4-19-19 MERCY (Psalm 23 part IV)

I didn’t mean to do it. It was never my intention. It just happened.

Spring came with its warm rain and churned up the earth. Color, and breeze, and blossoms and dirt. My winter-worn lump of a body could not resist stepping out into it, breathing into the withered part of my lower lungs new air scented with new earth. But the going out got my feet dirty, so when I came back in, so did the dirt.

I knew when I entered that I was in trouble. Evidence followed me everywhere, smears of earth all over Father’s freshly mopped floor. I tried to retrace my steps with a damp cloth, but the dirt smeared in circles, making matters worse. Down there on my knees, trying to clean up my mess, I silently yelled at myself; “You should have known better! What were you thinking? You should never have left the house! Now look what you’ve brought in!”

But earth was so inviting. And it was Spring.

Soon my father and mother would return and would see their house changed and… I knew the shimmer of that place could not be diminished…and I knew what that meant for me and the mess I had made. I knelt on the floor, my knees sore and back aching, unable to remove the dirt. Bleach, and cloth, and tears could not remove it. I sunk into a heap of sorrow there on the floor. 

And then I heard it. 

I heard the familiar creak of the back door. I knew that sound. As a small child it comforted me, because I knew when I heard it that my big brother was home. 

He must have heard me weeping.

I felt his hand on my back, easing himself down to my level. Without a sound he knelt before me, lifting my chin, wiping my tears with a soft blue apron he had tied around his waist. And then, while I wept, he took that apron, damp with my own tears, and he swept it across Father’s floor. I shifted my weight and slid back against the wall, watching him. In the swift, arching motion of his mercy he cleaned up my mess. Sparkling clean. And then he left. 

I crouched there, staring at the clean floor, and then at my muddy feet, knowing the second I moved the floor would be dirty again. The hopelessness overwhelmed me and I sobbed, burying my head in my knees. 

And then he touched me again. 

He lifted one of my feet, and then the other, freeing my leg from the grip of my hands around my knees.  His head bowed before me, his strong shoulders bent downward, his hands moved swiftly but gently. A wide brimmed basin he had placed on the floor between us. One after the other, he washed my filthy feet. Drying them with the same apron he pulled from his waist, he whispered reassurances to me in a language I once knew, but had long forgotten. His voice was like a lullaby.

When he was finished, he smiled. He smiled, and nodded, asking me to stand. I stood, as he had asked, but emotion overcame me and I fell against his chest, my arms around his neck, my lips tucked into his cheek. I kissed him. Over and over I kissed him until he began to laugh. He eased me away from him. There we stood, side by side, in our father’s beautiful clean house. And then, with his hand held out, he pointed the way. I walked toward the kitchen, mother’s warm and blessed kitchen where all my childhood we had feasted. I did not need to look back. I knew he followed.

Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

4-16-19 SHEEP (Psalm 23)

It’s lambing season here in Farmington, Utah. Our neighbors, Patricia and Steve, own a sweet little piece of earth down on Main street. Beside the lovely old rock house with the waterfall of daffodils currently streaming down the hillside, they have embraced an additional plot of meadow surrounded by woods as a sheep pasture. Last week Patricia posted this note to the neighbors:

Isn’t it just the dearest thing that we live in a place where we keep our eyes out for each other’s lambs?

Steve and Patricia's lovely property on Main Street.

Stevie Wood, the shepherd.

Today, as I drove Beth to her ballet class, we pulled over by the sheep pasture to see if there were any little lambs toddling about. No luck. But the rest of the way to her ballet class I attempted to recite the 23^rdPsalm. This is what came from the top of my head:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, He restoreth my soul, He leadeth me in the path of righteousness for His name’s sake, He feedeth me…something. He anoints my head with oil. He leadeth me beside the still waters. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.  Thou settest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. My cup runneth over.  Something, something, and I shall dwell somewhere, for a long time. Amen. 

Quite honestly, I slipped into ending with… “For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory Forever, Amen." But I was driving, and Beth was talking and Tess was complaining from her car seat,  and it was raining, so cut me some slack for confusing the Psalm of David with the Lord's Prayer.

