Month: October 2014

A Sermon for the 20^th Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 25 – Year A – 26 October 2014

John Edward Miller, Rector

When the Pharisees heard that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

Now while the Pharisees were gathered together, Jesus asked them this question: “What do you think of the Messiah? Whose son is he?” They said to him, “The son of David.” He said to them, “How is it then that David by the Spirit calls him Lord, saying, 

‘The Lord said to my Lord,
“Sit at my right hand,
until I put your enemies under your feet’”?

If David thus calls him Lord, how can he be his son?” No one was able to give him an answer, nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions.

                                                                                                               – Matthew 22:34-46

The Collect

Almighty and everlasting God, increase in us the gifts of faith, hope, and charity; and, that we may obtain what you promise, make us love what you command; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The Pharisees were well-intentioned, decent people. But their zealous love of God, and their religious devotion to God’s law, made them blind to their own self-righteousness. While the Pharisees eagerly looked for the messianic age to come, they could not see the Messiah in their midst. Instead, they looked past Jesus of Nazareth, straining to behold their own kind of messiah – one who would bless their studious keeping of the law, and usher in an age of peace, when all would obey God and uphold the standards of righteousness and justice. The Pharisees were unaware that their efforts to be good, and to promote observance of the law, were actually reflecting their self-love as they “policed” their society, chastising those who they deemed to be careless, indifferent, or disobedient. Their fastidious vigilance sought to root out bad influences in their community, but they were clueless that their own arrogance was one of them.

Jesus taught openly and authoritatively about many things, including the law. His view that the spirit of the law exceeds the letter of the law deeply troubled the Pharisees. That teaching was at loggerheads with their staunch legalism, and they quickly became his bitter nemesis. Hearing him say, “You have heard that it was said . . . , but I say to . . .” made them particularly angry. To the Pharisees, it was clear that Jesus was playing fast and loose with the law revealed by God to Moses. In his Sermon on the Mount Jesus seemed to be displacing Moses as the lawgiver. He would cite well-known laws of the Torah, and freely expand and reinterpret them, making their effect much broader and inclusive than the literal sense. Jesus said that he had come to fulfill the law, and not to abolish it. But the Pharisees did not believe him.

Here is an example of how Jesus treated the law. He said:

You have heard that it was said, “Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.” But I say to you, Love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven.; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? . . . You, therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”[1]

With a few commanding words, Jesus took something that was relatively easy to do – that is, to treat one’s own kind with love, and to treat those who are different, or alien, as enemies – and revolutionized the meaning and impact of love. Equal treatment of all becomes the standard of perfection, because that’s how God treats everyone, said Jesus. If you’re devoted to perfecting observance of God’s law, he insisted, then you must aim to act as God acts.

The impact of such teachings as this made Jesus public enemy number one for the Pharisees. According to them no Messiah would change or challenge the law in this way. Therefore they regarded him as a rogue pretender to the messianic role. They saw him as the bad apple that would spoil the whole bushel. Jesus must be removed, one way or another, from their midst. His teachings, they thought, were dangerous and disruptive to the social fabric of a people dedicated to God’s law.

So the hostile encounters between Jesus and the Pharisees were many. Our lesson today features the finale – one last attempt by the Pharisees to discredit or destroy his influence on others. This encounter features an expert in the law, a Torah[2] scholar, among them. His approach to Jesus was direct and dangerous. The lawyer was aware that Jesus had bested everyone else that had tested him in Jerusalem. But he was sure he could get him with a knock out punch. He asked him the question that was on everyone’s mind, and that was of special interest to contemporary rabbis. “Teacher,” he said, “which commandment in the law is the greatest?”

The lawyer probably smiled smugly as he said this. The question was a very difficult one to answer. There were 613 commandments in the law: 248 positive (“do’s”) and 365 negative (“don’t’s”). The challenge was plain. Which one of these is the greatest? Jesus’ knowledge of the law, as well as his power of discernment, was being tested within the precincts of the Temple, the holiest place in Judea. The assumption on the lawyer’s part was that Jesus was in a no-win situation; he was about to prevail by making him look incompetent. However, he had badly underestimated his quarry.

