The Shepherd's Song
/This special blog post is a sermon presented by Rev. Jody Clegg at Union Avenue Christian Church on Sunday, March 19, 2023.
As a musician, I’ve often had to play the piano for weddings. I’ll usually play what’s requested, even if the selection wasn’t my first or 100th choice. (The couple or some combination of parental units are paying me.) I did have to step in once to prevent potential embarrassment, though. The bride requested the James Blunt song “You’re Beautiful” for herprocessional. No one was going to be singing this song, but I felt obligated to remind her that the last line of the song’s chorus ends with the words “I may never be with you”. I didn’t think this song was the best choice for a wedding, just in case someone among her guests were to remember the words of the song as she came down the aisle and snicker at the irony of the song selection.
She changed her mind.
Sometimes we’re not paying attention to the words of a song, because we’re so captivated by the melody or beat or mood of the song. This has to be the reason why Leonard Cohen’s song “Hallelujah” gets used in strange contexts. Although I love Mr. Cohen’s music and poetry, I’m often scratching my head as to why this song gets used in some of the places where I hear it- at so many memorial services, for instance. Maybe the expression of praise set against the melancholy tune captivates us so much that we miss the substantial part of the song that, in fairly erotic lyrics, tells the story of David and Bathsheba.
Perhaps a pastor’s first sermon at a new church shouldn’t deconstruct the 23rd Psalm. Fools rush in where angels and more sensible preachers fear to tread. Don’t worry- I have no plans of ruining this psalm that’s rightly beloved and that comforts us so often. When I examine this familiar song more closely, though, I’m not always sure I’ve paid much attention to the text. There are some things in this comforting psalm that discomfort me.
Princeton Seminary president Craig Barnes, in a sermon on the 23rd Psalm, expressed my discomfort at this image well:
“I don’t mind calling the Lord my Shepherd, but I’ve never been too flattered by being called one of his sheep. I had hoped to be the eagle of the Lord, or maybe the cunning tiger. Sheep aren’t particularly smart. They scare easily, and have a knack for getting lost. Who wants to admit they can’t fight off a wolf on their own?”1
When I can think of this Shepherd as a vendor of life-giving services who gives me everything I need, so I can be more equipped and less vulnerable and appear more put-together, I’m happy to say the Lord is my shepherd. The Psalmist tells me that isn’t how the Shepherd keeps me alive, though. As a result, the Lord sometimes isn’t the Shepherd I want. I lack nothing, and not because of what I achieve and acquire, but what I receive from God. This is how my most basic needs for living are met. This is how I stay alive and know the direction of my life. The first five words alone of this Psalm destroy the myth of self sufficiency and self defense I’ve breathed and imbibed as a 49-year-old male in the U.S.! Maybe that’s why we associate this psalm with funerals and memorial services. Unlike when I hear Mr. Cohen’s song at a funeral, I don’t wonder why. When else but in grief are we most likely to accept the truth of the great prophet Bono’s words: “sometimes you can’t make it on your own.”
So far in the psalm, we hear a theological spin on the Shepherd’s duties, as the Psalmist ascribes those actions to God. The Psalmist writes these words at a time when kings were commonly called shepherds of the people. In the first verses, God does what shepherds do: make sure the sheep eat and drink, find rest, and don’t go off a cliff or headlong into a pack ofwolves- except God does these things more faithfully and powerfully. When the Psalmist describes their travel through the valley of darkness, though, they begin to speak to the Shepherd directly: “I fear no danger because YOU are with me.” (v. 4) This song isn’t about a usual shepherd or king anymore. Even if it wasn’t uncommon to refer to kings as shepherds, it was unprecedented to refer to a king directly. However, God has created our lives for companionship and partnership with our Creator. When the Psalmist needs a companion the most, when he has no illusions about his own craft and strength, when the danger is too great or the evil too powerful, this Shepherd is his companion in that darkness.
