Pursuing Psalm 23

 The 23rd psalm is a text we think we know through too much familiarity. We can recite it. We have it memorized through overhearing. We have probably therefore missed it entirely. 

The lord is my shepherd. Mine. It's just me and the lord. I shall not want. My shepherd will see to that. He will make me lie down in green pastures. "Hey, lie down now. Take a rest. We have a ways to go. You will not run out of food while you're here, but for now, get some rest." He leads me beside still, peaceful, clean, cool, nourishing soul-restoring, life-restoring, restful water. Listen to it. Still it says, but it's moving, moving still, not stagnant, flowing slowly over rocks. Burbling. Rippling into the sandy shore by the fertile pastures of good grass. The sun is high and bright but not harsh. My shepherd restores my soul, leading me here. He leads me in the right paths so I will know he is good, so that I feel this peacefulness when I but hear his name. 

The shepherd leads me too in the dark valley, when all of this is gone, no pasture, no water, no sunlight, no soul-restoring breezes. Just darkness and the groans of sadness. In the valley where the shepherd himself is a voice I cannot hear. Here is the name still, the memory of the shepherd who leads me even when I am not guided by sound or sight or the information of any sense. The shepherd is with me. 

Evil is all around me. But I do not fear it. I am comforted by the rod that corrects me. Makes me pay attention. Keeps my mind from wandering. And by the staff that guides my body. In the dark when I have no green grass and no cool water, I am comforted and I am guided by the rod and the staff.

"You prepare a table before me." Now the shepherd is not a he to me but a you. Direct address. But what is this table. Is it where I am feasted, where I can gloat before all who tried to kill me and failed? Or is it the table where I am sacrificed. I am, after all, not a man, but a lamb. I am anointed. Is this in preparation for my death? I think it is. My cup cannot be taken from me. But it can overflow. The cup is my body. The wine is my blood. In the presence of enemies, the blood will spill from the cup. This is not wealth or power. I am not gloating. I am the lamb, richly fed, richly nourished. Prepared in the valley of death for death. And yet.

Goodness and mercy pursue me. Will they catch me? I cannot escape them. I do not want to. If you too pursue me you will be in good company. I will dwell in the house of the lord for as long as I live.