Jesus calmly replied, saying, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

Jesus’ answer was a summary of the law. He drew the two commandments from the Torah – the first and greatest commandment is from Deuteronomy 6:5; and the second, the one like unto the first, he said, is from Leviticus 19:18. They were not original to Jesus, but were rather revelations to the people of God through Moses. Jesus selected these two commandments, and offered this opinion: “On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”  In his view, every other commandment of the law, and the inspired words of all the prophets as well, depend on these commandments: to love God with one’s whole being, and to love one’s neighbor as oneself.

The “double command” to love has been identified with Jesus ever since. His choice of this paring marked Jesus’ entrance into a rabbinical discussion that was prevalent in the 1^st century. By that time, rabbis were narrowing the focus of the law to one or two key commandments. Many had stressed the primacy of the first commandment. Jewish males were expected twice daily to recite it as a part of the Shema, “Hear, O Israel: the LORD our God is one LORD; and you shall love the LORD our God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.”[3] Moreover, there is evidence that the command to love our neighbor was being cited alongside the command to love God without reservation.[4]

Nevertheless, these two commandments – taken directly from the Jewish Torah – have been revered by Christians as though Jesus coined them. Why? It is because even though he neither spoke them first, nor was the first to combine them, Jesus “understood that combination with a unique and radical seriousness.”[5] His ethic of love was based on the love of God; in fact, Jesus believed that the two commandments were interconnected. That means that there “can be no love of God that does not express itself in love of neighbor. Conversely, there is no authentic love of neighbor that does not spring from love of God, for otherwise it is a refined, subtle form of self-love.”[6]

The intertwining of the love commandments is new and unique to Jesus. That is why the pairing can be described as the ethics of Jesus. His double command has become the capsule summary of what is expected of those who would follow him. It is an early form of what we in the Episcopal Church call the Baptismal Covenant.

In part, ours asks, “Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?” and, “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?”[7] We too affirm that love of God and neighbor are interdependent.

It is important to note that in Matthew’s gospel, the lawyer does not argue this point with Jesus. His citing of the double commandments to love stands without dispute. Jesus then asks the Pharisees a question about the Messiah; it is one that they cannot answer because they are blind to his presence. Thereafter “none dared ask him any more questions.”

That’s Matthew’s version of the incident. Luke frames differently, having the lawyer ask Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus does not answer, but instead pitches the question back at the lawyer, saying (in effect), “ You’re the legal expert; what do you think the law says?” And it is the lawyer, not Jesus, who quotes the double command to love. Jesus then says, “Right. Do this and you will live.”

That prompts the red-faced lawyer to retort, “But who is my neighbor?” Everyone who was listening knew that under the law, the neighbor was one’s fellow Jew; the requirement to love was restricted to the Jewish community only. There was no duty to love anyone outside that world. Jesus once again does not answer the test of his knowledge. Rather, he tells a parable, the one that we know as the “Good Samaritan.”[8]

The story invites the lawyer to take the perspective of a Jewish man who is the victim of brutal muggers. He is hurt, robbed, and left for dead. In short he is in need of love from his neighbors, and two come by – a priest, and a Levite – but do not help him. They are professional holy men, who love God and know the law; however, they fail to love their neighbor. A third man enters the scene. He is a Samaritan, one of the most detested and avoided people in their world. He has a dubious pedigree, and is treated as an untouchable. Under the law, the Samaritan is not a neighbor; he is an enemy. The surprise is that he stops, has compassion, and gives the help needed despite the fact that he is not a fellow Jew. Jesus asks the lawyer a question, “Who do you think was the neighbor in this story?” The lawyer knew; because he had watched the others pass him by. So he said, “The one who showed mercy.” Jesus said, “Go and do likewise.”

Like his reinterpretation of the law in Matthew, Jesus in Luke’s gospel blows open the short-sightedness, and hypocrisy, of mere legalism. He has redefined “neighbor” as a verb instead of a narrowly conceived noun. The question, Who is my neighbor? Now becomes, “To whom am I a neighbor?” Unless you’re showing compassion, you’re not truly a neighbor. Moreover, the neighborhood now has no boundaries; it’s everywhere, and the potential recipients of neighboring love are all people, not just our friends and members of our community. That is big.

