Psalm 23:5

Today is our fifth Sunday looking at the 23rd Psalm, often called the Shepherd's Psalm.

Christians love Scripture in general, but they particularly love this Psalm.

They always have.

The idea that Jesus would be our good shepherd was so compelling to the early church

that it was one of their favorite images.

You might remember two weeks ago, I showed an image from the Roman catacombs of the good shepherd

with the shepherd's staff in one hand and the sheep around his shoulders the other.

Now today, if you're joining us for the first time or if you've been gone much of the summer

and are just now returning, I'll summarize some of the themes from the psalm for you.

One theme is God's presence.

Verse 2 says that the shepherd makes us lie down in green pastures.

The sheep have a lot of needs and they only lie down when those needs are met.

And the way a shepherd meets most of those needs is simply being present.

And when we're in the valley of the shadow of death, it's the presence of God that becomes

very precious to us.

Another theme is God's protection and provision for us.

I shall not be in want.

He leads me beside still waters.

And the third theme we looked at is repentance.

When we read he restores my soul, we are to understand that he brings us from following

the wrong path and sets us onto the right path.

David hits all these themes by focusing on the imagery of a sheep and his shepherd.

This verse is different.

He departs from this imagery.

And I'll explain what this verse means in a second.

But I thought that at the very beginning of this time together, I should bring to your attention

several people in our congregation who are in desperate need of knowing and experiencing

the Lord as their good shepherd.

On Friday, Vance Barnwell passed away.

He was the father of our dear friends Matt Barnwell and Travis Barnwell and the father-in-law

to Tiara.

Also, as of 5 p.m. today, just 20 minutes ago, Winston Morrison is on a flight back to

Ghana to attend the funeral for his father.

So before we get into this, let's pray for them.

Okay.

Even now, father, as the flight makes its way towards Ghana, and Winston is leaving this

continent, going to the new continent, where the reality of all this is going to hit him

more deeply and more profoundly.

We ask that on this flight, and when he gets there, you would comfort him, that he would more

richly know and experience your presence, that you're comforting care as his good shepherd.

For the Barnwells also, we pray the same thing.

Comfort them in the loss of their father.

And would you, father, very father-like, tend and care for them, comfort them.

Thank you that both of those men are knowing you profoundly now in your presence.

Would we, in these moments together also, more deeply know your presence and your power to

comfort and love us.

We pray in Jesus' name, amen.

Okay.

Let's look at verse 5.

David writes,

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil.

My cup overflows.

It's not immediately clear how this fits into the sheep-shepherd imagery, right?

But some writers and commentaries try and make it work.

They'll point out how in various parts of the world, like in North America, in the Southwest,

or in Kenya, or in Switzerland, that there's table land.

And that shepherds will go and prepare this table land for their sheep.

They'll go ahead of them by pulling out all of the toxic weeds that might poison the sheep

or scaring away all the nasty animals, like predators and snakes and such.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

That sounds great, but there's no table land in the holy land.

So David probably didn't have that in mind.

What we find David doing is actually switching from describing God as a shepherd to describing

him as a host.

The Lord is my host.

Yesterday at our men's breakfast, we asked Winston, who I just referred to earlier,

what do Americans not know about being Christians because of our Americanness?

Or what can we learn from the Ghanaian Christian perspective?

One thing, and he didn't use these words precisely, that we don't know much about hospitality.

This would contrast us against not just Ghana, but against much of the world and for much

of human history.

Take the wealthy, for instance.

In America, in general, if you want to display your wealth, you often acquire a big house and

you set it apart with nice green land around it.

Sometimes you gate it up.

Wealth tends to separate us from our neighbors.

In David's day, and in much of the ancient Near East, if you want to show off your wealth,

the way to do it is through hospitality.

In the East, a man's fame is spread by means of his table and lavish hospitality rather than

by his possessions.

He hosts meals with three times as much food as his guests can eat.

