The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord . . . forever!
- Psalm 23
I have spent periods of my life obsessing over the trappings of your outsides, inferring a soul at peace. It was a means to distract myself from the truth of the condition of my own soul. It was a default pass-time on the road into the Valley of the Shadow of Death. The truth is, that which binds our humanity together, yours and mine, is the fact that we have suffered, all of us. The stories of how we traversed the messy work of suffering gives us attachment points to bond with one another—like the little eyes and hooks of human Velcro. Beyond suffering, that which binds us together as Christians is the memory of arriving at acceptance; when we ran out of clever plans, lies, and excuses – and pulled ourselves up to accept the outstretched hand of the Good Shepherd.
Often the 23rd Psalm was a first lifeline we grasped to lift ourselves from the damp despair of our crisis. It marked the beginning of the messy work of rebirth, redemption, and reconciliation. It is a joyful song of emergence and victory under the care of a loving God who picks us up, brushes us off, who says, “Try again, my beloved!” and nudges us off into the world with a smile and a pat on the butt. And God levies no judgment of how we hit the floor in the first place.
When I was a child, The Valley of the Shadow of Death was a terrifying place in the dry foothills of the Rockies, where “Bad Guys” waited in ambush behind every rock. I was alone and horseless and in need of dinner and a root beer. As the great philosopher Jimmy Buffett teaches us, “You Take the Weather With You…” Nowadays, The Valley of the Shadow of Death can be anywhere I am, and I can easily see the “Bad Guys”. With a mirror. I prefer to keep it a place of memory, where the darkness, the Holy Darkness, permitted me to see the Light of Christ ahead, much as St. John of the Cross described it: “The Dark Night of the Soul.” It is both a cry for help and an ode to victory over the darkness.
As for dinner and a root beer in the presence of the “Bad Guys”. . . I humbly accept the Body and Blood of our Shepherd and Savior.
Musical Meditation Within our Darkest Hour - Taize
Well the plans of mice and men have gone astray. Standing here on the landing. Looking at a brand new day.In the dark night of the soul . . . Meditate on this and it will be revealed, on this and you will get healed. Meditate on this and you will feel whole.Get the vision of the ghost, again.In the dark night of the soul. - Van Morrison, Dark Night of the Soul