Perhaps you remember the scene well from “A Charlie Brown Christmas”. The Peanuts gang is about to start rehearsal for their ill-fated Christmas pageant. Linus is to play a shepherd and, despite Lucy’s demands, he insists on holding his trusty blanket. When Lucy raises her first to strike Linus, he puts his blanket over his head like a headdress and says “See? You wouldn’t hurt an innocent shepherd, would you?” As we read in this Psalm, and as we will hear when Jesus proclaims “I am the good shepherd” (John 10:11), we learn the life of the shepherd means precisely that they will be harmed. The psalmist then fears no evil because his companion in the valley is stronger than the danger and, out of a steadfast love, this companion joins the psalmist in the valley, in the harm and danger that threaten to devour the psalmist.
Whatever our experience in the shadow of death, the place of grief or despair where the eagle or tiger costumes that never fit us can’t even convince ourselves, and our time in this shadow seems to have no end date- we know it’s not a place where we can remain alone. And we are not alone. After the psalmist and we have known God’s presence in this way, as God has joined us in the shadow and helped to lead us toward a light of day, speaking of God in third person just won’t do.
As he sings this song of companionship, the Psalmist isn’t only talking about his song about and to the shepherd. Listen closely, and the shepherd has a song, too, a motif that really is the heart of the Psalm.
It’s the song the Shepherd sings.
As I prepared this sermon and reflected on the text, I had to listen- and then listen again- to my favorite musical setting of the 23rd Psalm. It’s in the second movement of Leonard Bernstein’s magnificent “Chichester Psalms”. The movement begins with the angelic voice of a boy alto, softly singing the first words of the Hebrew text of this psalm. The choir joins him, and the peaceful world of the Psalm’s first verses opens for us- grassy meadows, restful waters and all. It doesn’t last. The music abruptly shifts to a harsh music that interrupts the tranquility of all that we’ve heard so far. The choir shouts the text of the first verses of Psalm 2: “Why do the nations so furiously rage together?” The music gets angrier, reflecting Bernstein’s music from the rumble in “West Side Story”. The melody of the psalm tries to re-enter, but it competes with and can’t overpower the text and music that announce war and violence to the audience. After a few minutes of this cacophony, though, the music pauses, and we hear the boy’s voice again as he sings the last verse of the psalm: “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
At least those are the words we likely know from the King James. The Common English translation probably illustrates the meaning of the Hebrew text more accurately, as I believe Bernstein’s music does: “Surely goodness and faithful love will pursue me all the days of my life.”
Pursue- what a puzzling word to use in this psalm! After all, in the psalms, it’s usually the psalmist or others of God’s faithful who are being pursued by their enemies. Now we’re reading a psalm that says we eat like royalty in front of our enemies and get pursued by God. I don’t think the verb is off the mark at all, though. Look no further than our slapstick story from 1st Samuel today.
You may recall that it was never God’s idea for Israel to have a king. For now, though, God keeps pursuing Israel and, to do so, he’s even willing to play along with Israel’s silly royal experiment. Yet, we know God is no ordinary shepherd, so don’t expect the Almighty to choose an ordinary king. Samuel tried to tell them they couldn't simultaneously be a blessing to other nations and be like other nations. Israel may want to be like other nations, but God will make sure in this case that they don't get a king who behaves like other kings- yet. Of course, we know the tragic story of David turning from a shepherd to a wolf as the power of the office corrupts him- just as Samuel had warned. Right now, though, God is happy to choose David as king, because God thinks that sheep field is a better place to find a king than a battlefield. In the sheep field, the shepherd knows where real dangers lie. So a true shepherd king, one fresh from the meadows, knows to lead with his heart, not just with a head for planning strategies and protecting boundaries. He must have a heart for the people he leads. As we’ll hear some books later in Scripture: “The shepherd knows his sheep” (John 10:14), they hear his voice (10:16), and he even lays down his life for the sheep (10:11).
This is how God’s goodness and faithful love pursue us. Beware, because I don’t know if this is really the best ending for a psalm we expect to bring us so much comfort. At first glance, I’ll stick with the goodness and mercy that “follows” me, thank you very much.
The verb “follow” is so much tamer to me. It gives me an image of helicopter parents who follow us to make sure we make the wisest choices; or Jeeves, following Wooster to make sure he’s properly attired, well-mannered, and not embarrassing himself. “Pursue” sounds more dangerous, throwing protocol and appropriate distance to the wind.
Just look up the word, and you’ll see it defined as: “to follow (a person, animal, or thing) with intent to overtake and capture, harm, or kill; to hunt. To chase.”