Strangers and neighbors alike discuss tables where they have been guests.

These stories spread from one town to another and from generation to generation.

And there's all kinds of gossip as to how guests and strangers are entertained.

One observer writes,

The modern Western way of showing off possessions assumes isolation and distance from the community.

It is enough that you drive by.

Note my palatial house and see my expensive car parked beside it.

But David's imagery has to do with community life that is strengthened and solidified by shared meals.

You spread a table before me.

You also anoint my head with oil.

Now when I think of anointing, I think of kings and queens that are anointed with oil

to be consecrated and set apart for these special roles.

What I didn't realize is that anointing with oil is also a practice of hospitality in the ancient world.

And it's found all over the ancient world.

Egypt, Rome, Greece, Persia.

Expensive, perfumed oil used to anoint guests.

There's paintings in Egyptian tombs of women with what are called unguent cones on their head.

Unguent is the same word as unction.

But these cones are made of wax.

It's perfumed.

And over time, the heat from the head melts the wax.

And it's perfumed and it just starts to drip down onto the person.

And so we also see the practice of anointing as an octave hospitality in Jesus' day.

In Luke chapter 7, Jesus is at the house of a man named Simon.

Luke 7 · chapter mention

Simon is a Pharisee.

And into this gathering comes a woman from the town.

And the woman anoints Jesus' feet with her tears and with perfume.

And Simon and the Pharisees are offended.

Like, Jesus, do you know who this woman is?

And he rebukes Simon for several things.

But one thing that I really hadn't caught before is that he rebukes their hospitality.

He says to Simon, I entered your house.

You gave me no water for my feet.

But she has wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair.

You gave me no kiss.

But from the time I came in, she has not ceased to kiss my feet.

You did not anoint my head with oil.

But she has anointed my feet with ointment.

Okay, so we have a table.

We have anointing.

And we also have an overflowing cup.

Now, with hospitality in mind, it's not hard to imagine what this is.

We're at a party.

And the host keeps your cup full of wine.

All right.

So, verse 5.

We have a host.

And we have a pretty magnificent party.

But in the middle of this description of hospitality comes a curious statement.

In the presence of my enemies.

And what could that mean?

Is David, like, gloating?

Is God showing some kind of strange favoritism for David and being mean to other people?

Well, I think it would be helpful to look at the Gospels again to see what this might mean.

In Luke chapter 15, Jesus tells a parable about a good shepherd who retrieves a lost sheep.

Luke 15 · chapter mention

And in keeping with Psalm 23, he shifts from talking about sheep to talking about a party.

It's the story of the prodigal son.

Many of you know this story, perhaps.

But this story depicts a father, a very wealthy, respected father, with two children.

Two grown sons, the younger of which decides that he wants his inheritance now.

So he asks his father for his share of the inheritance.

The father gives it.

And the younger son goes away and spends it all on a wild time.

And then becomes destitute with nothing.

He ends up having to share food with pigs, living in a pigsty.

And while he's in the mud and muck, he realizes,

Man, my dad's servants have it much better than I do.

So why don't I just go back to him and ask if I can be one of his servants?

And so he comes home.

And the father, we learn, is waiting for him, looking out for him.

And when he sees his youngest son, he runs out and greets him and hugs him,

takes his robe, puts it on him, takes off his ring, puts it on his son's finger,

and commands that a party shall be had to celebrate the return and reconciliation of his youngest son.

And the older brother is incensed.

The older brother said,

You know, I've been serving you all these years, and you never threw me a party.

Well, the older brother is probably not alone in his feelings.

The party guests are also probably feeling much the same way.

They're probably disgusted at this smelly, shaven-head young man in rags

who has just squandered the wealth of this wealthy, respectable man

and has brought shame to his house.

They attend the party, but they're not at the party to welcome him back.

They are there to celebrate the costly efforts of the father

to reconcile the son back to himself.

You hear that?

They are not there to honor the son.

