FINDING STRENGTH

"The Lord is my shepherd..." 

 

   I think most of us will recognize those words as the opening line of the Twenty-third Psalm, a prayer or a song, written by King David which has stood the test of time and has both comforted and inspired people facing some trial, be it mental, emotional or physical; always personal. It has been the subject of hundreds, if not thousands, of interpretations from laymen to biblical scholars. Speaking to a group of rabbis, priests and pastors, Rabbi Ed Feinstein of Temple Valley Beth Shalom in Encino, CA., proffered that when we read the Twenty-third Psalm ask yourself, what was going on in King David's mind fifteen minutes before he set it to pen?

     Most scholars agree that King David was girding himself for battle. Against whom we don't know, although the Bible tells us his battles were many. Today, like David, we face many battles, ourselves, as we make our way through this adventure called, "life." David understood this as he prepared for yet one more skirmish with his enemies. So, what insight does the psalm say to us, today as we prepare for our daily skirmishes in the simple act of living?

     "The Lord is my shepherd..." How often do we allow ourselves to think that we need someone to look after us? As adults we go through life caring for our families, raising our children, managing our careers and...well, that's it, isn't it? Managing. We see ourselves as the manager, the one in control. Husbands and wives plan together (or, at least, they should) taking control by working through household budgets and the simple, and sometimes testy, issues of marriage to satisfy their needs. We raise our children to respect one another (or, at least, we should) and hope they grow into productive adults and good citizens. We compete for better jobs to make a better salary and, therefore, increase the prosperity of ourselves and our families (or, at least, we should). The need for a shepherd -- a guide -- somehow seems a sign of weakness and a threat to our feeling "independent" which, in my view, is a code-word for I don't need any help, advice, direction or instruction. "Let me do it," is a mantra we learned as children yearning to break free from parental oversight. I can take care of myself, thank you. It is a rebellion against what we see as too much oversight in an environment that is confining, restrictive, and overbearing. We all have experienced the demeaning effect of micro-management at one time or another. The result is that we long to be free. So,what does it mean when a prayer is an acknowlegement that we need a guide, a protector, a shepherd? 

     "The Lord is my shephered, I shall not want..." What confidence is in those nine words. Children understand that they will be (or supposed to be) protected from want. Jesus taught us that God takes care of the birds of the air, won't he, then, take care of us (Matt. 6:33)? I am comforted that there is someone who is looking after me, assuring me that all my earthly needs and all my spiritual needs will be met. But, how confident can I be when I am dispirited? When I don't have enough money to buy my daughter a prom dress or to pay for my son's dental work. When I don't have enough money to pay for my wife's auto repairs let alone buy groceries? How confident am I when my wants aren't being met; when I am made to feel insignificant, even unwanted? What am I to do when my prayers go unanswered?

     "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He teaches me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in the path of righteousness for His name's sake.." In living this life that often brings us turmoil in one form or another, reassurance, calmness and restoration can, at times, seem far off.

     From a psychological perspective it is always good to have a place -- a green pasture -- that offers us solice. It could be a quiet walk in the woods or a park, or an old fishing hole; any place where we are find comfort and are filled with warmth (even on a cold winter's day). A place where we are undisturbed and free from the pressure-driven panic that sometime's grips us in the midst of life's turbulence and anxiety. As we rest in this "fortress of solitude" we can hear the Voice of calm and reason -- the still waters -- that teach us, even if by remembering how we worked things out before, that life is good and remains full of possiblities; that the horizon isn't as dark as it seems. That reassurance drives away doubt and uncertainty.

     In the calmness of our reassurance we begin to see that we are loved; loved by a Power that is greater than we are and whose name we don't even know. Perhaps we will learn it later but, for now, we become aware that this unknown, unseen Power is telling us that we are forgiven, even by things we are totally unaware of. Forgiveness is like a mothers love. It doesn't mean our transgressions won't get a good tongue-lashing, or be punished, but it does mean that we are still loved. It is the foregiveness bound in that love that drives us to walk in humble respect for all that life offers -- the good along with the bad -- because that is our plight as a living, breathing being. We are fortunate, indeed, to have the opportunity to breath the air, feel the breeze, be in awe of a sunrise or sunset, to see the stars and wonder about what lies out beyond this place called Earth. We don't have much time. Indeed, our days are numbered; some shorter than others, so why do we waste our time on pettiness? To walk humbly with God for his name's sake makes us a vessel through which his blessings flow.

      "Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death..." Have you ever felt the pain, the fear and the anxiety of having to walk through that valley? Soldiers down through the ages have surely felt it; I have definitely felt it. But those same feelings arise in unexpected ways: a medical condition requiring surgery, or one that carries a terminal message; the sudden loss of a parent or child or of a spouse create through age, disease or accident brings on unimaginable grief that is the very nature of that valley. Hearing a cell door clang shut behind you presents its own feeling of anxiety and danger. To know deep anxiety, fear, or grief is to walk in that valley. And, yet, "I fear no evil for You are with me..." It is in our assurance wrought from the calmness that restored us that sustains us in such moments, and knowing that we walk with the Righteous One means we have nothing to fear of the evil brought on by (as President Roosevelt said) "fear itself."

     To walk humbly with God means that God's armor protects us. Not from tragedy or death or disease or anxiety or our personal fear of failure, but from evil. God's armor protects us from the personal evil that creeps up on us in those moments when our guard is down; when we doubt the reassurance that we are a child of God; when we no longer see ourselves as a vessel of His love and blessings; when the temptation to evil seems overpowering blinding us to the Shepherd who walks with us; when we become lost in the pain of rejection, isolation and fear or in our rebellion against our "freedom." 

      God's armor is simple: a rod and a staff, the historical tools of the shepherd to keep the flock in line and to battle the wild beasts who prey upon them. That is our comfort. It's that simple. Our reward for walking with the Shepherd is a Way -- the table -- prepared for us even though our enemies are close. At this table we celebrate life even in the face of turmoil, unrest, calamity and death. Our hope lies in the laughter and song that decries evil as having no affect on us for we have been annointed; our prospects for a good life are like a "cup that runneth over;" and, that as I walk in concert with the Shepherd, "surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the House of the Lord, forever."