"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me."
These words from the 23rd Psalm have meant so much to so many over the centuries. People have turned to this psalm in particular because it reminds them that God's presence is ever nearest when we are in uncertain times. David, the author attributed to this wonderful work, was no doubt a reflective shepherd. Sitting out in the pastures day after day often would give time for one to think, to ponder, to reflect. Somehow, in the midst of his upbringing, David was introduced to God as one who looks after God's people; tending them, much like a shepherd tends sheep. Making sure there is food, water, safety, and a place for rest. It would not be hard to imagine a young shepherd boy feeling comforted by a gracious, loving God.
But there's that line in the middle: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." It seems to stop us cold when we get there. We were just reading about green pastures and still waters, souls being restored, and righteous paths. Then there's that reference to that valley of shadows. We fear this valley for that which is unknown brings fear. Who or what is waiting for us, lurking in those shadows? What does "the shadow of death" look like? (some folks might even conjure up those horrible, dreadful shadows at the end of the movie "Ghost" - but I think Hollywood loses something here in translation!)
Reflecting on some valleys that we've all been through is not a pleasant endeavor. We seldom like to revisit such places for they often bring about feelings of despair and foreboding. But occasionally, true healing doesn't occur unless one is willing to travel back through such valleys. Hopefully, prayerfully, the faithful will be looking for those signs that are unmistakable: the journey was not done in solitude, but with a holy, shepherding escort. As I reflect back on some of the valleys I've traversed over the years, I have become more gratefully aware of the ways in which I was guided by the One who has also journeyed down those nights and days, those haunted highways that showed little light. (How many times I prayed for a rapturous event to remove me from the torment I was going through, only to suffer through and emerge on the other side, scathed a bit perhaps, but intact. Looking back, it was my guide who took the brunt of the trauma in my stead, shielding me; protecting me; loving me.)
Certainly there is something more sincere, more vulnerable, more humbling when one stares into the abyss of death. Humanity is its most vulnerable when we are faced with our own mortality or the mortality of a loved one. The unmistakable words: "Cancer. Malignant. Inoperable." And time becomes a precious gift one dare not waste.
But David's words continue on: "...I shall fear no evil for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me." For David, valleys are a place one travels through. With the rod and staff of the Shepherd, we've nothing to fear. We're not staying here among the shadows that frighten. We're traveling onward. The faithful have this assurance - this guarantee: We do not travel alone through this journey called life. We have a constant companion. And even in the darkest of moments, those moments when we stare straight at death, we are reminded that the one with whom we walk is the "Light in whom there is no darkness." Shadows vanish, shades flee into the recesses, and we are shown the path with great clarity.
In this we are called to live, and move, and have our being. The eternal THOU (forgive me, Dr. Buber!) is with us. We are God's beloved. And our God provides for us in life as well as in death.
See you in Church!
Grace and peace,
Brad