They're there to honor the father.

We can trace similar themes in the account of Jesus and Zacchaeus,

which we read earlier.

You might remember that Jesus came into town,

and Zacchaeus was a tax collector,

so he would have been very much hated by the town

because Zacchaeus and tax collectors are known for being corrupt, fraudulent.

So Jesus says,

Come down from there.

I want to enter your house and be a guest there.

We can assume that they had a meal together,

and this causes the religious elite to grumble.

They said,

He has gone in to be the guest of a man who is a sinner.

Again and again,

Jesus engenders hostility

because of the people with whom he chooses to eat his meals.

Again and again,

Jesus engenders hostility

because of the people with whom he chooses to eat his meals.

But Jesus said about Zacchaeus,

Today salvation has come to this house,

since he also is the son of Abraham.

For the son of man came to seek and to save the lost.

And so looking back on this episode in his life,

Zacchaeus can say,

Jesus sought me and saved me.

He shared a meal with me.

In doing so,

the anger of my enemies,

he took on himself.

The hostility,

which I deserved,

he took on himself as well.

The prodigal son can look back at the moment in his life and say,

My village despised me.

My brother hated me.

But in full view of all of them,

my dad ran out and greeted me

and ordered a banquet in the presence of my enemies.

David looks back on his life

and writes a song.

I was a dumb sheep.

And he restored my soul,

the Lord,

my shepherd.

He brought me back

and he spread a table before me

in the presence of my enemies.

So what about ourselves?

We can tend to think that we're pretty special,

that God's pretty lucky to have us on his team.

But this psalm,

in harmony with what Jesus taught,

and in harmony with what Paul taught

in his first letter to the Corinthians,

tells us that God chose the weak

in the presence of the strong.

He chose the foolish,

that's you and me,

in the presence of the wise.

He chose the lowly and despised,

that's you and me,

and in what looks like foolishness

and madness to the world,

he brought us into his household,

he adopts us,

and throws us a party,

and he dances over us,

all at a great price to himself.

The cost was the death

of his own dear son.

Jesus,

the only one in this universe

who has ever had any rightful claims

of supremacy,

the only one who could claim

any special status

because of his bloodline,

shed his own blood

that we,

the lowliest,

could belong to a family.

The first implication

of three that we'll look at

is that if we don't deserve

the hospitality

that God has shown us,

if,

because of his mercy and grace,

God has taken the initiative

to redeem us

and to reconcile us

to himself

and to each other,

apart from any merit

of our own,

then our identity

must be based on grace.

Which means,

Christians

can have no claims

of superiority

over anyone at all.

To be both Christian

and racist

is a contradiction.

And if joining God's family

means bearing his name,

then we hate

what he hates,

and we denounce racism

and bigotry

at every turn.

A second implication

is this.

When God spreads

a table for us

and makes us part

of his family,

then we join

the family business.

God's design

for humanity

is to destroy

racial division

and hostility

and from many peoples

to create

one new humanity.

Therefore,

his mission

becomes our mission.

So how is the church

of the Advent

doing

when it comes

to this mission?

Frankly,

as Tommy

pointed out,

we confess

every week

that we have left

a lot of things

undone.

Tommy sent a letter

to us on Monday.

If you haven't received it,

contact the office.

We can send it to you.

But there's much

we have left undone.

Words left unspoken.

Relationships left

uninitiated.

Empathy left

unextended.

Burdens left

unshared.

Pain left

unconsoled.

And yes,

racism in the church

left unaddressed.

perhaps

Psalm 23

Psalms 23:5

verse 5

gives us

a place

to start

when it comes

to joining

God's mission

in demolishing

racial division.

It starts

with a table.

A table.

If you were

to tell a story

about a man

and woman

becoming intimate,

it would start

with flirtation,

which would lead

to dating

and courtship.

Maybe.

That's how it used

to be in my day.

Anyways.

Which would lead

to engagement,

which would lead

to marriage,

which would lead

to a bedroom.

