need
those words again – because just when we thought our capacity for heartbreak
had been met – we were met with more horror on Wednesday with the explosion in
the town of West.
And then, just two days after that,
an entire metropolitan area was locked down - watching, waiting, unsure,
terrified once again. And right as the manhunt was winding down, we began
hearing word of an earthquake in China. More loss. More destruction.
It has been a really difficult week
for us. Events like these have a way of seeping into our souls – making us
fearful, making us angry, making us weep with heavy sadness.
It seems particularly helpful,
then, for today to be Good Shepherd Sunday – and for us to have Psalm 23 as one
of our readings. Many of us in this room could probably tell about a time when
this psalm has been particularly meaningful or comforting.
There are many musical settings of
this psalm, and our Hymn of the Day today is one of them. It’s one of my
favorites: “The King of Love My Shepherd Is” (#502). I’d like us to sing it now
before I continue with the sermon…
This hymn has been a favorite for
as long as I can remember, but it became all the more important to me after we
sang it at Mom’s memorial service. When planning her service, I remember
picking this hymn because I love the melody, but also because I love the words
of this particular paraphrase of our beloved Psalm 23.
How many of you have read or sung
Psalm 23 at a funeral or memorial service? It’s commonly used at these types of
services. Somehow, because this psalm acknowledges that sometimes, we do, in
fact, pass through dark valleys, many people find the words of Psalm 23 very
comforting during times of grief or times of struggle.
To be honest, I never really
understood why that was, until about a year after Mom died. One evening, Steve
and I were thrust into what felt like a deep and dark valley brought on by an
expensive car repair. I felt panicked and overwhelmed that night, and this is
the hymn that kept coming to mind.
What I felt that night was empty,
depleted, lacking – in spite of what this hymn claims.
I lay in bed that night, trying to
make sense of Psalm 23. I kept thinking: we are God’s people. We know that he
will provide for us, and yet there are times when we are lacking. There are
times when money is short, or tempers are short, or energy runs short. Sometimes,
our cups do not seem full at all – so how on earth do we reconcile this with
the psalm, which says that our cups overflow?
As I turned these thoughts over and
over in my head that night, I looked up at a plaque that was hanging by my
bedside – I think I’ve mentioned it before. It reads, “Faith grows a resting
place.”
I figured out that night that faith
is the bridge between our lacking and God’s grace. Faith – which is God’s gift
to us – given to us at baptism and nourished in us each time we receive Holy
Communion with our sisters and brothers in Christ. Faith - that moves us beyond
our fear of empty cups and dark valleys. Faith - that moves us into a willing
and hope-filled trust in God.
This hymn’s been running through my
head a lot this past week, as I’ve tried once again to make sense of the
contrast between feeling empty, depleted, and lacking, and the promises of God:
that my cup overflows, that God journeys with me through valleys filled with
death and darkness, that I will dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life
long.
Here’s something that has given me
so much hope this week: I have had so many reminders that, like sheep following
a shepherd, we do not wander alone. We are gathered into a flock of others to
follow our Great Shepherd together. Together, we learn about the love of God
for us, and for others. Together, we face fear and anger and sadness head-on –
and we face them with love. Together, we pray for those affected by tragedy,
and together we reach out to help them.
The Lord is my shepherd, and the
Lord is our shepherd. He gathers us together,
as sisters and brothers. He welcomes us to his table, meeting us there with
goodness and mercy. And so, especially when we feel our cups are empty – when
we feel we are lacking - let us come to his table often, and then let us take
his goodness and mercy out to the world.
Amen.
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