“You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” – Psalm 23
Beloved of God,
Each year, the 4th Sunday of Easter is celebrated as Good Shepherd Sunday, and the 23rd Psalm, a favorite for over 3,000 years, comes back into view. Some of you remember committing this psalm to memory, as I did, during confirmation class. Though new translations of this psalm have made their way into print through the years, it’s the language I put to memory 50 years ago that comes to my lips whenever the occasion warrants. This year we’ll be incorporating several musical versions of the psalm in our LIVE STREAM service on May 3rd. I hope you’ll tune in.
An enduring memory from our family visit to Glendalough, the Irish monastic community founded by St. Kevin in the 6th century, is walking in the rain along the boardwalk past grazing sheep, and then turning to find a brilliant rainbow touching down in the vary place where Kevin founded his church. That experience wedded the rainbow sign of God’s promise not to abandon this creation with the psalm of David: The Lord is my shepherd; my cup overflows.
St. Kevin was known for his connection to the creatures of the natural world. Though not a shepherd, during his days as a hermit he relished spending long hours communing with the animals who he came to know there. There’s a story about him holding out his hand to a blackbird one day. When the bird finds Kevin’s hand a suitable place for building its nest, Kevin remains there—his arm outstretched—all through the ensuing cycle of nest building, egg laying, egg hatching, and fledging. (Irish poet laureate Seamus Heaney wrote a poem about this story, which you can find here.) It seems that “The LORD is my shepherd” expanded, for Kevin, into a lifelong ethos of caring for creatures and marveling at the abundance of God which “overflows.” More at home in some ways with animal beings than with his fellow human beings, Kevin practiced tender kinship with God’s creatures 700 years before St. Francis was born.
The image of Jesus as Good Shepherd is one of the oldest in the Christian tradition. You can find it painted on the walls of the Christian catacombs outside of Rome. It testifies to the tenderness with which he cares for us and the fierceness with which he defends us from that which would do us harm. Those who know his voice are secure; their cup “overflows.”
During this time when so much of what we know is collapsing; when the whole world is holding its collective breath while awaiting relief and the opportunity to move back into familiar rhythms, we are called to trust that we are being held, blessed, and offered abundant life by a Shepherd who walks alongside us. “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.” Trusting the truth behind these words, trusting in the accompaniment of the Good Shepherd, allows us the confidence to reach beyond ourselves and show concern and care to others. Many of you are doing just that—finding ways despite social distancing to express caring and love to others who desperately need it during this pandemic.
Last week I was called to the bedside of a man I’d never met who was dying from cancer. There, in the home he shared with his husband, I offered assurance that the Good Shepherd would hold him fast as he made the final journey to the life beyond this life. This promise brought him a peace that awaits all of us when we hold fast to the promise the “neither life nor death, nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
With you, on the Way,
Pastor Erik
This year during Lent we’re hearing from five different women. Women who remain largely invisible to us until we catch a glimpse of them as they step out from the shadows and into the light that surrounds Jesus
We are a
What does this mean?