Okay?

In Psalm 23,

David does

a similar thing.

He takes us

further and further

into intimacy

with God.

We start

in the third person,

the Lord

is my shepherd.

Then he switches

to the first person,

you are with me.

And then he takes

us to

a table.

Not a surprise,

right?

Some of you

grew up in

close-knit families

where dinner

together

was a special time.

The table

can be a place

of intimacy

and love

and safety.

The time

together

at the table,

perhaps it's

a weekly time.

For us,

it's Friday,

six o'clock,

pizza and a movie.

But you don't

miss that time.

It's a special time.

So intimacy

and love

and safety.

But unfortunately,

as Austin Channing Brown

points out,

the table

can then become

a place

of separation

and isolation.

and we can

use the table

to reinforce

the things

we already

believe.

Our church

is a long way

to go

to experience

the kind

of diversity

that Jesus

has envisioned

for his church.

Perhaps

that begins

at our tables.

If we as a church

want to join

Christ's mission

of breaking down

racial hostility,

perhaps it means

we start

by inviting

people very

different

from us

into our homes,

to our tables,

sharing a meal,

extending

generous,

overflowing

hospitality.

One last

implication

is this.

Jesus doesn't

feed us

figuratively.

He feeds

us

literally.

God has

always

fed

his

people.

It's been

several thousand

years.

Well,

I don't know

how much

time.

But we

tend to forget

how radical

Genesis 2

may have

appeared to

the ancient

world.

The reason

is because

religions say

something very

different about

the purpose

of humanity

and feeding

and food.

For instance,

in the Babylonian

religion,

you had a great

war of the

gods,

Marduk and

his crew

proved to be

victorious,

so set the

other gods

to work

tending the

fields,

keeping the

canals going,

growing the

food,

while these

gods

started to

grumble.

So Marduk

took the

most rebellious

of the gods,

slayed them,

and took his

blood to

create humanity

and as humans

that he created

to feed the

gods.

Right?

But God

creates humans

and he

feeds them.

This is,

it's not until

recently that I

realized this,

but this is a

theme from

beginning to

end of

scripture.

God feeds

his people.

And into

eternity future

we find God

feeding his

people at the

great wedding

feast of the

Lamb.

Right?

And he feeds

us today,

not figuratively,

but literally.

He feeds us

every week

here at this

table.

He nourishes

us with

himself.

He says in

the Gospel

of John,

whoever feeds

on my flesh

and drinks

my blood

has eternal

life and I

will raise

him up on

the last

day.

For my

flesh is

true blood,

excuse me,

my flesh is

true food

and my blood

is true drink.

Whoever feeds

on my flesh

and drinks

my blood

abides in

me and I

in him.

As the

living Father

sent me,

and I

live because

of the

Father,

so whoever

feeds on

me, he

also will

live because

of me.

In this

meal, God

nourishes us

and extends

to us

friendship and

intimacy.

In this

meal, he

joins us

together with

brothers and

sisters and

with them we

experience intimacy

and reconciliation.

creation.

Here is where

God's story

of the

universe is

retold and

remembered and

reconstituted week

after week.

The story of

God creating a

good world which

fell into sin and

rebellion and

brokenness,

redeemed by the

body of Christ,

broken but risen

again.

Therefore,

the implication is

this, make this meal

a priority.

Do your best

not to miss

this meal.

This is where

you are fed.

This is where

you are connected

to one another.

This is where

you are connected

to the hope that

one day we

will share

together as a

ransomed people

of God from

every tribe and

language and

people and

nation, a

great wedding

feast together,

a feast that

will last into

eternity, in a

place where

conflicts and

war and

hostility and

death is

seized, a

place where

death shall be

no more,

neither shall

there be

mourning nor

crying nor

pain.

In the name

of the Father

and of the

Son and of

the Holy

Spirit, amen.

Let's pray.

Let's pray.