I am intrigued why some words and phrases from our Christian heritage have stuck in our memories and found their way into our day-to-day cultures.
If we asked someone who has had a casual brush with the Christian faith to write down some religious phrases which they can recall immediately from memory without too much thought, my guess is that we might collect some of the following:
Our Father who art
in heaven…
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…
For better for worse, for richer
for poorer…
Hail Mary… or Ave Maria…
O God our help in ages past…
And
did those feet in ancient time…
- and very probably:
The Lord is my
shepherd…
Some of these
prayers, bible verses and hymns recur regularly during our rites of passage
through life - we tend to encounter them at impressionable times:
'ashes to
ashes' during funeral services;
'for better for worse' at weddings;
'Hail
Mary' as part of religious education within a Catholic upbringing;
'Our
Father' as part of religious education or acts of worship at school -
particularly for the older generations;
'O God our help' at Remembrance Day
events and most military or national commemorations involving the Royal
Family;
'And did those feet' at the Last Night of the Proms and other
occasions with a patriotic flavour.
But why 'The Lord's my shepherd'? True, the psalm in its metrical form is a popular hymn for weddings and funerals, especially when sung to a lovely Scottish hymn tune called Crimond. But the psalm is still popular beyond its immediately attractive sung version.
There is something special about it: something which gives it popular appeal, in the best sense: something which causes its brief 6 verses to speak effortlessly to our deeper selves. And this 'something' intrigues me because, as Christians seeking to share our faith with others, we are always looking for ways to communicate with people's deeper selves; and when we discover something which does that, surely we want to learn its secrets.
Perhaps one of its secrets is that it portrays an idyllic setting. We are placed in green pastures, by still waters; we want for nothing, and our souls are being restored. Another factor may be that, throughout this picture-postcard experience, we are being guided by our shepherd who takes responsibility for our safety. There are no demands being placed on us: we just need to follow to stay safe and secure until the end of our days.
This is a picture of life which soothes all the sore spots which cause us pain: the sheep who follow this shepherd will not suffer in ugly or dangerous surroundings, they will not hunger or thirst, they need not live in fear, they will always have someone to whom they can turn, and the protection given by their devoted shepherd will remain with them throughout their lives.
It is truly a dream which many of us might hope would come true. It is a sentimental image - in the best sense of that word - and it speaks to our emotions and our deep physiological needs. And it is a powerful set of images to hold onto whenever we are in pain, in fear, grieving, or feeling lost, lonely or unwanted. Perhaps that is why this psalm holds such a unique appeal for those who are trying to connect with God.
But there is a problem: as disciples of Jesus who listen to his teaching and follow his way, we can't stay in those green pastures to the end of our days. We are the sheep of another shepherd who laid down his life for his sheep. We are the inheritors of a new covenant which the Hebrew psalmist knew nothing about. And we have to face a different reality which is often far-removed from the picture-postcard imagery of the psalmist.
Jesus said: "I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep." (John 10: 14-15)
Throughout their Jewish upbringing, Jesus and the disciples will have sung or recited that 23rd Psalm in their synagogue or temple worship. Yet Jesus knew that 'surely goodness and mercy' do not always follow us 'all the days of our life'; and for some of God's flock the green pastures and still waters never become a reality. There was a need for a new interpretation - a new covenant - to bring the people back to God: a new framework of teaching to nourish and build up the flock: a whole new Gospel to live by, and to offer to others as a way of life.
In our new covenant, as Christian disciples, we can't stay in the green pastures. We are called to hear Jesus teach us through his words and actions; we are called to watch as the social and political forces of his day betray him to powerful enemies; we are called to be with him in the Garden of Gethsemane as he prays not to have to face the next few hours; we are called to feel the grief of his death, the emptiness of the disciples as he is placed in the tomb. But most of all we are called to share in his resurrection. These are the pastures into which the Christian flock is led, where we find our nourishment, and where our souls are refreshed.
Christian discipleship is rarely idyllic - and yet the prize is resurrection to eternal life.
Our challenge as the flock which follows Jesus is to present the core values of our Christian faith in ways which speak to our deeper selves as effectively as the psalmist achieves with scenes of peace, refreshment and security from danger.
So, wouldn't it be a pleasant surprise if, when we ask someone to quote something from the Bible about a shepherd, we get the response, 'Jesus said: I am the Good Shepherd' instead of 'The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.'
Be honest with yourselves - which answer would you have given? It might give a clue to the challenge we have to face.
Amen.
(Philip Jones)
This sermon was first preached in the Metropolitan Community Church of Manchester. Click here for further information.