But seriously, I’m a Christian! I should know this stuff. 

Not only am I a Christian, I have a passion for the analogy of sheep and shepherds. I even collect sheep. Not the real ones, just sweet little facsimiles. When I visit a foreign land, I try to find a representative little lamb for my collection.

A scene from my sofa table.

So, for this little space of time leading up to Easter I believe I will ponder the 23^rdPsalm, and in the process, try to own it. 

With the help of an old book I bought in Wales, called The Downlander Shepherd, and a little picture book I’ve had for years, called He Is My Shepherd, I’ll begin:

1. The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.

Sheep, unlike deer or other animals, need the guidance of a shepherd. They are vulnerable, and have been graced with the ability to follow. With the guidance of a shepherd, they will happily live and follow in flocks, uniting rather than competing with each other. If sheep have a dutiful shepherd, one who sincerely cares for their well being, they are generally calm and cooperative. Their shepherd supplies their needs.

2. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

After sheep have finished grazing they lie down and chew their cud. That’s how they are made. If they are nervous or feel unsafe, they will not relax enough to follow this natural process. The presence of their shepherd allows sheep to relax and digest their food.

3. He leadeth me beside the still waters. 

Sheep are timid and easily frightened. Swift moving waters frighten them. When they are thirsty they would rather drink from stagnant water or mud holes that may be disease ridden. A good shepherd will find water that is fresh, clean and calm, so that their sheep may drink in peace. Shepherds from the Western hemisphere drive their flocks ahead of them. Eastern shepherds lead their flocks, showing the way, and they follow him. They trust him because they see him taking unknown paths before them. He will walk beside them when the landscape is wide, and when they are on familiar ground, he will sometimes call to them from behind, urging them on, while at the same time gathering stragglers and strays.

4. He restoreth my soul.

There are photos in The Downlander Shepherd that show a large woolly sheep all bloated and upside down, his legs pointed straight up in the air. You would call a sheep in this predicament "cast down". It’s a sorry sight. (I’ll spare you the visual.) Before they are shorn, sheep with a heavy coat of wool can end up upside down with the weight of their wool. Often they lie down on a slope and end up rolling the wrong way, then they cannot right themselves. The hot sun on the sheep’s soft belly can bring death in just a few hours. A good shepherd keeps careful watch on each member of his flock, counting them, calling them by name, and when one is distressed, or cast down, he restores him to his rightful position.

Stray sheep are also collected and restored to the flock.

5. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

Sheep are stubborn animals, and they are prone to easy paths. In ancient days, in holy lands, there were narrow paths between fields of crops which were owned by individual farmers. If animals strayed into those fields and ate crops, farmers were entitled to take the sheep of kill them. Shepherds trained their flocks to walk in single file through these passages, his voice urging them to stay on the narrow paths. In order for a shepherd to keep his own sheep he had to make sure they remained on the safe paths. Flocks were known by the name of their shepherd, and it was costly for him to lose sheep who went astray.

In rocky and hilly areas, or marshy meadows, sheep had to be carefully guided for their own safety, and for the safety of the flock. If one sheep failed, the attention the shepherd had to give that sheep put the rest of the flock at risk. Wise shepherds know that it is easier, in the end, to move a flock carefully and slowly rather than haphazardly.

(Tomorrow I will continue with the rest of Psalm 23. But here goes, sight unseen, after having walked myself through it.)

1. The Lord is my SHEPHERD, I shall not want. 

2. He maketh me to lie down in GREEN PASTURES. 

3. He leadeth me beside the  STILL WATERS. 

4. He RESTORETH my soul. 

5. He leadeth me in the PATHS OF RIGHTEOUSNESS for His name’s sake.

Here's how I see it in story form: Jesus, my shepherd, takes care of me. He makes me lie down in a green pasture, then he leads me to water, then when I fall over with my belly full of water, he restores me to my upright position. After we have eaten grass and drunk water we file through the fields of a village one by one, with crops on either side, and I do not wander into the crops. If I leave the path then someone else can claim me, and I need to keep my shepherd’s name.... (to be continued)