“Humble, Strong, Sure”

A reflection preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, October 3, 2021, the nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost. “Prepare the Table with Justice and Joy” series. World Communion Sunday.

  Texts: Psalm 23:1a, Mark 10:13-16

“The Lord is my shepherd.” These five words hold so much. Because the Lord, our shepherd, holds you and me and the whole world. 

An image comes to mind from my travels to the Holy Land at the beginning of 2020. It is of a young Bedouin boy, his arms filled with just one sheep. As our group traveled around Israel and Palestine, it was powerful to see the Bedouin shepherds with their flocks on what looked like mostly dry, rocky hills. The images of the 23rd Psalm took on new meaning the more I observed the landscapes from which that Psalm emerged. Much of the terrain is dangerous, weather unpredictable, water and food sources hidden or scarce, predators always around. Shepherding can be dirty work, dangerous work, exhausting work, lonely work. 

The ancestors of the Hebrew people were all nomadic, moving with their flocks to find sustenance, sometimes in the broad, green valley of places like the Galilee, and in times of drought, further afield. And that memory persists in the spiritual imagination of the tribes of Israel, the memory of the shepherd doing whatever was needed to tenderly care for and protect each little lamb. Our spiritual ancestors imagined God not as a king, but as a humble shepherd. Rabbi Harold Kushner writes, “To say ‘the Lord is my shepherd’ is to say that we live in an unpredictable, often terrifying world…But despite it all, we can get up every morning to face that world because we know that there is Someone in that world who cares about us and tries to keep us safe.” 

It is a primal thing, the yearning for someone to make us feel safe in a dangerous world and cared for in what can be an everyone’s-too-busy-to-care, impersonal world. We humans try to get those needs met in all kinds of ways, some of them healthy and others, not so much. Even the best humans at some point along the way will hurt, disappoint, or not be present with us when we need them. But what we are offered in our faith tradition is assurance that the Lord, our shepherd, is present with us every single moment of every single day of our lives—and present with patience, compassion, mercy, and love, no matter what mess we may have made of things. The good shepherd is always with us trying to protect us and lead us to the things that nourish, sustain, and bless our lives.

A good shepherd also seeks out those who are in dangerous places, the wounded ones, the ones who’ve been led astray. It doesn’t matter how or why they are where they are, the shepherd still cares, will find them, and attend to their needs. Each and every sheep is cared for; all are loved and worthy to be scooped up and held. Jesus modeled this with the little children whom others would have ignored or excluded. 

When we are safe and secure, we may forget. But when we find ourselves wounded or lost or being pushed aside or excluded, the promise is that God will remember us and draw near to help. We will be among those enfolded and held in the shepherd’s humble, strong, sure arms.

A day ago, I noticed that a colleague with whom I went to seminary, Rev. Otis Moss, III of Trinity UCC in Chicago, is starting a new sermon series entitled “I am Not Okay.” It struck me in a deep place as resonant with my own thoughts of late. A couple of weeks ago, in my midweek “Ponderings” on Facebook, I shared reminders about how our current experience of prolonged struggle of various kinds through the pandemics of 2020 and 2021 are taking a toll on every one of us. The stress and confusion and isolation is landing on our bodies and souls in some kind of way. And we may forget that how we feel or react in any given moment right now is likely affected by this larger reality. We may forget—because it’s been going on so lo