Love of the Shepherd

The Lord is my shepherd.

From the very beginning, this Psalm creates a powerful image in our minds of a Lord who cares deeply for the sheep of God’s flock and the love of the shepherd.

The Lord is my shepherd.  All of us—we are the sheep, and God, of course, is the Shepherd.  It is God who leads us, who we must submit to, who we lovingly and graciously submit to.  God is our Lord, our Sovereign, our King; we owe our hearts to God and willingly give our lives over to God’s eternal care.

Really let this sink in—you being the sheep and God being the shepherd.  No wonder Jesus also used the metaphor of the Good Shepherd.  Our Lord leads you, cares for you, feeds you and takes care of you when you are sick or frightened or in trouble.  God protects you; the Lord fights for you when wolves come after you.  And if you get lost, your shepherd is going to come and save you.  Like a kid who gets lost in the supermarket—God is looking for you; God is going to find you and rescue you.  Let’s face it.  You need a shepherd; we all do.  We can’t make it without a loving shepherd.

                The Lord is my shepherd,

                I shall not want. 

I shall not want!  Amazing.  Just think about that for a moment—all the ramifications of that simply phrase:    I    shall    not     want.  What does it mean to not want?  Quite frankly, our society is driven by our wants and we are taught to go after what we want, whether it’s that new car or bigger house or the latest iPhone.  We want a good career; we want a comfortable retirement.  We want good health care and insurance in case we run in to problems.  We want our lives and the lives of our loved ones to be free of pain and suffering.  We want safety—this is a big one, especially since the news media and the politicians major in fear and terror.  Is it so wrong to want a safe space for our children?  We want our freedom as well as our rights protected.  We want it all!

And yet, here we have a psalm that reminds us: I shall not want.  The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.  To want is to be first concerned with self.  Wanting is all about a me-first attitude and lifestyle.  But to say we shall not want, that God is our shepherd—that is to say that we are giving our lives over to our Lord.  We will leave it to God; we will trust our Lord.  To not want is to put God first in your life; to not want is to put another’s needs before your own.  How hard that is!

He makes me lie down in green pastures;

He leads me beside still waters;

He restores my soul.

Again we have the images of a caring shepherd, who feeds and nurtures, who provides an abundance—green pastures.  There is peace and rest—real rest to be found in following this shepherd.  You can be restored; you can be rejuvenated; you can find out what it means to be alive again, a purpose to your existence.

He leads me in paths of righteousness

For his name’s sake.

God will lead us on the right path, my friends.  God’s way is the right way.  We might not always see it, but we know God cares about us.  God does not want to see us suffer because of our sins or walk a path that leads to destruction and death.  The Lord wants the best for you and me, wants us to make the right decisions.  God wants us to have a good life, a rich life, a blessed life.  And if we follow God’s way, we will.

Even though I walk through the

Valley of the shadow of death,

I fear no evil;

For you are with me;

Your rod and your staff—

They comfort me.

 

Even when you are in trouble, even when things look really bad, when you need God the most—the Lord is right there.  You can trust in the Creator—God is dependable.  You don’t need to fear—God will see you through.  And that fear—remember what I was saying how fear is so rampant today?  Put your trust in God.  God is the one that’s going to see us through.

You prepare a table before me

In the presence of my enemies;

You anoint my head with oil;

My cup overflows.

God has got your back.  Even when you are surrounded, when you are pressed in, when fear and grief and pain and despair are all around you, when all seems dark, God is right there.  God still provides.  How many of us can think of a time in our lives when we couldn’t have made it with God?  We know this to be true—this is who God is.  God will send the Holy Spirit; we are being anointed with God’s power; we are being set aside for God’s work.  And God is so good.

Surely goodness and mercy shall

Follow me all the days of my life,

And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Ron Trimmer is pastor of Hope United, a new church in Georgetown, Texas. Click here to visit Hope United's website.

The Groaning of Our Hearts

As we continue our journey through the Psalms this Lent, I felt moved to talk about the Lament Psalms.  I often tell people, if you don’t think God understands how you feel, then read through the book of Psalms.  You’ll get every emotion, from joyous elation to feelings of utter despair and helplessness.  Almost half of the Psalms are considered lament, either in part or in whole.  When modern hymn books and even our worship tends to be upbeat and praise-filled, the Hebrew praise book has some real downers!  Perhaps, we need these laments to better express our true feelings?  And perhaps we need these laments to better know God? 

Psalm 22 is perhaps the most desperate lament, for it begins with an expression of utter abandonment by God.  No wonder, Jesus quotes this Psalm when he is dying upon the cross.  The words still haunt me.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

            Why are you so far from helping me,

            from the words of my groaning?

