Vulnerable in the Valley
Rev. Vickie Miller
Psalm 23 & John 10:11-18
May 3, 2009
Kathleen Norris, in the preface to her book, The Psalms, tells this story. She said that she gathered in 1987 in a small, hillside cemetery at the edge of the Black Hills. She remembers that the sky had an orange hue due to the forest fires in Yellowstone National Park. She was there to help bury George, a friend only in his thirties, struck down by lymphoma. George was a mountain man, a writer and a vietnam vet– a man who seldom went to church. Gathered with Kathleen at the grave site were other neighboring families and writers, artists, long-haired bearded men wearing buckskin, some aging hippies in sandals dressed in their best blue jean suits. She describes them as Democrat, Republican, Protestant, Roman Catholic, athiest and agnostic. Near the end of the service the Lutheran minister closed his prayer book and asked everyone to recite the 23rd Psalm. But when he distributed the little pieces of paper they refused. Instead, they all recited in unison the 23rd Psalm from memory – the King James version.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters
He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.
This beloved Psalm actually describes a day in the life of sheep. First, the sheep would get up, have their morning coffee, leave the safety of their gated community and go off to work. A pretty lush job they had too, just following the shepherd out to green pastures where it sounds like they got to lay down on the job, maybe even have a siesta in the afternoon, and then stroll beside some blue still waters. However, when the shepherd said that it’s time to go home, that’s when it got harried. The sheep had to pack up their lunches and march right home. The shepherd took them on a direct path home. Whatever was quickest. It didn’t matter if it was through a dangerous valley with predators lurking or where unexpected storms might be creeping up, or if it was I-75 right before a Florida, Florida State game. The shepherd was there to protect and lead the sheep with the finest equipment of the day – the handy rod and the staff.
Once the sheep got back home to their gated community, the shepherd prepared a table with a full course meal, anointed their achy, tired bodies with oils, and promised them that that is how it would be all the days of their life.
I never thought I liked being identified with sheep, but no wonder the writer imagined a life like that! And then Jesus in the gospels picks right up with this image and talks about being the Good Shepherd who cares for the flock.
It’s no wonder that Psalm 23 has become a favorite of both religious and non-religious. It is a beautiful poem that speaks to the human condition. Though we often quote it during funerals, it really is a Psalm about life - life with it lush, prosperous times, life even with even the mundane times, yet life always with the threat of the valley. In reality, it’s the valley of the shadow of death in this Psalm that speaks to us most. It reminds us that we, too, are vulnerable in the valley – to some unexpected tragedy just around the corner.
Like sheep we are sometimes vulnerable simply to our own lack of director. Sheep are known to get confused and to get off the path from time to time and get lost in the wilderness or on a mountainside. Sort of like Carol, until I bought her a GPS Navigational System so when she goes off exploring Gainesville while I am in Board meetings I know she can find her way back.
Seriously, we often have a tendency to be vulnerable to our own lack of direction and our wrong choices. Anne Lamott in Traveling Mercies writes about her valleys – her difficult childhood, her parents’ poor marriage, the alcoholism, their frequent parties in the house and Anne beginning to drink at a young age. About the only place Anne could sleep well was at her friend, Shelly’s house. When Anne could not sleep Shelly’s mother, a great woman of faith, would lie beside her and quote the 23rd Psalm, whispering her to sleep.
But as Anne grew, she still got lost. She says that she did not quite believe in this God of Shelly’s mom. Anne explored all kinds of religions, none of them Christian. In fact she despised anything Christian. She was drunk most of the time, high on drugs, had no money, was bulimic, involved with married men and going to x-rated hotels. The day of her abortion, Anne became drunk, high on drugs, was physically shaky from the procedure and was experiencing great loss of blood. As she laid on her bed smoking a cigarette, she says,
“After awhile, as I lay there, I became aware of someone with me, hunkered down in the corner, and I just assumed it was my father, whose presence I had felt over the years when I was frightened and alone. The feeling was so strong that I actually turned on the light for a moment to make sure no one was there – of course, there wasn’t. but after a while , in the dark again, I knew beyond any doubt that it was Jesus. I felt him as surely as I feel my dog lying nearby as I write this. And I was appalled.”
Thinking about her group of progressive friends who could not imagine her as Christian, Anne turned to the wall and said, “I would rather die.” However, Jesus did not leave. Anne says, “I felt him must sitting there on his haunches in the corner of my sleeping loft, watching me with patience and love. Finally, I fell asleep and in the morning he was gone.”
This time, it wasn’t Shelly’s mom who whispered Anne to sleep with the comfort of the 23rd Psalm, but the Good Shepherd himself, Jesus, who was right there when Anne lost her direction and got off the path.
Sometimes, it’s not our own lack of direction to which we are vulnerable, but to the wolves who seek us out, to situations that are threatening and unbearable.
That’s when we can learn from this Psalm how important it is to stay with the flock. Sheep were utterly helpless outside of it. When they are alone they are especially vulnerable to attacks from wild animals or just not finding their way.