In a pursuit, the stakes are high.
If I hear the verb follow in this passage, I imagine God wanting to keep us safe. If I hear the verb pursue, I imagine God doing something very risky, and maybe even reckless.
Following is a language of supervision and surveillance. Pursuit is a language of adventure and romance.
When I hear of God’s faithful love pursuing us, I think of Cary Grant pursuing a stubborn Irene Dunne or a feisty Katherine Hepburn in an old screwball comedy film. He’ll interrupt his beloved one’s plans, even sabotage them, while having a twinkle in his eye and a face that tries to feign innocence. But he’s both impish and determined. Underneath the sly Mr. Grant’s elegant and cool exterior, we also see a man hopelessly and hopefully in love.
I know many of these old romantic comedies are now problematic and even a little cringey, often rightfully so. Under the guise of comedy and romance, much wolfish behavior
happens and gets celebrated in these movies. I want to be careful to avoid giving a license to bad behavior with this image.
I do think there is a bit of that screwball comic mischief in God’s pursuit of us, and God will even occasionally resort to some hijinks to get our attention. This is a romance of a Creator who’s smitten with its creation, hungry for its companionship, and willing to go to great length to pursue this companionship.
It’s a pursuit we see in the Garden of Eden when Adam and Eve hide, and God asks, “where are you?” (Gen. 3:9-10) We see it in our comic Old Testament lesson today, and in the tragic story of the exile, a story that turns because God will keep pursuing Israel and leads them back to Jerusalem- to a new day. We see it in Bethlehem and Golgotha and an empty tomb-and in churches everywhere, including this one today. We gather as people who have heard the shepherd’s song and known God’s pursuit of us: in a well-timed hug or encouraging message, a sudden burst of joy, a bold act of mercy or for justice, an open path, even in a broken heart or changed mind. This Shepherd is relentless and infinitely creative, pursuing us with a song that tells us: “the Lord God is in your midst... he will create calm with his love. He will rejoice over you with singing. " (Zephaniah 3:17)
What then are we to do, having heard the Shepherd sing this song over us?
It’s a song that I think acts the same way as stories do, according to sociologist Robert Wuthnow. Professor Wuthnow observes: Stories do more than keep memories alive. Sometimes these stories become so implanted in our minds that they act back upon us, directly and powerfully." In his field research, he heard a story from one of his study’s participants, a rescue worker named Jack, that illustrates the power of stories, and I think also the similar power of songs. Jack remembered:
“Once when I was a child, I had to have five teeth pulled under general anesthetic. I remember the nurse standing there and just saying, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be here right beside you no matter what happens.’ And when I woke up again, she was still there. That came back to me a few weeks ago when we had a man who was pinned upside down in his pickup truck. I was inside trying to get him out and gasoline was dripping down on both of us. They were using power tools to cut the metal, so one spark might have caused us to go up in smoke. The whole time he was saying how scared of dying he was. And I kept saying, ‘Look, don’t worry, I’m right here with you! I’m not going anywhere.’ When I said that, I was reminded of how that nurse said the same thing and she never left me. Now, they always tell you never to get yourself into a situation where you are risking your life, not unless there’s a very good chance of both you and the patient being okay. So I weighed the risks and I told the man I was going to stay right there with him, and I did. And later he told me, ‘You were an idiot, you know that the thing could have exploded and we’d have both been burned up!’ And I told him I felt I just couldn’t leave him.”2
The last verse of the 23rd Psalm, in which the Psalmist speaks of living in the Lord’s house his whole life long, indicates the Psalm may have been used in a congregational setting in the temple. And so it is: we gather to sing our song to and about our faithful and mischievous companion and host, to share in a table set for us, as people who have heard the Shepherd’s song. We keep learning how to sing it in a way that we are shepherds for others. Not necessarily so they hear our own song, but they can hear the one we’ve heard, the one that goes: “Don’t worry, I’ll be here right beside you no matter what happens.”
1 Craig Barnes, “Sheep on the Run”, The Christian Century (Feb. 13-20, 2002), 17.
2 Robert Wuthnow, Christianity in the Twenty-First Century: Reflections on the Challenges Ahead (Oxford University Press, 1993), 68-69.