O my God, I cry by day, but you

            do not answer;

            and by night, but find no rest. 

                          (Psalm 22:1-2, NRSV)

I remember watching Jesus of Nazareth as a kid and hearing Jesus say those words.  I wasn’t sure what “forsaken,” meant, but it certainly sounded like abandonment.  I didn’t want to believe it.  How could Jesus feel that way?

When I was still at Eden Seminary, in my class on Biblical Theology, our professor, Clint McCann, took us to the Holocaust Museum in St. Louis with a survivor to lead us.  We then had to write a reflection on the experience, commenting about why this could all take place with a loving God.  The fancy term for this is theodicy, and it is something I still wrestle with.  We want a God that makes it not so; that magically makes the evil go away.  Indeed, we wish for a God who doesn’t let evil happen in the first place.

Here are the words I wrote after my visit:

After visiting the museum, even these desperate words from the ancient psalmist cannot describe the all-encompassing anguish, hunger, pain, and death experienced by the victims of the holocaust.  Where is the God of justice, the God of mercy?  Has God truly abandoned Her people?  And what do we think of God when such an atrocity has happened?

When I look at the pictures of the people suffering, I try to look deep into their faces, into their eyes, perhaps even into their very souls.  Sometimes I see fear, sometimes I see a kind of sternness, which could only come from living within that hell for so long; yet, the most common image is one of deep perplexity.  For those living within this hell, their very image of God is questioned, and as the writer of the psalm indicates, they wonder why their God has abandoned them.

As I walk through the museum and listen to the speaker’s voice as she gives personal accounts of her experience, I too wonder about God.  Where is God?  Has God truly forsaken these people?  For many of us, our thoughts of God tend to envision an all powerful God, able to extend a saving hand to those in need.  But then why does God not intervene?  Does God choose not to intervene?  I cannot take this position because it envisions a God that does not conform to my central beliefs about the qualities of God: loving, compassionate, merciful.  I also cannot believe in a God that administers “tough love,” somehow teaching the people some kind of wisdom from suffering, nor can God be “testing” the people.  But at the same time, the God I know is merciful and compassionate and loving, so God must be helping somehow, or at least doing something (even reacting) about the problem.

First of all, I think God is forced to work through human beings.  Everything is tied to our relationships with God.  We are a communal people, capable of much love and compassion, but also capable of incredible evil.  Yet, I honor God’s creation of human beings, made in the image of God.  Now that means to me that even with all our faults and sinful ways, human beings are, in a sense, made perfect, capable of perfect relationships.  Within this model, the “fall” becomes a turning away from God, a breaking of relationship, showing that we screw up.  But at the same time, I think that this ultimately gives human beings (and God) more integrity.  It makes the times we “get it right” that much more powerful and meaningful.  Knowing we have a tendency to turn away from God, God continues to be faithful, welcoming us back.  In addition, it can be difficult working through a good relationship, for change can take a long time.  Because the power is shared, one is not always sure of the outcome.

Looking at our own relationships, one knows that when the person that you love is experiencing a pain, even when you are trying to help, you can’t help but empathize for your beloved.  Because you are still present with them, in a sense you also suffer.  In our case, the suffering is never quite as bad; yet, when I think of how much God loves us, I can only imagine that God experiences equal or even worse suffering.

I have a tendency to personify God, especially when it comes to suffering.  Because God cares for us so much and will not abandon us, I often place God within the horrible situation as fully human.  In this way, God experiences the terrible hunger of not eating food for weeks, God smells the burning flesh in the air, God feels the loss of dignity, and God suffers with the people.  One of the images I carry with me from the holocaust museum is the image of the rows of dead bodies, where the corpses are so malnourished that it looks as though the skin has been stretched taut over bones.  For me, God is right there.

I’m not sure if thinking of God literally being present with the people is a way of rationalizing the suffering human beings endure, but I do know that God works through suffering and vulnerability.  Fundamental to my faith is the belief that Jesus died on a cross.  Fully human, yet fully divine, Jesus suffered, which means God suffered.

But whenever we talk about the cross, we cannot forget the resurrection.  There is life after death.  At the end of the tour, we learn about the survivors and their great accomplishments.  Although so many voices were silenced, a few were saved, and those voices went on to tell incredible stories.  Those voices continue to cry out to the rest of the world, telling the story so that God’s will for justice and peace may one day be realized, so that those who follow will remember the evil we are capable of and try to stop it from happening again.