Jesus’ command, “Go and do likewise,” is not a simple requirement that is easily fulfilled. Of course, that’s the point. We have the law and the prophets, and it is imperative that we do what they command us to do. If we could satisfy the spirit of the law, we should. Then the world would be at peace and concord with God and one another. Then we would need no Messiah. We would have built the kingdom of God ourselves. And all would be complete.

But that isn’t the case. We know what we ought to do, but we do not do it. We know what we ought not to do, but that is what we do. This is the human dilemma. We can understand the value and the potential of loving God and our neighbor. But all too often we do not have within us what it takes to do what the double command to love requires. Reinhold Niebuhr was right, “Love is the impossible possibility.” Though we can see it, love exceeds our grasp.

One of my teachers said that when Jesus told the lawyer, “Go and do likewise,” he might as well have been telling the man how to get to England from Virginia. “Go toward the east, and keep walking until you reach the seacoast,” he said. “The water you see is the Atlantic Ocean. Now dive in and swim toward the northeast until you encounter land. That may or may not be England, but you will have done your best.” In other words, even though the goal is clear to us, we do not have the will, the strength, or the endurance to achieve it. As the man from Maine reportedly told a visitor asking for complicated directions to a remote place in his state, “You can’t get there from here.”

We know that these – the greatest — of the law’s commandments that Jesus regards as the greatest are integral to the Christian life. Everything else we stand for depends on them. And yet we are impeded somewhere between belief and action. So what does it take to bridge the gap? How can we obey the double commandment to love God with our whole being and to love our neighbor as ourself?

First we need to get over ourself, admit our failure to do what real love requires of us, and take seriously our reliance on God’s grace. As we affirm our trust and hope in Jesus, our Lord, it is important that we mean what we say when we confess of our shortcomings:

Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent. For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us; that we may delight in your will, and walk in your ways, to the glory of your Name. Amen.[9]

Telling the truth, and taking Christ’s outstretched hand, is a good beginning.

Then it is essential that we accept our helplessness when it comes to fulfilling what God requires on our own terms and with out own resources. Try as we may, and try as our forbears the Pharisees did, neither we, nor they, can save ourselves. Coming to grips with that enables us to stop pretending and to stand open-handed before God. That kind of humility happens when we look in the mirror and know, in the words of the old Prayerbook, that “there is no health in us.” Then we can accept the only help that matters, the help of God’s grace.

It works like this. Accepting grace, God’s free gift of mercy and power, is comparable to receiving assistance to breathe. When a person’s own respiratory system has failed, he is not able to breathe and sustain life on his own. The patient needs help in the form of an artificial respirator. However, that device cannot be helpful until the patient stops trying to breathe on his own, and trusts that the respirator will do it for him. When the resistance stops, and acceptance starts, respiration begins. And a life will have been saved. So it is with God’s grace; thus we pray:

Breathe on me, breath of God, fill me with life anew, that I may love what Thou dost love, and do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, breath of God, until my heart is pure, until with Thee I will one will, to do and to endure.[10]

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, let it be so. Amen.

[1] Matthew 5:43-48.

[2] The Torah (which in Hebrew means, “teaching” or “instruction”), is also known as the Pentateuch. By tradition it is attributed to Moses, and consists of the first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures namely, Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy.

[3] Deuteronomy 6:4-5.

[4] The Testimony of the Twelve Patriarchs

[5] That insight was advanced by the New Testament scholar Gunter Bornkamm.

[6] See Reginald H. Fuller, “The Double Command of Love: A Test Case for the Criteria of Authenticity,” in Essays on the Love Command, ed. and trans. Reginald H. Fuller et al. (Philadelphia:Fortress, 1978) 41-56.

[7] The Book of Common Prayer, 1979, p. 305.

[8] Luke 10:29-37.

[9] The confession is contained in the Holy Eucharist, Rite II, p. 359, in the Book of Common Prayer, 1979.

[10] “Breathe on me, Breath of God,” is a hymn written by Edwin Hatch in 1878, and set to the tune, Trentham.

A Sermon for the 19^th Sunday after Pentecost – October 19, 2014

 David H. Knight, Priest Associate

Send your spirit, God, to open our hearts and our minds to your Word, and strengthen us to live according to your will, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

From the hymn we sang earlier in this service:
Races and peoples, lo, we stand divided,
and sharing not our griefs , no joy can share;
by wars and tumults love is mocked, derided;
his saving cross no nation yet will bear;
thy kingdom come, O lord, thy will be done.

