Below, for your consideration and reflection, is the sermon from Bethel's September 12, 2004 Sunday Morning worship service.

---

One of my memories of 9/11 three years ago was from the Saturday after that fateful Tuesday, driving here from Massachusetts and listening to Scott Simon on NPR's weekend edition. I had been otherwise preoccupied with packing and moving all of our belongings for the trip here that week, and had seen very little of the media images nor had I much of a chance to watch the news. After everything was packed on Friday, I did watch the memorial service on from the National Cathedral in Washington with my Jewish lesbian neighbor friend, but that was pretty much it. But driving here on Saturday I had one of the more ineffable experiences of consolation that I have ever had, listening to the radio that morning.

Scott Simon that day, without commentary, simply read portions of great poems from western literature. It was a worship experience. I can't even now remember exactly all the poems he read, but I am sure he must have read Walt Whitman's "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed," Whitman's poem about the death of Lincoln; I know he read some of the poems about grief from the hand of Emily Dickenson, and I can remember now that he read movingly from T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland, a poem about the spiritual dryness and emptiness of western civilization in that time after World War I when there seemed to be no regenerating belief about the significance or meaning of life. Writes T. S. Eliot in his poem:

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,

And the dry stone no sound of water.

For our generation, 9/11 will continue to be one of the defining moments of our existence. And while there is scarcely any way even to begin to understand terror and international events either then or now, it is poetry, I believe, that most effectively can helps us cope with the numbness and the suffering of memory and of the tragic times in which we live. Poetry doesn't try to explain why things are the way they are; rather, poetry gives language and images so that we do not feel alone or afraid; it offers the power of words to comfort, console, soothe, to give hope, to provide a way home through the darkness.

Probably the piece of poetry we cling to more than any other in the church is Psalm 23. I think I have told you about the words of Todd Beamer shortly before he and other passengers aboard United Flight 93 crashed into the Pennsylvania countryside on September 11, 2001. Said Beamer: "I don't think we're going to get out of this thing. I'm going to have to go out on faith." As he and others tried to decide what to do as they communicated with others on the ground via cell phone, Beamer prayed the Lord's prayer with a fellow passenger, and then, according to an article in Newsweek, they recited the poetic prayer of Psalm 23 "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me."

Later, Todd's wife Lisa would appear on Dateline and remind viewers that the Lord's prayer includes a petition of forgiveness, saying that her husband "was forgiving those people for what they were doing, the most horrible thing you could ever do to someone." But it was the poetry of the Shepherd's Psalm that accompanied those victims of terror and it is that poem that has accompanied so many across the desert places and empty wastelands of life.

Psalm 23 has both a universal appeal and a place of endearment in the collective spiritual consciousness of Jews and Christians. I do not know how many victims on that day three years ago yesterday thought of the words, "the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," but I would not be surprised if many did, for those are words that come quickly to mind in times of danger, when fear or despair overshadow us.

 If there is one Psalm or even one portion of scripture I can count on most of you knowing by heart, it would probably be this one, the Shepherd's Song, what many would say is "the most beautiful song in the world." No other song in our hymnbook is printed with as many versions as is Psalm 23. There are 6 renderings, two of which we will sing today, for poetry at heart is lyrical and meant to be sung.

This Psalm has led us in paths of comfort and encouragement all the days of our lives with its images of love and tenderness. In addition to the Lord's prayer, it's the one portion of scripture I can ask everyone to say aloud together at the graveside; even those with little connection to the church seem, somewhere along lifeŒs winding way, to have been exposed to this song.

Yet, as with anything too familiar, the familiarity of Psalm 23 can breed a certain kind of indifference to the meaning of words often repeated, often remembered, even often prayed. Deep, profound tones can get lost in the shallow melodies of rote memory, and that which really should startle and unsettle us becomes, instead, a gospel of convenience and words about ease in Zion.

