A very wise friend of mine recently suggested I memorize Psalm 23 and meditate on it during the course of the day. This advice I promptly disregarded, until I mentioned her suggestion to another wise friend, and then the wisdom of the suggestion sank in. (Yes, I surround myself with wise friends for just such reasons.)
Psalm 23 is the one most people memorized as small children, but I was apparently uninterested at the time. Of course, I’ve heard it and read it and “recited” it hundreds of times, so I knew the general idea, but this week was the first time I’ve ever memorized it in any sort of exact way. And it’s remarkably clear why other, smarter people memorized it a long time ago: it’s amazingly applicable.
And because you were probably one of those people who were fortunate enough to memorize it as a child, you’ve probably already considered the things I have just recently found so powerful. Nevertheless, here’s what struck me:
Switching from “The Lord” to “You” (aka, breaking all the rules of “good writing” and switching narrative styles in the middle of the poem)
David, the writer, starts with “The Lord is my shepherd…He makes me lie down … He leads me … He restores … He guides.” Then, he switches gears: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” He sticks with “you” for the middle of the psalm (which, in my life, is the most intense and powerful part).
So, of course, I have no real way of knowing WHY David did this, but here’s what I like to think: As I’m reading it, it’s easy to recite the first few lines, like the things you hear all the time about God, and so you know they’re true. But then, it’s like I suddenly realize the truth of the lines I’m reciting. I move beyond the Sunday School response and into the realm of personal truth. I start thinking about walking through my own valleys, and how God’s been there with me, and it’s no longer possible to remain detached. I’m no longer reciting facts about God, I’m reliving a relationship with my God. And at that moment, it switches into a conversation with God instead of ceremony about Him.
You Prepare a Table in the Presence of my Enemies (Or…OK? Where did that come from?)
I mean, really, weren’t we talking about God being a shepherd? Weren’t we just hanging out by some quiet waters? Nope. We were in a valley. In the shadow of death. Where there’s evil that we aren’t afraid of because God’s with us. So, picture this:
You’re in a room with your enemies. They are getting more and more vocal, intimidating, and powerful. You’re getting weaker and more scared.
Suddenly, casually, God walks in. He’s ripped and confident and calm. He starts setting the table nonchalantly, chatting with you in an everyday way, talking about what’s for dinner, teasing you about familiar things, completely ignoring the fact that the enemies are even in the room.
As He continues to walk in and out of the room, bringing food to the table, asking your opinion, humming softly to Himself, you feel the tension drain out of you as you watch your enemies. Their confidence is gone, their eagerness to fight is seeping out of them as they realize that God is completely, comfortably on your side.
You realize that by casually entering the room in the presence of your enemies, He’s changed the entire situation, and you’re not only not alone, you’re powerfully protected.
And it’s in this moment that you think to yourself, “Yeah, I could hang out here for a good long time.” Or, you know, if you were a poet like David, you’d think, “Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”