Hymn 573, stanza 2

The choice we face in today’s gospel reading is often a difficult one at best. Once again, the Pharisees were trying to trap Jesus. You can just imagine them as they approached him and said, “Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth…  Tell us what you think.  Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor or not?”  Jesus was aware of their scheme to entrap him.  He said, “Show me the coin used for the tax.”  Then he said “Whose head is this, and whose title?” They said, “The emperor’s.” He said, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s,” For us the question of what is truly lawful can be can be answered only by looking to Jesus’ teaching on the greatest of the commandments when he says, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.”

Marvin McMickle, President and Dean of Colgate Rochester Divinity School, suggests that the issue for most of us today is not as much about paying our taxes as it is about paying attention to what is happening around us and to whether or not the structures of power are carrying out their duties in a manner that promotes justice. We pay our federal, state, and local taxes, sales taxes, and taxes on fuel, hotel rooms and while we may not like paying those taxes we pay them anyway.  It is when our consciences begin to be in conflict with what our government may be doing in certain circumstances that our loyalties are challenged.

In his sermon last week, John spoke of how there are those passages of scripture that are etched in our memory.  Some of those passages for me are from scripture, some are from the Prayer Book, and some are from the hymns of our church as well.  From the 5^th chapter of the book of the prophet Amos, for example, “But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

From the Prayer Book in the service of Holy Baptism,  (11:00 That we have heard this morning.) “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?  Today in this service of Baptism, as we welcome Campbell David into our midst, will you and I who witness these vows do all in our power to support him Campbell in his life in Christ so that as he grows in Christ he will strive for justice and respect the dignity of every human being.

And then, there are the words of that hymn by Walter Russell Bowie written in 1910 and that still speak to us in our own day. These words, in fact, which I saw inscribed on the walls of a parish house at St. John’s Church in Jersey City in 1965, were influential in my call to ordained ministry and they helped to shape my perception of what the Church is called to be.

“O shame to us who rest content while lust and greed for gain
in street and shop and tenement wring gold from human pain,
and bitter lips in blind despair cry, ‘Christ hath died in vain!”

Already in the mind of God that city riseth fair:
lo, how its splendor challenges the souls that greatly dare—
yea, bids us seize the whole of life and build its glory there.”

Hymn 583, stanzas 2,4

There are those times when our civic loyalties and our loyalty to Christ’s call meet face to face.  Should Christians, for example, remain silent in the face of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan?  Should Christians remain silent in the face of the various forms of violence that plague our nation and our world?  Should Christians remain silent when states pass laws or take actions that restrict the voting rights of minorities?  Should Christians remain silent in the face of racial injustice which is still prevalent in our nation?

Before Ebola eclipsed all other events in the news, a continuing story in the media has been the situation in Ferguson, Missouri.  It’s a hard story on so many levels.  It involves yet another shooting of an unarmed African-American male by a white police officer, an officer whose record of duty apparently has been exemplary.  A young man is dead, the life of the police officer, regardless of the outcome of the investigation and trial, will be forever changed.  There is finger pointing in both directions.  Whatever the truth is, the perception of racial injustice permeates the landscape in Ferguson.  Episcopal Bishop of the Diocese of Missouri, The Rt. Rev. Wayne Smith, among other religious leaders, has been present in the midst of the protests. “My faith,” he says, “compels me to be here.  I want to show solidarity and call attention to the structural racism of St. Louis.”  The Very Reverend Gary Hall, Dean of the Washington Cathedral, in a sermon on August 24^th  talked about what is taking place in Ferguson. He spoke of how the hopes of racial justice, articulated 45 years ago by Dr. Martin Luther King, have yet to be realized.  Martin Luther King said, “An injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”  Dean Hall went on to speak about the signs of power that so often impress us.  “Most of us” he said, “are impressed by shows of strength—royal pomp, a display of weapons—as signs of power and authority. But Jesus is for us ‘the Christ,’ the Messiah, the anointed one because he is effectively an anti-king.  Jesus is not Caesar, nor does he pretend to be. What Caesar offers is a grotesque parody of authentic authority.  What Jesus offers is the real deal.  He brings compassion instead of hatred, healing instead of abuse, trust instead of threats…  Real kings don’t look and act like Caesar.  They look and act like Jesus.  What Jesus represents is what the power at the center of the universe really looks like.”