If the Lord is my Shepherd, then I suppose I am supposed be one of the sheep. A writer in the Christian Century Magazine says: "I don't mind calling the Lord my Shepherd, but I've never been too flattered by being called one of his sheep. I had hoped to be the eagle of the Lord, or maybe the cunning tiger. Sheep aren't particularly smart. They scare easily, and have a knack for getting lost. Most of us don't look lost. We haven't fallen through society's cracks into homelessness and poverty. But David would say, 'Oh no. It is you who have lost your way in a relationship that's offered more hurt than love, in a job that leaves you depleted and spent, or in the guilt of not being good enough, pretty enough, or smart enough for someone whose judgment cuts deep.' Some of us have gotten lost in our battles against declining health. Others are lost in grief. And how many of us are just simply lost in our shame for things done and left undone? Trying so hard to find ourselves, we've even lost sight of who we are, who we were created to be." (Feb 13-20, 2002, p.17)

Perhaps we would do well to think of this Psalm as one which rehearses the master narrative of scripture, which is, of course, the story of the Garden of Eden over and over again: that inescapable human experience of being lost, yet being found by God; of being judged yet of being forgiven; of running away to hide, yet of being sought and brought back, time and time again. Or, as Jesus tells it in his parables about a lost sheep, a lost coin, God searches for us, especially when we are lost; God rescues us when we wander and stray; God doesn't give up until the whole flock is together, until the coin is recovered. Jesus is saying that God is a shepherd who goes to great lengths in order to recover just one lost sheep; God is a woman who does everything to find her lost coin.

The Hebrew people longed to live with God as sheep live with a shepherd. I suppose at some level we all do. Knowing clearly who is in charge; having someone else be responsible to provide for our physical needs. That pastoral metaphor of "lying down in green pastures" just does something to our psyche with its images of contentment, ease, and gentleness.

Yet, the reality is, we believe, all too often, that we can make it to those green pastures on our own. Of course, once we get there, the green pastures of money, success, promotion, acquisition, possessions are never green enough, are they? but that only makes us want to work harder to be our own saviors, to be our own shepherds. Unlike the shepherd in the parable of Jesus who was elated at finding his lost sheep, we can barely keep track of the items in our lives that aren't lost, accumulating so many things that we have to rent storage units to contain them all.

Psalm 23 reminds us that there is another kind of pasture. When it comes to matters of the soul, sheep are lazy. The sheep like to lie down in the first pasture they come to. But the good shepherd doesn't allow that. The good shepherd takes the sheep to higher slopes where the grass is richer and greener because there's been more moisture there. Even though it takes greater effort to get to the greener pastures up higher, there is a greater benefit from feeding there.

The temptation along the journey is to drink from stagnant waters at the bottom of the hillside instead of climbing up to where the water is flowing, rushing, living. The shepherd leads the sheep not to the still waters but alongside the still waters up to where the water is pure and refreshing. And so, we, too, have to go beyond that which is still and indifferent, to stretch spiritual muscles in ways that perhaps they have not been stretched before, as we seek living water.

The shepherd knows that there are paths hazardous to the health of the sheep. Thus, the shepherd disciplines the flock; keeps them moving in the right direction. Whether with uncomfortable jabs from a shepherdŒs crook, or by a swift kick to the soft underbelly, discipline takes precedence over any desire to let the sheep go their own way.

Sheep have to be herded, often made to do that which they do not want to do. I suspect there are just as many stubborn, obstinate sheep as there are sheep that do what the shepherd wants them to do.

The last thing we ought to be doing is rushing to the 23rd Psalm to be reminded that everything is ok. Everything is not ok. Sheep fall into holes and have to be dragged out with the crook of the shepherd's staff; sheep wander away from the flock and expose themselves to the dangers of attack from predators; sheep are pretty clueless when it comes to their own safety; if left to their own devices, sheep will eat poisonous weeds and will get cut by brambles, bruised by stones, and bitten by insects.

Without a shepherd, sheep have no sense of direction. Sheep are like the taxi cab driver in New York City who, when asked by a passenger how he had been affected by the events of September 11 responded: "I keep getting lost. I typically could always look up at the towers and get my bearings. Now I can't get my bearings anymore." It is easy to get disoriented in this world in which we live, and instead of refocusing on trusting in the shepherd, to buy gasmasks and flags to try and deal with the aftermath of terror and the darkness of the times. (KUMC newsletter, March 8, 2002).

Psalm 23 says that even when sheep have become lost in the valley of the shadow of death, that the valley is never walked alone. The first step to overcome the darkness is to admit and confess that we are frightened, alone, and lost. Once we can do that, we are on the road to salvation.

