Psalm 23 was the old Vermont farmer’s favourite, so well-known that he could say it by heart. When he was in Fletcher Allen hospital for more than the biblical forty-days and forty-nights many years ago, every time he and I visited, we would pray that psalm. On the bad days, when he knew he was in the valley of the shadow of death, even in those moments of anxiety, he also knew that God walked with him. On the good days, he could say that he felt as though he had walked through the valley of the shadow of death and had come out the other side. On really good days and when he was finally sent home to recuperate, he felt that the table had been spread for him, and his cup ran over with goodness. Even as he struggled to overcome a failing heart, we continued to say the psalm every time we prayed. In his final hours, though he could no longer talk and really wasn’t conscious, I trust that deep down inside, he heard us saying the familiar words and took comfort in them.
Psalm 23, of all the psalms, is the most well known and loved. Even for those who don’t go to church or synagogue regularly, they still know the words to this psalm. It is a psalm of consolation (used often at the burial office), one that reiterates the psalmist’s trust in God, the one who meets all his needs and whose protecting presence has been with him in even the darkest of situations. The psalmist trusts in this shepherd who will lead him to everlasting waters of life and who will bring him to the heavenly banquet. And it is a psalm that in the early years of the church was said when people were baptised. It speaks to each moment of our life journey from start to finish.
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This psalm that speaks of God’s accompaniment is connected to other readings that evoke the Good Shepherd, Jesus, about whom we always hear on the fourth Sunday of Easter. The actual gospel reading varies from year to year as does its focus but the constant image of the shepherd remains the same.
At the same time, the lectionary always changes course on the fourth Sunday of Easter because the gospel reading moves away from reiterating stories of encounters with the post-resurrection Christ to more general images of Christ. It is as though it is preparing us for the Ascension and the subsequent feast of Pentecost.
The gospel reading from John presents us with a simple image in the midst of an extended discussion of the shepherd. Prior to what we hear today, Jesus compares the shepherd to the door through which thieves and robbers might enter. And following the verses we hear, Jesus will then present reactions to his speech. Immediately in front of us, Jesus focuses on the single contrast between a shepherd and a hired hand. In what constitutes the most densely packed grouping of ‘I AM’ statements in the gospel of John, Jesus fleshes out his image of the good shepherd.
Jesus is presented as the model shepherd who will give his life as the ultimate act of caring. This act of love is meant to stand out impressively, overwhelmingly against the backdrop of the hired hands who, at the slightest indication of danger, will flee for their lives, abandoning the sheep for which they have been hired to care. In the early church, the image of the shepherd was held up before pastors, urging them to tend to their congregations in spite of the dangers of false teachers or violent persecution. The church, to whom John was writing, was well acquainted with suffering, sacrifice and persecution — its members had already been cast out of the synagogue which meant losing one’s cover and being clearly identified as a follower of the Way, of Jesus. In the early second century CE, when the Christian church was but a sect, such exposure could result in persecution or death by the Roman government. Therefore, the image of the good shepherd was presented as one who would encourage the true pastors and discourage those who were simply at it for pay.
At the same time that the gospel intends to encourage the followers, it also points out the devotion Jesus has for his followers. Not only will he lay down his life for his sheep, but he will also do so freely, of his own accord. Paradoxically, through this freely given self-offering, Jesus claims those who follow him as his own. Never will he abandon them. ‘Having loved his own in the world, he loved them to the end.’ John’s gospel returns again and again to this idea of beginnings and end — for ‘the end’ here means a new beginning — Jesus’ death results in the resurrection, a whole new way of hoping and living, a whole new expression of God’s love for us. As the 14th century Anglican mystic Dame Julian of Norwich wrote, ‘God has loved us from before the beginning.’
And if God has loved us, and Jesus is of God, then what does it mean that Jesus lays down his life on our behalf as the good shepherd or is the one whose arms of love are stretched out upon the hard wood of the cross? In other words, does God suffer for us? Does God suffer with us? Does God walk with us in the valley of the shadow of death?
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The story I am going to tell could happen anywhere but it took place in a community on the east side of the state. A talented high school senior, beloved by all, died in a senseless, tragic car crash, caused by bad timing, bad luck, and bad weather. Her mother, a pastor, understandably, was unable to function for some time after her daughter’s death. Eventually she made it back to her local clergy group. She told them that a night after the accident, she got a call from someone who said: ‘I want you to know that my wife and I were the first people on the scene after it happened and we covered your daughter with a blanket and stayed with her until the ambulance arrived. She was not alone.’ The mother wanted to know who the person was. He answered simply, ‘Pastor Bill.’ A couple of weeks went by and one day she received a call from the man, who wanted to know how she was doing. He explained that he had gone through the same thing many years ago — his 24 year-old son had also died in a car crash. He asked if she might want to see the sermon he preached after his son had died. Oh yes. She pressed him for his name. ‘Pastor Bill’ turned out to be William Sloane Coffin, Jr., retired Senior Minister at Riverside Church in New York City. The other clergy in the clericus then could tell the mother that a line from Coffin’s sermon had also been included in the one preached at her daughter’s funeral only a few weeks ago.
Coffin’s son, Alex, had driven into Boston Harbor. And Coffin said in the sermon he preached the week after the tragedy, ‘My own consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Alex die; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.’
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The depths of my heart depend on the knowledge that God suffers for and with us. How else can we bear the pain of the world that is so great, so vast? If God suffers with us, then God is not indifferent to what happens to us. God walks with us in that valley of suffering. And God restores us, too. That matters greatly.
Touching upon the suffering of humanity, of the entire creation, why it happens and why it can’t be prevented is one of the greatest questions of faith that lies in front of us. It raises questions about God’s power, God’s involvement with creation and if we’ve been left totally up to our own. Placed at the core of our Easter faith is one of the greatest mysteries of our faith: Christ suffered and died for us. If God incarnate could enter into humanity’s suffering, then surely God does too. And, if God and Jesus have entered into human suffering, then we are called to also.
Somehow knowing that God is affected by what happens to us enables me to enter more deeply into the difficulties of others. When I enter an ICU cubicle, I know God is there. When I go into a tin home of a sick Salvadoran, I know God is there also. When I read about so-called natural disasters, I know God is there, too. God is my bedrock, the solid ground on which I stand.
God watches over creation, then, as a shepherd with whom all living things are safe, though perhaps not in terms we fully understand. Nonetheless, God knows us all and keeps us wherever we move. May God continue to do this all the days of our lives so that we may never want. May we rest and know God’s peace and goodness that will follow us all the days of our lives.
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