IN SPITE OF THE SHEEP
A Sermon by
Psalm 23
1 The LORD is my
shepherd, I shall not want.
2 He makes me lie
down in green pastures;
he
leads me beside still waters;
3 he restores my
soul.
He leads me in right paths
for
his name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,
I fear no evil;
for
you are with me;
your
rod and your staff—
they
comfort me.
5 You prepare a
table before me
in
the presence of my enemies;
you
anoint my head with oil;
my
cup overflows.
6 Surely goodness
and mercy shall follow me
all
the days of my life,
and
I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
my whole
life long.
A class of high school students had been assigned to write a
research paper on an animal of their choice. For no particular reason Bobby chose
sheep. The day of reckoning had come;
papers were due. But Bobby had not once
gone online for information on sheep, much less opened a book. But he had carefully prepared his
excuse. “Teacher,” he said, “my dog ate
my paper.” The teacher, having heard
this line too many times, said, “Bobby, I don’t believe that excuse. “No,” said Bobby, “it’s true, it’s true! I had to force it down him…but he ate
it!” Bobby should have been here today
to hear this sermon about Psalm 23. He
would have learned the most important thing about sheep: sheep need a shepherd.
Picture Jesus as the Good Shepherd; picture us as the sheep
he leads. And realize that the Shepherd
guides in spite of the sheep.
Like many animals during a fierce storm, sheep will panic
and run blindly in all directions, even over a cliff, unless the shepherd is
there to comfort them. Just like sheep,
we are dependent upon Christ in times of trial or pressure, in crises and
tragedies. Or else we will panic when
the storms of life hit: loss of a job, rejection by friends or a lover, too
much work and too many demands, divorce, death of a loved one, criticisms that
come as threats to our security. We
panic. Life doesn’t seem to flow anymore or make sense. We become confused, insecure, and afraid. We lose our confidence and run from one
escape to another: booze, drugs, sex, parties, overwork, or withdrawal. We can then become cynical and bitter about a
life that isn’t fair or logical. We can
invent some reason that satisfies us, pacifies us, saying, “This happened
because I sinned, after all doesn’t everything happen
for a reason?” We intentionally deceive
ourselves to quell the panic inside us when we face the impersonal nature of
existence. But it doesn’t help. We are just sheep running to and fro,
frightened and directionless. But there
is another choice. We can call on the
one who in John
Oscar Johnson writes: “I remember years ago when, as a boy
in the hills of east Tennessee, it was my job to keep the wood box filled…I
tried to carry in too much on the last load so as not to have to make another
trip. The last stick was placed under my
chin with great difficulty and I had risen and was walking toward the house,
groaning and grunting with each step, wondering if I could make it. [My] father…came along behind me; he reached
down, picked me up with my load and carried me—and my load too—until we came to
the box where he said, ‘Drop it in there.’”
When the load is too great, the Shepherd picks us up with our loads and
carries us.
Another ovine fact is that sheep are not resourceful
creatures; they cannot find their own pastures.
When hungry and thirsty, they will wander aimlessly in search of food
and water. Doesn’t that sound like us? The good shepherd tries to lead us and we
say, “But I don’t want to lie down! I’m
not tired yet! What is over there on
those rocks? It looks a little dangerous
but, hey, maybe the grass is greener there!
Yeah, this water is all right, but the last watering hole was better
than this one, maybe I can find one that again.” And throughout our complaining and wandering
and resistance to being led, Christ stays right with us—the Good Shepherd in
spite of the sheep, continuing to give us guidance in spite of our arrogant
deafness to it.
Oftentimes we pray for guidance and we expect some kind of
sign in the clouds or a special delivery answer in the mail. Many times the answer we expect is to have
what we asked for to come true—whether or not it would be good for us. But true guidance comes to us as gentle,
almost subconscious, nudging. We will
get a deep feeling that this just isn’t right for me. Well, who made that decision? We did, but it wasn’t all our doing. Our best decisions are filtered first through
what we know of God and scripture (is this God-worthy behavior?) Then we consider what is moral and ethical
according to what we have experienced and heard from trusted sources (would my
mother back this plan?). In our best
moments we would then ask, does this square with who I am as a child of God
(not just is this best for me but is
this the best of me)? And finally, before settling on a selected
course, we would ask, will this help or hurt others; is it right and just? This is a great sequence of thought through
which we will be led by Christ if we will just listen for the guiding of the
shepherd. Not all do.
By the time I met him he already seemed ancient, stooped, a
scowl wrinkled permanently into his face.
He sat all day in the back room of his storefront, not wanting to be
bothered by social chatter or even customers.
All day he tracked his stocks on the market where he had made a fortune
in investment across the years. He had
never married and had no close friends. Everyone
who came into contact with him was battered by his gruff responses and harsh
attitudes. A real-life Ebenezer Scrooge,
he was taking care of himself and cared little about anyone else. He made a great addition to my collection of
characters and I laughed at his antics.
But looking back, his life seems so sad and tragic. I remember visiting him at the nursing home in
his last months. He sat alone, bent into
his chair, a sheet of dividend reports on his lap, cursing life, griping about
the cost of his care, all loaded up with money but no way to enjoy it or to hold
onto it and no one to share it with. He had
staunchly insisted on choosing his own path in life and it turned out to be a
lonely and bitter one. The Shepherd will
lead us to green pastures, still waters and right paths. Let him.
Sheep are lowly creatures, bred to serve a limited purpose,
used for their wool and meat and hide.
This is where the psalm parts company with the analogy. We like to linger with those protective
verses, 1-4, but then we quickly read past the remaining two verses as weird or
strange—tables in front of enemies, oil dumped on our heads. Yet the last two verses contain the best news
in the whole psalm. We are not lowly
creatures, fit only to be used by the world.
God values us. When an honored
guest would arrive at a house in the psalmist’s day, the host would wash his feet
and then pour soothing oil on his hair to refresh him after his journey. God anoints our heads with oil. We are God’s honored guests! And it’s not a secret friendship—you know,
the kind you hide to maintain your social status; you might be friends with the
clerk at the grocery store but you would never invite him to supper at your
favorite restaurant. “You prepare a table before me in the
presence of my enemies.” That
doesn’t mean that we get to thumb our noses at our antagonists—look where I’m
sitting, nyah, nyah, nyah! Instead it
means that God loves us right out in public!
We are led and fed by the Creator of the Universe no matter what others
think of us.
“The Master’s Hand”
"Twas battered
and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid, good folks," he cried,
"Who'll start the bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar - now who’ll make it two _
Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice,
Going for three". . . but no!
From the room far back a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as an angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "What am I bid for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow;
"A thousand dollars - and who'll make it two?
Two thousand - and who'll make it three?
Three thousand once, three thousand twice
And going - and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand -
What changed its worth?" The man replied:
"The touch of the master’s hand."
And many a [one] with life out of tune,
And battered and torn with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd.
Much like the old violin.
A "mess of pottage," a glass of
wine,
A game and he travels on,
He's going once, and going twice -
He's going - and almost gone!
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd,
Never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul, and the change that's wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.
~
In spite of what the world thinks of the sheep, in spite of
the sheep themselves, the Good Shepherd loves us and leads us.