Have you ever been really scared? Maybe it took a disease to scare you, a notice that your job had been eliminated, a phone call from the police late at night, or a letter on a kitchen counter that said, "I'm not coming back." We may sometimes speak of being scared stiff or of being paralyzed with fear, but most people, it seems to me, react to fear by running like crazy. It doesn't matter where they run or what they try next, they just have to keep moving. Of course, the biggest mistake we can make is running when we are lost. Yet, even when we run and scatter like sheep without a shepherd, the good shepherd goes out to seek and find us and bring us home, to show us God's salvation.

The key to discovering this salvation, especially when we are sheep on the run, is believing in those four little words that make all the difference in the world, "thou art with me." It is light in whatever shadow comes over us; "it is the hope that rises out of the rubble of collapsed towers in New York. Believing God is with us is how relief workers make it through another day of caring for the homeless in Afghanistan and Iraq or Florida, and how huddled Christians continue to worship in countries where the church is persecuted. It is even how middle class Americans survive jobs they don't like but can't afford to leave because they need them to support lifestyles they don't really like." (Barnes). "Thou art with me."

Whether the sheep stay on the path or wander away, the love of shepherd for the sheep is never to be doubted or brushed aside, never to be taken lightly or considered secondary or insignificant.

The caring presence of the shepherd means oil upon the stinging wounds inflicted by life's thorns and rocks; it means a deep cup running over with water so that the sheep can put the whole snout inside and drink fully of the mercy of the shepherd's care. This oil and this cup are like God's grace, full and free and abundant and running over. "Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

And so, finally, it is poetry, read and sung, prayed and pondered, wept over and trusted deeply, that enables us, with God's grace, to redeem the pain of memory, to restore hope, to rebuild out of the ashes, to know that we who are lost have been found, and that God will not be satisfied until God has welcomed all the sheep back home into the fold.

And so, let us renew our confidence in the goodness of God, singing

The king of love my Shepherd is, whose goodness faileth never

I nothing lack if I am his and he is mine forever.

Perverse and foolish oft I strayed, but yet in love he sought me,

And on his shoulder gently laid, and home, rejoicing brought me.

And so through all the lengths of days, thy goodness faileth never;

Good Shepherd, may I sing thy praise within thy house forever.

Let us sing the Good Shepherd's praise, singing hymn #171.

---

Prayers of the People

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want; he makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters. God, be shepherd to all the sheep, not just those who have nice houses and full refrigerators. Be with the hungry and the homeless and give them pastures and fresh water. Be with all who live in a dry land, without abundance, without job opportunity, without the sense that there is anyone to guide them into a better life. God, be shepherd to all the sheep.

He restores my soul. God, be shepherd to all the sheep, not just those who have impressive resumes. Be with criminals in prison, addicts in halfway houses, children shuttled from one foster home to another, all people who have been cut off by those around them, all who feel lost, forsaken, abandoned by society, by families, by the Church, by us. God, be shepherd to all the sheep.

He leads me in right paths for his name's sake. God, be shepherd to all the sheep. There are many who need guidance, at home, at school, at work, in our community, in our world. In this election year, restore hope in the political process and restore our confidence that the nation can rediscover a path of justice, peace, and working in harmony for the good of all. Give guidance to those facing a job change, dealing with stress or grief, or facing the reality of a broken relationship. God, be shepherd to all the sheep.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and staff , they comfort me. God, be shepherd to all the sheep. Draw close to those who face surgery or illness, to those who face sadness or depression, to those who feel a deep frustration or even despair.  Hear our prayers for ...

Your prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. God, be shepherd to all the sheep. Grant peace to all who are living in war between nations, races, or families. On this weekend of remembering, help us to find healing not in more killing, but in living out your peace and good will for all people. Heal the wounds that divide and anger, in Iraq, in Afganistan, in the Sudan, in all places of conflict and discord. God, be shepherd to all the sheep.

You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long. God, you are our shepherd, and we praise you for all your acts of loving kindness and mercy. When we strayed, you found us; when we wept, you gave us joy; when we felt abandoned, you held us in your arms. You give us friends to enjoy, poems to sing, and prayers to pray, so hear us now, as we pray, even as Christ has taught us . . .

[Lord's Prayer]