In our current series on Wednesday nights here at St. Mary’s, we are studying the book, To Kill a Mockingbird. Led by Henry Massie, this is an excellent series and it’s not too late for you to come even if you missed the first three sessions. To Kill a Mockingbird is a powerful story, among other things, of Christian love. Harper Lee, who wrote the book in 1960 claims that it is not primarily about racial justice, or the failure of it, yet the implications throughout the book speak nonetheless to the aspects of human nature that make racism part of  our culture.  In the book, Tom Robinson, an African-American young man, was accused of raping a white girl even though the evidence could not confirm his guilt and, in fact, pointed to his innocence.  One of the most compelling moments in the book occurs at the conclusion of the trial when Atticus Finch, the lawyer defending Tom Robinson, speaks in the courtroom to the jury.  After pointing to all the evidence of Mr. Robinson’s innocence, he says in his closing argument, “I’m no idealist to believe firmly in the integrity of our courts, and in the jury system—that is no ideal to me, it is a living, working reality.  Gentlemen, a court is no better than each man of you sitting before me on this jury. A court is only as sound as its jury, and a jury is only as sound as the men who make it up. I am confident that you gentlemen will review without passion the evidence you have heard, come to a decision, and restore this defendant to his family.”  He paused.  Then he said, “In the name of God, do your duty.”  Atticus’s voice dropped as he turned away from the jury and stepped away.  He seemed to be saying something more to himself than to the court but those around him heard him to say, “In the name of God, believe him.”  In the name of God…  The jury returned with a verdict.  There was silence.  Their verdict: The defendant was guilty.  Nonetheless, the power of Atticus Finch’s words, “In the name of God, do your duty,” is a powerful reminder to us all when faced with matters that call for our standing for justice. “In the name of God” reminds us of what our first loyalty must be.  In the name of God, we must do our duty.  What does going to church and worshipping mean if we are not going to help others and, in the name of God, stand for justice?  Our response to people crying out for justice is our earthly test.  In the name of God, we must do our duty to strive for justice.  Yes, we have our civic obligations. We pay our taxes, but we are called to give back to God what is God’s and there will be times when our Christian duty will call from us a different response from what our civic duty might demand. Our Christian duty comes from Jesus himself.

Jesus said to those who asked him as he says to you and to me, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s and unto God the things that are God’s.” May you and I have the grace and the courage to stand in the name of God for justice, come whence it may, cost what it will. Amen.

A Sermon for the 18^th Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 23 – Year A – 12 October 2014

John Edward Miller, Rector

Psalm 23     King James Version

The LORD is my shepherd; *
I shall not want.

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

He restoreth my soul; *
he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his Name’s sake.

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.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of
mine enemies; *

thou anointest my head with oil;
my cup runneth over.

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.

The Collect

Lord, we pray that your grace may always precede and follow us, that we may continually be given to good works; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Were you required to do memory work in school? I was, and I suspect that most of you were as well. Memorization was once a much-favored method of storing data in our student mind. We committed vast quantities of material, from historic events and dates, the list of U. S. presidents, periodic tables, declensions and conjugations, vocabulary in English and other languages, famous sayings, and poems of varying length. It was as if the shelves of our personal library were being stocked for future use.

And it worked. Facts and figures, literature, and music were inscribed on the tablet of our memory. Our youthful recall functioned like a search engine, pulling up useful information in microseconds. We could download all that we had saved and recite it on demand or print it out on notebook paper at will. It was really great while it lasted, wasn’t it?

But, if you’re like me, you’ve encountered problems with that once-efficient system. Time and experience change all things. Many factors have slowed our lightning-fast recall, and have eroded the tablet, leaving the memories less sharp, or even (sad to say!) lost in the fog. This is good news for Google and a wake-up call for mental acuity. The internet search engines, like Google and Yahoo, can help us find what we are fuzzy about, and we can locate and enjoy the lectionary and daily prayers on our hand-held devices if we like. However, there is no substitute for hard copies of the Bible and the Prayer Book. Getting reacquainted with them is a wonderful thing! In the Scriptures and our liturgy we can re-boot our mind and spirit regularly, accessing important memories, and sharpening them by repetition and ritual.

