As Promised - Part 2

Psalm 23 - reflections

Okay, so here's a little more.  (If you missed Part 1 - please scroll down one post)

He anoints my head with oil.  

May we begin with a confession of sorts? I am only a student of theology in the sense that the Lord has rescued me (literally), and I love to learn about Him and His ways, who he is - in all the ways he, with care and intention, reveals himself to us, primarily in the Bible and secondarily in the physical world and its beauty and order - not in an academic sense with earned degrees from formal study.  I am removed, too, thousands of years from the imagery of ancient Israel where oil and heads at one time meant something hugely significant, only today they seem odd.

But there's a thing here to be grasped.

A Shepherd's Look at Psalm 23 by Phillip Keller helps with this.  He explains how a Shepherd during fly season cares for the vulnerability of his sheep's heads by covering it with a special oil or grease.

Oil or grease, I'm sorry, they just sound really gross.  Like, I would get really upset if someone smeared or poured it over my head.  Seriously, gross.  But pause a moment (sil vous plait).  Just imagine the tender caring. The application of the Shepherd's hands carefully covering the ewes' and rams' and lambs' heads.  I am reminded of the significance of oil in biblical times, how it represented God's presence and his own anointing upon kings or priests.  You see, even the kings needed such anointing.  What were they but mere men otherwise?  Unable and unfit to serve the holiness of a holy God, or to lead his own people.

Yes, David, Israel's king and the one who inscribed these beautiful words of Psalm 23, understood the relationship between the Lord and the oil upon his own head.  Are not these words of tender caring and provision beautiful to us because they speak of something we need?  Yes.  We need greased heads, protection and anointing - His presence upon us where we are most vulnerable.

My cup runs over.  


What more can be said?

Except this:  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. 

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Goodness and Mercy are literal things, like sunshine falling unexpectedly across the living room floor.  Like the brush of a kiss on a sleeping face.  Like silk wrapped around a sorrowing wound.  Goodness and Mercy, waters from God, rush in us, through us, around us.  Gathering droplets, Mercy falls down like rain. It covers the morning earth, and we step onto the grass, leaving barefooted prints.  Fears, regrets and sorrows of sins grown old, wash from our skin. Their voices blend into a harmony, calling, softly, then loudly, like rolling foam beneath the falls, laughing, joyfully speaking, "Yes, my Dear, the water's clear and it's clean; take a plunge, and when you step away, let its Beauty flow from your soul."  (from Reflections of Mercy: Psalm 23 - posted June 5, 2012)

I want to back up a wee bit in this beautiful Psalm as we draw our visit here to a close.  It is to here that we go:

He restores my soul. 

 Amen. Not just any amen but the sort of amen that rolls deep like Bach's suite no. 1 for cello through a canyon at sunrise.  Yes, He restores my soul.  Amen.

And here:

He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake. 

Can we be okay with this?  I mean, really okay?

Paths.
of.
Righteousness.

Do we have any idea what this means?  I'm not sure that I do, not totally, but is it possible to assume that it's a place where our feet walk and our lungs breathe in right things?  Can we assume it's a really, really good place to be walking?

Have you ever gone walking on a path and experienced so much joy in the walking?  An eagle suddenly lifts from the tree tops overhead, wings spread as he glides across the lake.  An otter slides off the embankment and dips into the cool water as the sun slides behind shadowed mountains.   And you take a breath and notice the crisp air slip into your own lungs - and you realize you're on the perfect path.

But sometimes, well, often if you are me, the experience goes more akin to this:

"Uh oh, there goes little lamb off into the bush country again.  Aw, look at her go, how cute, oops, stuck in the briars."

Here comes the Shepherd.

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.

And this:

Be not like a horse or a mule, without understanding, which must be curbed with bit and bridle,
or it will not stay near you.   (Psalm 32)

And so the Shepherd lovingly calls her back - or rescues her if needed.   

You see, upon these paths of righteousness, no briars harm lamb-soul.  Not on such paths.  Not if she's fixing her attention on the Shepherd.  Yes, lamb-soul may run into troubles and walk through dark valleys, but never alone.  And the darkness cannot harm her, not really. Not when her response is to the Shepherd, not to the bewildering of her senses as she walks through darkness.  

Remember the table? Yes. Literal table, friend.  If you are like me (human), you often fail to realize that in the middle of dark valleys His presence remains constant.  It's dark.   You cannot see him.  But, if you pause and be still, can you hear him?  Have you known his presence?  Maybe through a friend.  Maybe through a nurse or a doctor.  Or a policeman.  Or a judge who works justice.  But, it's a ministry of the Shepherd on our behalf.  Or maybe all those human hands and feet of mercy have scattered, and so you are still walking a lonely path.  Then reach out for His hand.  In the dark.  I promise you, he's near.  Enough.  To touch.

Have you noticed?  It's okay, all it takes is a whispered prayer.  "Lord, help me."  It is his presence that he first brings to your situation.  Isn't that kind?  After all, it's the thing we most need.  We need Him.  More than we need something fixed or altered.  Yes, we need Him.  

One last thought.

For His name's sake.  

I'm not sure what the terrain under your foot is at present, how rocky or how unfamiliar.

But I'm hearing an echo in my own memory that reels back at the phrase: For His name's sake.  Maybe YOU are a saint and totally get that as a good thing, or maybe you feel something like this, a twang of embitterment.  Or maybe a pool of it is where you are swimming.  It sometimes will sound like this:  "But you don't know what it's like to be ripped apart from your family."  And, "You don't know what it's like to be betrayed."  Or, "I've suffered from disease for 10 years, and I'm done, can't handle more."  Or, something more grievous than words can express, "I've lost my son to a dumb war and politicians."

The Shepherd weeps for you, with you.  But here's the thing:  For his name's sake. 

"How egotistical of this Shepherd."  No friend.

We bear His name.

We do so if we are following Him and identifying with Him through faith in Christ Jesus.  So, yes, for His name's sake. It's for beauty's sake, it's how He loves.  And it's why he dare not let us alone in our sin or with our sorrow, and why we are led daily in paths of righteousness.

It's also why he prepares that table before us in the presence of our enemies.  And it's why we must pause in our journeys.  For his name's sake.  We are part of that name - as heirs adopted, because of Christ Jesus. 

Turn to the table with your sorrow.  And see the Shepherd spreading it.  It's for you, from His hands. And ask, see what He would have you do with the things you carry silently.  And partake of His care. It is a costly care pierced through and through with particular love.

We bear His name.

(Bowing. Amen.)

Thank you for joining me.

And for your enjoyment:  Bach Suite no. 1 in G for Cello

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=wk8QNzkzwYg