Easter 4, or Good Shepherd Sunday

This Sunday, Easter 4, the suggested lectionary readings are Psalm 23 and John 10. They are, of course, about Jesus the Good Shepherd who said, “I know my sheep and my sheep know me,” and the psalmist (David) who said, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want”.

For most of us, this archaic reference to sheep and shepherds is somewhat foreign. How many of us have spent a night outside, on a pasture or hillside, with a herd of sheep? How many of us know what it is like to be a shepherd?

The last time I was within six feet of a sheep was probably at a shopping mall when I took my eldest grandson, now 22 years old, to an Easter petting zoo.  He was probably about five at the time.  There was no green grass, no still waters and no valley of the shadow of death.  In fact, the hard concrete mall floor was covered with thick wood shavings, the iron fences were well secured and the only food and water available was in buckets within the pens.

What do this Psalm, and this idea of God as our shepherd mean for us today?

Well, hereunder is a modern-day version of the 23rd Psalm, written by a woman named Rebecca Garrett Pace, which I wanted to share with you.

Psalm 23 – rewritten

Jesus is my shepherd, and I honestly feel sorry for him, because I can be quite a stubborn sheep.
I shall not want. Or that’s the way it should work, but yet I always want for more. I’m working on it.
He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul.

Jesus is teaching me how to care. To care for myself, so that I can then care for others. To care for the earth, so I can live in green pastures with still waters and not make a mess of them just because I can. To care for my soul, which is fed by gratitude and joy and kindness. He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake. Unfortunately, he keeps talking too softly for me to hear him, so I keep having to guess what the right paths are, and go on a hunch, and ask for forgiveness when I get it wrong.
Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil — well that’s just wishful thinking. I fear all the time. All the things. So much fear. But I am learning how to sit in the darkness, and be open to what I might learn from it, and really the most important bit is that…you are with me.
Your music, your friendship, your wisdom, your words, your kindness, your presence through others - they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies, and you tell me that there’s extra room at the table, and it’s actually your table and not mine, so I should scoot over and make room and invite my enemies to eat with me and give them the last piece of homemade bread and extra butter because that’s what you would do. Which is annoying but I know you’re right.
You anoint my head with oil - you protect and love me, you nurture, you guide, you heal me.
My cup overflows. God, I am grateful. I am so incredibly overwhelmed by goodness in my life.
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.
And when the goodness and mercy are obscured, O God, help me know you’re still there. Always. Forever. Amen.

In peace

Pastor Beryl