Psalm 22 does not end with verse 2.  Although the psalmist cries out to God, and feels abandoned, the writer knows that God has a history of listening to the oppressed.

For he did not despise or abhor the affliction of the afflicted;

            he did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him. (vs 24)

Ron Trimmer is pastor of Hope United, a new church in Georgetown, Texas.  Click here to visit Hope United’s website.

Words of Life

We continue our Lenten journey through the Psalms, that wonderful book of poetry and song, full of glorious praises and adorations, soul-wrenching laments, and heart-felt prayers.  Today, we look at Psalm 1, which introduces this great collection by speaking of the wisdom of following God’s Word.  These are Words of Life.

¹ Happy are those
    who do not follow the advice of the wicked,

or take the path that sinners tread,
    or sit in the seat of scoffers;

² but their delight is in the law of the Lord,
    and on his law they meditate day and night.

³ They are like trees
    planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season,
    and their leaves do not wither. In all that they do, they prosper.

⁴ The wicked are not so,
    but are like chaff that the wind drives away.

⁵ Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
    nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous;

⁶ for the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
    but the way of the wicked will perish.

                    -Psalm 1 (NRSV)

“Happy are those … whose delight is in the Word of the Lord, and on his Word they mediate day and night.”

This introductory Psalm outlines two ways to live: one that leads to life, and one that leads to death.

First off, Biblically speaking, being “happy” is closely associated with being “blessed.”  And where our happiness is tied to our present circumstances, being blessed is everlasting, rooted in the presence and promises of our Lord.  So what does it mean to be blessed?  Well, the psalmist begins by saying that you won’t be blessed if you follow the wrong path.  Sin is a path that leads to despair and destruction and death.

Rather, one is to find delight in God’s Law, the Torah, the instruction of God on how to live a life of faith, a life of righteousness.  God’s Word is the instruction for life, and it lets you stand with the righteous.  I love how Eugene Peterson puts it in The Message, “Instead you thrill to God’s Word, you chew on Scripture day and night.”

What does it mean to “chew on” Scripture?  To take it seriously, to have it as a companion on a journey, a guide book.  Are some passages sweet to the taste while others are sour?  Do some go down easily while others take time to gnaw on, like a tough piece of meat?

The Psalmist’s point is that we must have God’s Word as a constant companion, a friend, a confidant, a teacher, a mentor who challenges us to be more than we are.

There is Life for those who follow the Word.

And Death, for those who do not.

Which road will you take?

To further make his point, the psalmist talks about the benefits of following God’s commandments by using the metaphor of a tree, planted by a river.  What a beautiful illustration.  You see if you follow the Word, you are sustained and watered and fed.  In essence, you are nurtured and cared for; you have what you need, and do not lack anything.  But not only that, your life will prosper; you will bear fruit.  And finally, a tree has deep roots that anchor it into the ground.  Following the Bible, or Word of God, gives you a stable foundation, one you can depend on and will help you stand when the storms come into your life.

Contrast that with those who refuse to follow God’s commandments. They are like chaff in the wind. They have no roots, nothing to sustain them, no connection with the source of life. They wither and they die.

Not only can we trust in God’s Word, but this instruction—it restores, nurtures, and sustains life. They are Words for Life.

Ron Trimmer is pastor of Hope United, a new church in Georgetown, Texas. Click here to visit Hope United’s website.

From Ashes to Life

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, a season of reflection and prayer as we walk with Jesus towards the cross and eventual resurrection.  During this season of Lent, I will endeavor to post each Wednesday a reflection on a psalm.

Psalm 51 is attributed to David, when the prophet Nathan confronted him after he had laid with Bathsheba.  It is a story we know well, reminding us that even the mighty King David, a man after God’s own heart, was not infallible, not above temptation, and not above sin.  Click here to read all of Psalm 51.

As this is Ash Wednesday, we are reminded of our own mortality, our own sinfulness, our own need for mercy.  From dust we came, to dust we will return, for this body is an empty shell, a mere vessel which carries a piece of the divine.  And it is the body—our earthly desires, that often get us into so much trouble, distracting us from what is right and good, knocking us off the path of righteousness.

           Have mercy on me, O God,
               according to your steadfast love;

           According to your abundant mercy
               blot out my transgressions. 

         Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,

              and cleanse me from my sin.

         For I know my transgressions,

              and my sin is ever before me.

           Against you, you alone, have I sinned,
              and done what is evil in your sight,

                                 Psalm 51:1-4 (NRSV)

Alex Gondola, in Come as You Are, tells of the funeral of Charlemagne, one of the greatest Christian rulers during the early Middle Ages.  After his death a mighty funeral procession left his castle for the cathedral at Aix.  When the royal casket arrived, with a lot of pomp and circumstance, it was met by the local bishop, who barred the cathedral door.

