"Soul Restoration"
Psalm 23
I used to think the texts for Good Shepherd Sunday
should be a fairly “easy” ones for the sermon.
After all, we have the 23rd Psalm. I memorized it as a child, and have recited
it countless times, and sung it.
But then I started
noticing how often violence and tragedy have struck during Eastertide, in the
time around Good Shepherd Sunday. When
the most recent school shooting happened in Colorado, I realized it was near
the 20th anniversary of the Columbine massacre. How many mass shootings have happened since
then?
There have
been bombings… and children killed and injured by gun violence—too many to be
reported beyond the local news.
In our
nation and around the world, people suffer from the violence of extreme poverty.
I believe
that God is weeping at our tragedies… at the mess humans have made of creation
through violence.”[1]
So much loss.
So
much suffering. So many lives forever changed by wounds-- both
physical and emotional. Sometimes it
feels overwhelming, and we might want to throw up our hands in despair. But we never stop hoping for something
different.
At times
like these, or when we face the illness of a child or a dear old friend… or the
doctor gives us a scary diagnosis… we
can turn to the witness of faith we find in the scriptures. The 23rd Psalm has been called one
of the psalms of trust, in which those who are praying proclaim their
confidence in God’s goodness—despite the very real difficulties they are
experiencing.
“The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. “I trust in God to
provide what I need.
“Even
though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,
for you are with me.”
The Psalmist
doesn’t deny the reality of evil, nor its capacity to wreak devastation. But he has adopted a resolute stance in the
face of real threat: “No fear.” Not because the police and FBI are on the
scene. Not because our military has
tools to exact vengeance so that perpetrators can’t hurt anyone again. No.
Because “God is with me.”
This is the
core claim of our faith: that there is
one God, the God of love, and that we can place our trust in God to be with us,
always. That doesn’t mean that we will
never have to face danger or hardship or sorrow. But it does mean that we will not be alone in
it, and that we will be given the strength to get through.
“You prepare a table before me in the
presence of my enemies. You anoint my
head with oil. My cup overflows.”
If our
first impulse in the face of terror is fear, the second impulse for a lot of
people is vengeance. Just as the Psalmist doesn’t deny the reality
of evil, neither does he ignore the reality that there are people in the world
who mean him harm. But in the Psalm, the
impulse to vengeance is short-circuited by the deep awareness of grace, which
re-directs the energy that would have been drained to exact retribution—and channels
it to gratitude and joyful thanksgiving.
Our
Christian faith point us toward an alternative worldview that shuns reactive
violence and opens up possibilities for personal and social transformation--even
for enemies.
We are Easter
people—people of the Resurrection. In
the face of violence and death, we hear our sacred texts speaking defiantly, calling
us to fearlessness in the valley of the shadow of death… and revealing a vision
of a God who will wipe away the tears of those who have gone through
great tribulation.
In the Acts
passage, we hear the story of a little church in Joppa, near the Mediterranean
Sea. In this church, one of the
disciples, a woman named Tabitha (or, in Greek, Dorcas) has become sick and
died.
It may seem
hard to relate the death of Tabitha to the violent deaths of April and May in our
time. But, as Margaret Aymer Oget
points out,[2] Tabitha lived in a Roman-occupied world in
which wealth and the control of goods were in the hands of the 2 percent, a
world in which poverty, malnutrition, and illness were deadly. Women like Tabitha would have had a life
expectancy of fewer than 40 years. So,
her death was also an act of violence, in the sense that poverty caused by
injustice is violent.
In the face
of Tabitha’s death, the little church in Joppa took action. The widows gathered, weeping and telling her
story. They tended to Tabitha’s body,
and they sent for Simon Peter.
Tabitha—the
beloved and fruitful disciple, is raised up by Simon Peter and restored to her
friends. Of course, news spreads
quickly, and many people come to believe because of what happened.
Meanwhile,
Simon Peter stays in the house of Simon the tanner, a man whose vocation of
working with the bodies of animals would have made him unclean. But apparently, he was not unclean in the
eyes of Simon Peter, disciple of the Risen Lord, because God was doing a new
thing and breaking down the dividing walls.
The Easter
story back then and now is a story of new life, new possibilities, boundaries
being broken down, and transformation.
When our
world is rocked by tragedy and violence and death and loss, there is great power
in those who won’t let the story of a beloved one die, like the parents of the
victims of Sandy Hook who have resolved to work as long as it takes for
effective gun control laws… and the young survivors of the massacre at Marjorie
Stoneman High School in Florida… or the
mother of Philando Castile, who has been giving money to pay off lunch debts of
poor students to honoring her son, who was a caring lunch room supervisor before
he was shot three years ago by a police officer.
There is great power in those who weep
with God over violence to humanity and creation and open themselves to work with God for
peace… reconciliation… and justice.
Unlike the
little church in Joppa, we can’t summon an apostle with the power to raise the
dead. But we can still follow the
example of the early church. We can tend
to the bodies and to the wounded people… we can tell the truth about the fatal
toll of guns, bombs, poverty, and disease.
When we
refuse to be silent in the face of injustice and poverty and violence and
terrorism and bigotry, we break death’s ability to have the last word.
When we
trust in the Shepherd God of love and mercy, we can live confidently. God gives us what we need… and restores our
souls… and guides us in paths of righteousness for God’s name’s sake.
We don’t
need to be afraid, because the God of goodness and love is with us, as we work
to restore the soul of our communities and the world.
Blessing
and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our
God forever and ever!
Amen!
Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor
Littlefield Presbyterian Church
Dearborn, Michigan
May 12, 2019
[2]
Margaret Aymer, “Acts 9:36-43: Why I Pray That April Tragedies Bring May
Justice,” in Huffington Post, April 17, 2013.