Sunday schools – including ours at St. Mary’s – have employed memorization as a tool since their inception. Our children have in recent years stepped up to the “memory challenge,” learning key passages from the Bible and the creeds of the Church. Plus, the confirmation classes have deepened their knowledge of our basic resources of faith. In worship we also recommend the importance of access to Scripture and tradition. Using the Book of Common Prayer reinforces this process, helping us re-pave mental pathways over and again. Being able to retrieve and enjoy biblical passages, creeds, and time-honored prayers is a very good thing. It helps us focus on the basics of our Christian identity. However, bolstering our recall and access of what is essential doesn’t happen automatically; it takes effort.

During the centennial year celebration of our parish in 1977-78, St. Mary’s invited guest speakers from the community to commemorate that important landmark in our history. One of those speakers was one of Richmond’s iconic preachers, the Reverend Theodore F. Adams, pastor emeritus of First Baptist Church. Dr. Adams spoke to us about the importance of biblical literacy, stressing the need to commit certain passages to memory. He illustrated his point by telling us about a plan derailed on a mission to the people of the former Soviet Union in the 1960s. His team had carefully packed boxes of Bibles in Russian to bring to Christians desiring those words of hope. However, when they arrived at Soviet customs, the missionaries were forbidden to enter with the Scriptures. Dr. Adams said that he felt stripped of God’s Word until he remembered something crucial. The Soviets could confiscate the Bibles, but they could not take away the Word. It was stored in memory, kept safely by the team, and ready to be their comfort in a strange land, as well as shared with people starving for good news.

At a Sunday lunch at my mother’s home, we gathered around the family table after church. I raised the subject of memory work that my brother and I had been challenged to do when we were Sunday school age children. I mentioned that there was a card for each child, featuring our name in fancy calligraphy and five categories to be fulfilled to mark our success at memorization. We would receive a gold star when we completed each requirement. The categories were (as I recall): the Lord’s Prayer, the Beatitudes, the Twenty-third Psalm, the Books of the Old Testament, and the Books of the New Testament.

I had barely gotten those words out when, as if a switch had been thrown in her mind, my mother began to recite the sixty-six books of the Bible in order. “Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, . . .” she said at a rapid-fire pace. Mom hardly took a breath, but continued until she finished the list of all 39 books of the Old Testament. Then she proceeded to name all of the New Testament books too, ending with The Revelation to St. John.  I can still see the smile of triumph and satisfaction that spread across her face when her feat concluded. It was an extraordinary moment, and especially impressive to me, because I had never won those two stars. My youthful mind was not willing to read, mark, learn and inwardly digest those long lists of biblical titles. I gave up my quest for those stars, and relied instead on the table of contents rather than my gray matter. Who knew what I would be called to do in life?

Looking back on my early development, I realize that I would have profited from that exercise. It would have made biblical research all the easier. Access to resources is essential, I think. And this resource – our constitutive documents of faith – is indispensable. For now, though, I can say that I am infinitely grateful that I learned the 23^rd Psalm by heart.

This little poem has been a paradigm for my faith in good times and in unspeakably bad times. It has served as my theological model, my personal liturgy, my creed, and my prayer language – particularly when I’ve walked through the valley of the shadow of death, and had no other words to say. The psalm gave me courage and hope when I could see no light.

One of the things to cherish about the 23^rd Psalm is its simplicity. The poetry is spare and uncomplicated, and its metaphors are familiar and memorable. The psalmist chooses pastoral imagery to express his sense of trust in the presence and influence of God in his life. It is like the relationship between a shepherd and his sheep, says the poet. Sheep have faith in their shepherd because he guides them to safe pastures, provides them sustenance and shelter, abides with them as they graze and when they sleep, and nurtures them with his steadfast love. The shepherd does not abandon the sheep in his care; his constancy is paramount to their survival in a setting that may look serene, but can suddenly turn hostile and dangerous. Bandits, predatory animals, and other hazards of nature are always there, and so must the shepherd be vigilant, and watchful, and ready to act to protect the flock. His crosier, or shepherd’s staff, symbolizes not only his leadership, but also his compassionate treatment of his sheep. He is out there in the hills and valleys with them; the shepherd is subject to the same conditions as his sheep, whether they be abundance and light, or fearsome and dark. The shepherd takes the point when the flock is on the move. As their leader, he engages what lies ahead first, because he is willing to suffer for them and with them.

