Text: A psalm of David.
The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures,
He leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the darkest valley, 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 your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.
God, we come to you as your people, the sheep of your pasture. We know that you long for us to grasp the fullness of your love. Lead us in your ways of joy and salvation. Amen
There are times when God’s Holy Spirit seems to play little tricks on you. Today is one of those days for me. We are about halfway through our current sermon series on Lessons from Life: Thoughts on the Journey. As I was laying out this sermon series I did not at first attach dates. After I was satisfied with the flow of the sermons, I went back and added the dates. Today turned out to be the day to deal with grief, mourning and celebrating life’s losses. What makes this especially meaningful for me is that today is my mother’s birthday and had she not died a year ago this Tuesday, she would have been 89 today. And so on a day I have dreaded for a year, I am sharing with you about transforming life’s mourning into dancing and I am grateful to God for teaching me so much about mourning AND dancing in these last 12 months.
I will confess to you that it was not an easy transformation and one that will continue to be with me for the rest of my life. We do not ever cease to mourn, but we can allow our mourning to become more than emptiness and grief. And it is a journey, one which I thought I did fairly well in the beginning. I went right back to work, to preaching and singing, and hearing others’ pain poured out to me. And I coped, but not without knowing that something in me had died along with my mother—something that would someday return, but would need a little time. And so in January, when we moved here and began this wonderful journey—I was still in the midst of fairly raw pain. Eventually, the rawness began to fade and life returned to normal, my bouts of grief contained in smaller, completely unpredictable, rivers of tears mostly in the privacy of my car as I drove back and forth to Orlando. And finally, mysteriously, one day, I knew the worst was over—not that I would never grieve the loss of my mother again, but that I had done the necessary work of allowing God to transform those tears of pain into tears of celebration of what my mother had meant to me and to others while on this earth. Notice, however, that I said “done the necessary work of allowing God to transform”. You see, I believe that God stands ready and able to redeem our greatest hurts and losses if we are willing to walk through that process of profound healing and trust. This grief and loss, so integrally a part of life, make up the shadows we must traverse as we go throughout our lives.
I also believe that through the grace of God, two seemingly contradictory things can be true at the same time—I call them “sacred contradictions”. You have heard me speak of these before. And nowhere is this more true than when we are dancing in the shadows of life. How can we rejoice and mourn at the same time, you may ask? Using the guidance of the 23rd Psalm, I have broken down this process into portions of the journey. I hope they are helpful to you.
The first verse of Psalm 23 tells us that God is our shepherd and because of that we want for nothing. God may be mother or father to us, and in the genderless persona of shepherd we understand the truest of a nurturing parent. But what does it mean to have a shepherd? First and foremost, it means that just as a shepherd cares for his or her sheep, God will care for us. Have you ever watched sheep? Kinda like watching a room full of young children. If a sheep or a small child of God is hungry, lonely, scared, they cry; they don’t analyze their feelings to determine if they are acceptable, they just feel them. A tiny child will raise their arms to you, asking to be picked up and never once contemplate whether or not the behavior or need is “appropriate”. And so, the first portion of the journey is to allow yourself to feel what you feel. We get into trouble when we go all “adult” on God, and try to determine what we should be feeling instead of resting in the knowledge that we are who God made us to be, experiencing the feelings that God gave to all human beings. As we celebrate being the creations of God, we must remember to celebrate the full rainbow of feelings and emotions that God so lovingly pours into our hearts. So, I ask you to be kind to yourself when you are grieving and feel what you feel: pain, sorrow, loss or even relief.
The second portion of the journey (and I want to emphasize that these are not sequential portions—they’re just portions—parts of the journey) is to rest. As a shepherd, God makes me lie down in green pastures, as a mother, she leads me beside quiet waters, as a father, he refreshes my soul. This is the cycle of nature that regenerates not only our bodies, but our minds, our hearts, and our souls. As we talked about last week, we rarely, if every take advantage of this sacred gift of rest. When we are in the midst of grieving, rest is not optional. There is no other time in our lives when allowing our bodies to turn off, go into sleep mode is more important. If I leave my computer on for too long, the screen tells me that it is going into sleep mode. Our bodies have that same switch and yet, rarely, do we allow ourselves the luxury of resting. In fact, I believe that we will stay stuck in our grief, unable to move beyond loss to joy if we do not allow God to make us over in the blessed moments of true rest. When we are sick or injured, doctors encourage us to rest and sleep. Why, because our bodies heal twice as fast when we’re sleeping as when we are awake. The same is true for our hearts and minds. Think about it!
Thirdly, involve other people. The 23rd Psalm says that we know that even when we walk through the darkest of valleys we will not fear because the shepherd is with us—the protection of the shepherd guards our steps. As I thought about this more and more it came to me that as Christians we believe that we are the body of Christ and so it is by reaching out to the true and full body of Christ that we find our greatest comfort and protection in our vulnerable times. I learned that most people have no idea what to say, but they are more than willing to lend an ear or a shoulder. I can almost envision God walking on either side of me when I am surrounded by those who love me and love God. What great comfort comes from allowing those who love us to be “there” in our darkest nights.
The fourth portion relates to staying open to the blessings of God even in the midst of grief and loss. Too often we shut ourselves off to the possibility that God will prepare at table for us or anoint our heads with oil. The anointing with oil has long been a way that God’s people bless each other. We must only give God a chance and give joy a chance to overflow our cups with blessings in the midst of it all. While working with abused children, I have seen many a child when taken from their families of origin, shut themselves off, build huge, strong walls of bricks and mortar to shield themselves from the love of those trying to care for them. And some of the saints of this world, also known as foster parents, must faithfully and lovingly chisel away at the hardness until that little tiny heart begins to let someone touch it. Do we not indeed do the same thing when our God reaches out to love us even in our greatest hurt?
Finally, be willing to dance. When the time is right, let the relief of the passing of the worst of the grief wash over you. And then we can say with the psalmist, “Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell and dance in the house of the LORD forever. And so my friends, especially those of you who grieve today, recent losses or losses far away, let the great shepherd, even if just for a moment, tend you like a wounded child, protect you like a wandering and lost sheep, and, finally, take you by the hand and lead you to the great celestial dance of life. Happy birthday, mother. Amen and amen!
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