We, independent humans don’t readily admit it, but the same is true for us. Karl Barth said that there is no such thing as an individual Christian - interesting that there is no separate singular form of the word sheep. Whether we like it or not, we are bound up together with the flock. As a flock we need to stick together, to shepherd each other and we fight off the wolves together.
In our world we have plenty of wolves.
Rev. Stephen Brown writes,
We have seen the wolf.
We have seen him in hungry eyes in Calcutta and Chicago, swollen bellies in Darfur and Detroit, endless cries in Kandahar and Kansas City.
We have seen the wolf and we ran.
Shepherd Jesus, forgive us.
We have seen the wolf.
We have heard him in abandoned homes and tent cities, overflowing shelters and crowded pantries, cardboard mattresses and dark street corners.
We have seen the wolf and we ran.
Shepherd Jesus, forgive us.
We have seen the wolf.
We have knelt beside her on battlegrounds, burned out houses in Gaza
charred buses in Jerusalem, drug houses in LA.
We have seen the wolf and we ran.
Shepherd Jesus, forgive us.
We have seen the wolf.
We have met her in wheelchairs in the hallways and curled up in bed, aids clinics and halfway houses, victim survivor groups and abuser therapy meetings.
We have seen the wolf and we ran.
Shepherd Jesus, forgive us.
Shepherd Jesus, may we be shepherds and run no more.
Teach us to see where the world is blind, hear when the world is deaf, kneel where the world fears, embrace who the world ignores.
Shepherd Jesus, may we be shepherds and run no more.
Teach us to fill empty stomachs with our plenty, to find the homeless a place in our homes.
Shepherd Jesus, may we be shepherds and run no more.
Teach us to heal the wounded and work for peace, to encircle the lonely with presence and affection.
Shepherd Jesus, may we be shepherds and run no more.
One of the things I like best about the biblical images of sheep is that we are assured that the shepherd, will fight off the wolves and will not let us perish. Eastern shepherds would spend hours looking for one lost sheep, and after finding it would bear the exhausted animal on the shoulders. Jesus called himself the “Good Shepherd” who lays down his life for his sheep, one who will never abandon us.
James Herriot, the country veterinarian from Yorkshire, England, has written many books. In Dog Stories he tells of the day he was out on his rounds and saw a dog running along the side of the road, which wasn’t unusual, but there was something about this one that made him slow down and take a second look.
He said that he had seen something chilling there, a momentary expression on the dog’s face of what he called, “frantic effort, despair, blind terror.” As Dr. Herriot got out of the car, the dog approached him with no fear, very friendly. The dog wasn’t wearing a collar but there was flattened hair on the dog’s neck as if a collar had been recently removed.
As he was examining the dog, a car approached and the dog’s whole body stiffened, staring with fierce hope and then sagged again when the car drove past. “That was it,” writes Dr. Herriot. “The dog had been dumped. Some time ago the humans he had loved and trusted had opened their car door, hurled him out into an unknown world and driven merrily away. I began to feel sick – physically sick – and a murderous rage flowed through me.” There are lots of reasons why people abandon their dogs. Sometimes the dogs turn savage, but that was not the case with this little one. Sometimes people are just tired of them because they aren’t the cute puppies they once were. Sometimes, the dog’s license comes due, or a new baby comes along that takes the dog’s place.
Dr. Herriot took the dog to a shelter run by Sister Rose, but he had a difficult time leaving it because it was such a sweet dog, and he was already becoming attached. As the days passed, he could not get the dog out of his mind. Then, about two weeks later, Dr. Herriot was in his office and opened his waiting room door for the next appointment. There sat an elderly couple with their new dog from Sister Rose’s, now named Pip. Dr. Herriot had a hard time examining Pip because Pip kept rolling over to have his belly rubbed. This time, said Dr. Herriot, “there was no helpless appeal in his expression but sheer joyous abandon with a comical little face split across with a wide panting grin. As I examined him I noticed he was wearing a new collar too, expensive looking with a shining medallion bearing his name, address and telephone number.”
It seems that Mr. and Mrs. Darby were newly retired, had bought a small home in the area and Pip now had a nice garden in which to play. They had never owned a dog before so Mr. Darby came with three shiny new volumes of the books he had purchased including Care of the Dog and The Dog in Sickness and in Health, along with a long list of questions about how to care for Pip.
While Dr. Herriot gave a shot, Mr. Darby patted Pip’s head while Mrs. Darby stroked Pip’s hind limbs, telling him to be brave. As the family got into the car, the owners waved and turned their attention to the road. But not Pip. He was propped up on Mrs. Darby’s knees, front paws on the dashboard and continued to gaze intently out the window at his rescuer, Dr. Herriot, until he was out of site as if to say thank you.
When we have been rescued from the valley of the shadow of death, we know our rescuer, the Good Shepherd.
When we have survived the threat of wolves and been protected, we know our Good Shepherd.
When we have lost our way or made wrong choices and the Good Shepherd comes to retrieve us, we know the sound of our Good Shepherd’s voice.
Because the Good Shepherd has been there all along, when we are at the end of our journeys, we know that it, too, will be the Good Shepherd walking with us.
Following us will be goodness and mercy, and we shall dwell safely in the house of the Good Shepherd forever. Amen.