Drawing upon the bucolic setting of Israel’s hill country, the psalmist paints a picture of the intimate relationship between God and his people. What he depicts is a pastoral bond connecting a shepherd with a flock. But it is also an intensely personal connection. “The LORD is my shepherd,” says the poet. In so doing he is calling the Creator of heaven and earth by name: “the LORD” is not a generic designation for a divine being, it is a personal name – the one that God has revealed to his people in an act of goodness and trust. Moreover, the LORD is my shepherd, says the psalmist. That little possessive pronoun, my, in the first person singular, is an astounding claim. The Maker of the universe, the provider of all that is, seen and unseen, the savior of humankind, the one whose steadfast love is a power that surpasses our understanding, is my own compassionate shepherd. That is an awesome gift from the psalmist to you and me. It is the awareness that God’s Presence abides with each of us; and nothing can separate us from his love.

In simple, personal language the psalmist reassures us that we are never alone. He also makes it clear that the LORD is not a passive presence, but is actively leading, guiding, seeking, loving, and providing us what we need when we need it. The psalm itself helps us open the doors of our heart and mind to accept and receive what the Shepherd provides. Saying it, reading it, singing its verse, we can quickly understand its meaning and feel its effect on our anxious spirit. The psalm inspires trust because it enables us to see the presence, and feel the love, that the LORD is constantly offering.

For more than six decades since I learned Psalm 23, I have never failed to appreciate something new as I recite its lovely verse. When things are going well, I see the loving Shepherd leading me to green pastures and waters of comfort, and I enjoy what he provides. In times of grief and fear, I see him leading me by the hand through the valley of deep darkness, and I am grateful for his healing compassion. When I feel empty, I see him setting a table for me even in the presence of those who trouble me. He fills my cup to overflowing and anoints my head with oil, and for that care I am greatly thankful. When I feel ashamed or guilty, I see him as the forgiving LORD, leading me back to the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. And when I doubt, or am disappointed with life, I see him also following me with goodness and mercy, nudging me forward with his shepherd’s staff, guiding me back to the place he has prepared for me. And I am invited to dwell in my LORD’s house forever.

Today, I am struck anew by my shepherd’s grace. He is with me – with me, despite my flaws, my mistakes, my fears and doubts, and my propensity to miss the mark he has set for me. Nevertheless, he is with me. He gives me his love, a love that I can envision in a real person. Jesus makes the shepherd’s presence palpable on this earth, where you and I live and move and have our being. And because Jesus, the Good Shepherd, is one of us, we can see God in him and in all others who represent him in our life.

I found myself sitting beside my mother’s bed as she lay dying in health care this past January 18. She had endured terrible suffering and distress caused by a brain tumor that was relentless in its destructive power. But at that moment, near midday on that Saturday, she was sleeping deeply and peacefully. As I kept watch over her, I played a CD of sacred choral music to soothe her. I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for all that she had done for me and my family – the care, the resourcefulness, the persevering efforts that kept our family going in difficult circumstances, the love that she so freely lavished on us, the strength of her character, the depth of her knowledge, and the spirit of adventure and hope that she epitomized. And then I recited the psalm that she herself had taught me, saying, “The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want; he maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still waters; he restoreth my soul . . .”

Mom had made my shepherd very real to me. And at that moment I knew that he was ever so real to her. Her memory, which had been so laden with knowledge for close to ninety years, was gone because of the tumor. But at the last she did not need memory. What had been an image of God’s care and love for her in poetry and in song was finally, unalterably true. And her shepherd, my shepherd, your shepherd, was with her in an eternal embrace. I sat with Mom for an hour after she breathed her last. A beautiful aura of peace settled over us both. She and I were in that place provided by our loving God, whose love never ends. Amen.