“Who comes?” the Bishop asked, as was the custom.

“Charlemagne, Lord and King of the Holy Roman Empire,” proclaimed the Emperor’s proud herald.

“Him I know not,” the Bishop replied. “Who comes?”

The herald, a bit shaken, replied, “Charles the Great, a good and honest man of the earth.”

“Him I know not,” the Bishop said again. “Who comes?”

The herald, now completely crushed, responded, “Charles, a lowly sinner, who begs the gift of Christ.”

To which the Bishop, Christ’s representative, responded, “Enter! Receive Christ’s gift of life!”

The point, of course, is that in God’s eyes, we’re all equally in need.  Charlemagne, Mother Teresa, you and me.  None of us will ever be “good enough” to force entrance into the presence of God.

As the psalmist tells us, we know that our sin is ever before us.  We have all done what is evil in the sight of God.  Indeed, we are sinful beings, and all stand in need of the gift of grace.  And what a gift grace is—to receive forgiveness, to be redeemed and find mercy, to be restored and find new life—it is nothing short of a miracle.

There is a line in the Psalm when the writer says to God, “Against you, you alone, have I sinned.”  It’s not that we don’t sin against each other.  David certainly sinned against Uriah, Bathsheba’s husband, first by committing adultery and then by arranging his death.  Sin causes pain and grief and suffering; relationships are wounded and torn apart, trust is lost.  Sin can cause a kind of darkness to fall upon us, and sin can destroy lives.  Certainly, we sin against each other.  But what the psalmist is trying to say is that all sin—all sin is an affront to God.  Every time someone sins, it pains God; it hurts him.  Another way to look at it is that sin puts up a barrier between us mortals and the divine.  When we sin, we are disconnected from God; it severs the relationship, making us alone.  It is not God who does this, but ourselves, for sin always has consequences.

But God doesn’t want us to be alone.  Certainly, God does not want us to sin, but at the same time God is so willing to take us back, to restore the relationship, to forgive us and grant us mercy, to restore our lives and make in us a new creation.  It is the passion and resurrection of Christ played out in us over and over again, as we die to sin and are raised to new life through the glorious redemption offered through Jesus Christ.

Now, it is true that sometimes grace can come into our lives when we least expect it, when we certainly don’t deserve it, when we might not even be looking for it.  God is God after all.  But most of the time, pretty much all of the time, we first have to get ready to receive the gift of grace.  What I’m talking about is repentance.

We must repent of our sins.  It’s more than just saying you’re sorry. You have to mean it, and more than that, you have to do something about it. To repent is turn around, to make a 180 degree U turn, acknowledge your sin, make amends, and then start on a new path in the light.

I’m not going to lie to you.  Repentance is hard.  Sometimes our pride get in the way—know one likes to admit mistakes, that they’ve screwed up, that they have done something or not done something that has really hurt someone.  And then, sometimes acknowledging the sin isn’t what’s hard—we’ve all said we were sorry and didn’t really mean it.  We must make good on our promise to change.

The psalmist knows what God is after—a clean heart, a truthful spirit, a life oriented towards God.  Thus, we must purge the nastiness in our hearts.  We have to confess it, acknowledge it and get it out there.  We have to deal with the consequences of our actions, make reparations if needed, and be willing to open ourselves up to God—to be made new.

¹⁰Create in me a clean heart, O God,

and put a new and right spirit within me.

¹¹Do not cast me away from your presence,

and do not take your holy spirit from me.

¹²Restore to me the joy of your salvation,

and sustain in me a willing spirit.

But it doesn’t end there. Not only does the psalmist plead for forgiveness and ask for a clean heart—to be restored to new life, but also the psalmist pledges to live a changed life.  He will teach others the same; he will worship and praise and serve.  He will devote his life to the service of God, giving over his heart with a willingness to follow the Lord wherever that will take him.  The sacrifice that is acceptable to God is a broken spirit, a broken and contrite heart.  This is not a broken heart like when your girlfriend dumps you, but a heart that is yielding, a heart that is malleable, like clay in the potter’s hands, an open and humble vessel, ready to be filled.

           You see, my friends, to be forgiven is to be changed, to be transformed, to be redeemed.  In other words, when God comes into your life, your life will never again be the same.

Ron Trimmer is pastor of Hope United, a new church in Georgetown, Texas.  Click here to visit Hope United’s website.