A Watering Place

Our beautiful baptismal font at Cameron Presbyterian Church.

April 17, 2016 - Fourth Sunday of Easter

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Sermon: “A Watering Place”

Psalm 23 is probably the most memorized and beloved passage in all of scripture.  Because of this, we need to shake the cobwebs off of our reading and studying of it, and hear it with fresh ears.  To do this, I’ve made my own rough translation from the original Hebrew.  See if you don’t hear something new or surprising!

Psalm 23 (my rough translation)

Yahweh shepherds me, I shall not be lacking. 
   

He stretches me out in grassy meadows;


he leads me to a watering place near resting waters; 
   

he returns my living being, life, self, person, desire, passion, appetite and emotions to me.

He leads me in right tracks
 for his name’s intent.

Yea though I go through the death-like, shadowed valley,
   

I fear no evil, distress, misery, injury or calamity; 


for you are with me;
   

your rod and your staff, they console me.

You set a table facing those hostile to me.

you anoint my head with oil;
   

my cup is abundant and saturated. 


Surely goodness, happiness and loving kindness shall pursue and chase me 
all the days of my life,

and I shall sit and remain in the house of Yahweh forever.

It’s even more beautiful in the original language, isn’t it? 

We’re not just led by still waters; we’re led to a watering place, where waters and we ourselves rest.  That’s why we baptize Easton today – not because his parents decided upon it, or because his grandparents and other family are connected here – but because God is leading him, before he even needs to understand why, to a watering place.

God doesn’t just restore our soul, in our sometimes-narrow Western idea of the soul.  God returns the appetite to one for whom food holds no joy.  God returns personhood to one who feels worthless.  God returns passion and desire to people who don’t even make eye contact anymore.  God returns emotions to a teenager who feels their emotions are uncontrollable and wild.

When we find ourselves in a death-dark valley of shadows, where every tiny thing seems like a threat, we do not have to fear distress, misery, injury, calamity or any other kind of evil.  This is not because there is nothing to fear, oh goodness, there is an awful lot to fear.  This is because even in that death-dark valley, our Shepherd never, ever, leaves our side.

A table is set for us, with red-checkered napkins and azaleas in the center, and sweet tea to last for days.  But our dinner companions are not who we’d expect.  God intentionally places us facing those who are hostile to us (probably because God knows that eating together might just be the most healing act there is).

Just as we start to get squirmy and uncomfortable at that reconciling table, God anoints us with oil, blessing us with ridiculous extravagance.  It’s hard not to laugh with oil dripping down into your lap! 

The cup of our life is completely saturated with the goodness of God, and just when we think there can’t possibly be any more left, our Shepherd’s loving-kindness chases us.  Not follows, chases, pursues us, every single day of our life.  I love this persistence.  Because you don’t need me to tell you that sometimes kindness and happiness seem like fleeting things. 

Sometimes, tragedy happens, illness happens, violence happens.  But even that does not stop the loving kindness of God.  It doggedly chases us, with the determination of a child playing catch, and does not relent until our load is a little lighter to bear, until the world seems a more joyful place. 

And then, we go to the most joyful place of all, the house of God. Revelation gives us a sneak preview of what that heavenly home will look like.  The most honored guests will be joy, music and worship. Some things will be intentionally left off the guest list: hunger, thirst, scorching heat, tears.  These won’t be invited.  And you know what?  We won’t even miss them.  We will be sheltered by the Lamb who is also the Good Shepherd, and it will be one heaven of a party.

It’s no wonder Psalm 23 sounds like such good news to us.  It’s no wonder it’s our favorite passage.  It’s no wonder we read it today, on this day when we welcome Easton into the family of the Church universal, where all the things that divide us wash away in waters of grace.  Here, we tell Easton and the world that there is a Good Shepherd who cares for him.  We tell him that this Shepherd chooses him first, starting his journey of faith at resting waters, and sustaining him when that journey means facing bullies or going through shadowed valleys of self-doubt. 

We tell him that he will live every moment of his life in God’s care, a care made evident in Christian community, and then he will live every moment of the life to come in the presence of the God who has known him all along.

Of course, Easton won’t be told these things until much later, and he will not understand what happens to him today.  But that doesn’t matter one bit – for we don’t understand our parents’ love as infants, we just know we need it.  And, if we’re really honest with ourselves, we grown-ups don’t understand the gracious love of God, a love that chooses us first, any better now than we did as children.  Some things can’t be explained – they can only be experienced. 

So, let us all bear witness to that experience today, as we gather with Easton and his family at a watering place of resting waters.  And maybe, just maybe, something of our own baptism so very long ago will well up within us, gushing forth, overflowing, as we realize that we belong to a community we did not create, we belong to a God who chose us first, and we belong to a life that will never end. 

Thanks be to God!  Amen.