Psalm 23

1 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want.

2 He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters.

3 He revives my soul and guides me along right pathways for his Name's sake.

4 Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil;
for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

5 You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me;
you have anointed my head with oil, and my cup is running over.

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

This year, Monday Matters will focus on wisdom conveyed in the treasures of the book of Psalms. We'll look at the psalms read in church before Monday Matters comes to your screen.

Shadows

Psalm 23. You may have heard it yesterday in church, the Fourth Sunday in the Easter season often referred to as Good Shepherd Sunday. In a culture where biblical literacy wanes (to put it mildly), this psalm is widely known, and for good reason. It’s wonderfully pastoral in many senses of the word.

For this reflection, I tried to read it as if I’d never heard it before. Give it a try. See what strikes you. As I looked at the psalm this way, I wondered what is meant by the valley of the shadow of death. Not the valley of death, but the valley of the shadow of death. It got me thinking of the ways we live with that shadow looming, blocking the light on our pathway.

A shadow is cast by awareness of our own mortality. How do we navigate that valley? In my ministry, I’ve been struck with the way one particular blessing resonates with people. It begins: Life is short and we do not have too much time to gladden the hearts of those who travel with us. So make haste to be kind. In the shadow of the shortness of our lives (a theme repeated in scripture and especially in the psalms), we are made to realize our own limitations. We are called to number our days (Psalm 90:12). That can help us recognize what really matters. We shape our actions accordingly. The good news of Easter offers this illumination: the limits of our earthly lifespan are hardly limits to the Holy One.

A shadow is cast in our acquaintance with grief, especially as we advance in years. We live in the shadow of loss, missing those we love but see no longer. How do we navigate that valley? It happens as we embrace the wisdom of the burial office which affirms that in death life is changed, not ended. That’s why in the Easter season, the theme of resurrection brings the light of comfort and hope.

We know the shadow cast in our broken world, as news of the day speaks of the powers that aim to bring life to an end. We learn about cruel tragedy unfolding in Gaza, nations imagining they can solve conflict with deadly violence, children in impoverished nations facing death by starvation as aid is abruptly cut off.

In the Easter season we are enlightened by the experience of the early church. Shadows lifted as good news was brought to the world with a spirit of equity and inclusion. The first followers of Jesus shaped a common life marked by generosity as described in Acts 2:  All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts. St. Paul wrote that in Christ there is neither male nor female, slave nor free, Jew nor Greek (Galatians 3:28-29).

I’m certain there are many other ways that shadows are cast as we navigate darkened valleys. The good news is that while it’s not given to us to avoid the shaded valley, we do not go alone. We have a presence with us guiding us through those passages, Jesus who knows our every weakness, Jesus who passed through those shadows himself. A good shepherd who brings us home rejoicing, so that goodness and mercy will follow us all the days of our lives, Jesus who is the light of a world marked by shadows.

I love how Nadia Bolz-Weber described this light, which came to her one Easter morning: “It happens to all of us. God simply keeps reaching down into the dirt of humanity and resurrecting us from the graves we dig for ourselves through our violence, our lies, our selfishness, our arrogance, and our addictions. And God keeps loving us back to life over and over.”

-Jay Sidebotham