I Shall Not Want . . . But I Do Want | A Sermon on Psalm 23
A Sermon by the Reverend Mother Crystal J. Hardin on The Fourth Sunday of Easter, April 30, 2023.
Acts 2:42-47; 1 Peter 2:19-25; Psalm 23; John 10:1-10
Bach. Duke Ellington. Mahalia Jackson. Coolio. Schubert. The Grateful Dead. Pink Floyd. Bernstein. Eminem. Megadeth.
Believe it or not, these composers and musicians have something in common beyond being composers and musicians of course. All have alluded to Psalm 23 in their work.
Psalm 23 –sort of big deal: a cultural icon, if you will.
President Bush recited part of Psalm 23 when he addressed the nation after 9/11. In Titanic, the priest recites Psalm 23 as the ship goes down. And we see a slightly amended Psalm 23 prayed by a young woman in the Clint Eastwood classic, “Pale Rider.”
In the movie Pale Rider, impoverished prospectors form a small community that is later attacked by horseman working for a wealthy landowner. In the attack, a young woman’s dog is killed.
Burying her beloved dog, the young woman, Megan, recites a slightly annotated version of Psalm 23.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want . . . But I do want.
He leads me beside still waters . . . But they killed my dog.
I will fear no evil . . . But I am afraid. We need a miracle.
I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever . . . If you exist. But I want to experience this life first. But if you don’t help, we’re all going to die. Please help? Amen.
Megan reminds us that Psalm 23 is, at its roots, prayer. A prayer by us and for us, a prayer that joins a great cloud of witnesses –those who came before us and those who surround us now. All the psalms are an invitation to pray, just as they are an invitation to sing.
Sam Candler, Dean of the Cathedral in Atlanta, notes that:
The psalms have long been the church’s poetry and hymnody. They speak to us in a way that theology and narrative do not. They express, not just cerebral and intellectual matters, but the full breadth of human emotion and spirit . . . love and tenderness, revenge and anger, grief and deep mourning, uncertainty and fear [1].
The psalms operate in a unique space, calling us to embrace our messy humanity even while lifting up our eyes to the hills and asking from whence our help will come.
Psalm 23 is a cultural icon, because it is a doorway into large and profound truths about the nature of the human condition and the nature of God in relation to it.
The Lord is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
he leadeth me into paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:
for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
thou annointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever (KJV).
Let’s take just a few moments to look closer; to stay with this psalm; and to let it speak to our hearts.
The Lord is my shepherd;
Who is our shepherd? The Lord. The God who knows us, who seeks us, who holds us, who cares deeply for us. God who became flesh and dwelt among us; God who is with us still.
And this God, well, he is willing to get his hands dirty with us –to become intertwined in the human condition, messy and fragile as it may be.
In the words of our collect for this morning: O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your people: Grant that when we hear his voice we may know him who calls us each by name, and follow where he leads (BCP 225).
I shall not want.
This could be rendered, “I have no lack.” It is a certain statement, dependent and assured of that which it follows: The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. This God of ours, this God is everything. He is really all one needs. We can trust that, in the end, no matter what we face, God is for us. And God is with us.
We are but sheep, and yet the shepherd shows extravagant care.
And if we stray too far away, the shepherd will seek until he finds us. And we will be once again at home.
Amid chaos, when danger looms large and fear threatens to consume us, God offers a haven, he maketh me to lie down in green pastures.
Amid loss, when grief looms large and threatens to consume us, God offers a place of restoration, he maketh me to lie down in green pastures.
Amid our daily lives, when business, consumption, and a need for power and control threaten to overwhelm us, God offers a place of rest, he maketh me to life down in green pastures.
These green pastures are a place of plenty. A place of hope. A place that reminds us of an eternal truth: that God wishes for us all to have life, and to have life abundant.
God longs for us to rest our minds and our bodies; to breathe deeply and surely; to know that we are being held in the arms of the one who calls us beloved; he leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul.
Friends, our current times can easily lead to soul-weariness. We long for certainty; and are confronted by the unknown. We long for safety and are confronted by a world that often lacks stability. We long for control and are confronted by our own limitations. Our souls rightly grow weary. And yet, there is the promise of restoration.
Theologian Samuel Wells puts the promise like this:
You’ll get worn out, you’ll get worn down, you’ll have nothing left, but God will bring you back to life.
The feeling of coming back to life is really better than the feeling of not getting tired, [he notes.] Think about seeing an old friend after an absence and realizing they’re the person above all who makes you laugh until you’re hollowed out inside, and in the laughter recognizing, "Life is so good with I'm with you." God is that person. God whispers to each of us, “I want to restore your soul.” [2]
And after restoration, what then?
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
God restores us so that we can walk in the world in right relationship with creation, ourselves, our fellow man, and with God. That’s what righteousness means. And that is what God wants for us –right relationship.
And of course, God knows. God knows that we will return to fear and to doubt. That we will return to worldly distractions. That even when we do everything right, we will still suffer loss, fear, grief, and doubt. Because this is what it means to be human.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. I will fear no evil. For thou art with me.
And there it is, a small yet incredibly consequential word: with. Thou art with me. There is no place that we will go that God will not follow. Wells, once again, puts it best:
God created us because he wanted to be with. God called Israel because he wanted to be with. God came among us in Jesus because he wanted to be with. God comes in our midst in the power of the Holy Spirit because he wants to be with. God saves us because he wants to be with us forever.
You are with me. –It’s at the center of this psalm, it’s at the center of God’s joy, it’s at the center of the Bible, it’s at the center of our faith. It’s at the center of God [3].
God who preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
God’s vision for us and for this world is more wonderful than we might ever fully realize. In God there is immeasurable abundance, and God seeks to share than abundance with us.
This verse seems to suggest a time not yet here –seems to speak eschatologically if you will. There is a future, it promises, where is all is not lost. In fact, everything is gained. A future where we will recognize our shared humanity and stand in unity with one another, the church universal, the Body of Christ. This is what God prepares for us through his abundant grace. My cup runneth over indeed. Grace upon grace.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.
Goodness and mercy are of God. Immutable qualities of God that we feel, see, and touch every day in a myriad of ways big and small. In joy and sadness, we are invited to discover anew God’s deep goodness and perfect loving-kindness.
Psalm 23 is a psalm of life. It does not suggest that all will be well in the manner of all things being as we might hope they would be –smooth sailing and without tumult. We know that life is not without hardship. And so does Psalm 23.
Meghan’s annotations are honest in that way. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want . . . but I do want.
And God knows. Psalm 23 is powerful in that it knows and yet still it promises, You were meant for more. You were meant for Me.
That behind the ebb and flow of life there are still waters calling us home –not just when we die, but as we live, each and every day. We are invited to make our home in God.
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen.
[1] Sam Candler, “A Journey Through Psalm 23,” a sermon preached on 21 April 2013 at the Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta, Georgia, https://www.cathedralatl.org/sermons/a-journey-through-psalm-23. This sermon inspired much of mine.
[2] Samuel Wells, “The Ten Joys,” a sermon preached at Duke University Chapel on 25 April 2010, https://chapel-archives.oit.duke.edu/documents/sermons/April25TheTenJoys.pdf. This sermon inspired much of mine.
[3] Ibid.
