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“I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” John 10:10
Maybe it’s because we’re at about 50 days into the COVID-19 quarantine, but that first thing I noticed when reading today’s Gospel is the sheep are not practicing social distancing. They were when they were out in the pasture, nibbling away on green grass, slipping water from still streams, wandering here and there all under the watchful eye of the shepherd. But now he’s gathered the sheep together, led them into large pens, called sheep folds, where they are safe from thieves, mountain lions and wolves. Sheep folds were often made of stone, five feet high with a small entry way of about two feet. Briars or prickly branches were place on the top to keep out predators. Inside the sheep are bunch together and none of them are wearing little sheep masks to protect them from any virus their pen mates might share. It’s a precarious situation – even with the shepherd serving as the gate door, sleeping at the entrance of the sheepfold, by the fire, with his rod and staff. If there’s an intruder – a thief, wolf or lion, the shepherd could fight them off with his short stocky club or his long-pointed staff. But what if that intruder was already there inside the sheep fold?
Say, an intruder like fear – fear of there not being enough, enough food, enough attention, enough money. Fear of the un-known – how much longer before we’re back to normal? Is this a simple fever or something far more serious? What’s going to happen to our plans? Will we be stuck inside forever? Are our parents and grandparents, safe? Are our children and teens doing OK? There’s so much to be afraid of. Over the long haul, fear can become internalized and morph into depression, anxiety and anger. Week one, two and three, you were OK, on cope, but hanging in. But now it’s week seven and each passing day becomes more difficult especially for those without work and income. So, while the good shepherd faithfully protects the sheep from outside intruders, what about the inside ones?
Maybe it was all the rain in the past few weeks, or the increase of infection and deaths, or the missing of our life together, but on Monday, I woke up in funk. Didn’t want to get out of bed. This is not like me. I normally have a to do list already in my mind. I often have one for my husband too. But not on Monday. Nothing but sorrow and fear. Have you felt that way? How long, O Lord, how long?
Then from deep within, or was it without, I heard today’s psalm. My grandmother taught it to me and my sisters Beth and Amy on a rainy afternoon when I was young girl. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” I am not the shepherd. The Lord is in charge – making me lie down in green pastures and leading me beside still waters. And even if I think I’m in charge, he waits until I get hungry enough to eat the sweet green grass of the pasture and thirsty enough to drink the cool, fresh water of the stream. The same is true for you. The shepherd abounds in patience. Our AA friends are right, let go, let God. When we let go of fear, we discover restoration. There is something in this psalm that instills hope beyond anything we can muster up on our own.
This is true even in the valley of the shadow of death, which in this pandemic is a shadow over the whole world. We are in this together and the good shepherd is with us. I like the King James’ version of the text – “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 they staff comfort me.” Notice it is the valley of the shadow of death, not the valley of death. One day in chapel at Seminary, my favorite Professor, Joe Sittler explained the difference. He said, “The valley of death is constituted by the moment of death itself, but for all of life ones walks through a valley over which the shadow of death moves. One moves toward death. We live towards nonliving we move toward nonbeing…The whole of life is a valley under the shadow of death, and the only way to celebrate the gravity of life is to know that.”[i]
With COVID-19 there is no denying that we are all in this valley. So, we wear our masks, wash our hands, sterilize doorknobs and facets and keep social distance. Jesus, our good shepherd, goes with us. In the verse that follows our Gospel for today, he declares, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” We’ve seen this in those who care for the sick, who serve in the valley of the shadow, who know the gravity of life first hand and do all they can to preserve it. It is celebrated when a patient is wheeled out of ICU into a step-down unit, when cheers go up all around the city, when prayers are spoken, when healing happens. It is also remembered when a patient dies and the phone call is made and the family is told, grief upon grief, sorrow upon sorrow, in the valley of the shadow. Yet through it all the Lord is with us, protecting us with his rod and staff, comforting us in his presence, and preparing a table before us.
Now the shepherd becomes our host – and not just any host, but a host who even in the midst of enemies provides for the guests, blesses those at the table and lets their cups overflow with abundance. And then promises that goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our lives and that we will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
And you know what? On Monday morning when I got to the end of the psalm, and then remembered it one more time and another after that — it was enough to get me out of bed. Jesus came that we might have life and have it abundantly, even when we are not so sure. In those moments, it is all grace, pure and simple and amazing. Amen.
Pastor Cynthia Krommes
[i] Joseph Sittler, “Anything New in Psalm 23?” Grace Notes and Other Fragments, Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981, 21.