We are at a youth retreat, and while most of the time these retreats are thoughtful and interesting, occasionally the need to be "relevant" and "creative" becomes the tail wagging the dog. At times, the fail is of epic proportions. This year's example, the "enactment" of the Psalm 23 with sheep dressed in white shorts and t-shirts with men's black dress socks on their hands/arms and feet/legs. Think white sheep, black legs and you get the picture. (Though the poor "sheep" did have to walk around the stage a good while saying "baaaaa" before we figured it out.)
After we understood the strange guy who didn't know how to dress was, in fact, a sheep, his sheep friends joined him in a lovely little flock (boon of business for the sock industry--buy stock now). Their blue-jean clad shepherd held some kind of big stick. The re-telling of the psalm commenced.
Shaking fabric made "water" which the sheep walked beside, then lay down next to. The shepherd had a pool whistle used to summon the sheep when they wandered off. The water, when held over the sheep, became the "darkest shadows"--the "valley of the shadow of death" to most of us. The "table of my enemies" was a communion table--picture Da Vinci's "The Last Supper" only with sheep, not disciples or Weinheimer dogs. The one really cool thing was the overflowing cup--done with glitter that looked in that huge auditorium just like water...it splashed all over the table and we all gasped. You aren't supposed to spill stuff at God's feast.
So, that's about it. In the nicest of terms, I suppose we can retell most of the psalm with the images we got. But it just wasn't right. If that's what the Psalm is all about, we might as well shut the doors of our churches. I wouldn't even get up on Sunday for that...and they pay me!
Here's what I'd act out...
Dig up from the recesses of your memory what you know about the Greek and Roman Gods, or the Babylonian gods if you really were a nerd. They are strong, capricious, violent. They are concerned with power, control, and being catered to. They cared little for the humans running around the planet. They actually seemed to enjoy getting back at the humans for perceived offenses...a tidal wave here, an extreme winter there...extreme wind, hail, heat...well, you get the idea.
Dig up from the recesses of the Hebrew texts the understanding of the LORD as completely holy, completely other. The One God was so holy, the Jews used the letters YHWH instead of calling God's name. The One God was so holy, you literally took your life in your hands as the priest who entered the Holy of Holies once a year to make the sacrifices for the people's sin. If the priest had not cleansed his own sin completely, death was certain.
Juxtapose our "Holy, Other, Mighty God" with "The Lord is my shepherd." The God who could justifiably condemn us--or at the very least toy with us like Greek and Roman gods--instead, the Holy One of Israel serves us, cares for us, provides for our wholeness, our rest, even our food. The God who created the earth with a Word, gives himself to us without condition or reservation. We usually read it, The Lord is my SHEPHERD. I think we might should read it, The LORD is my shepherd. I am humbled.
Next God takes our greatest fear and "comforts us." The "valley of the shadow of death" is an inescapable reality, but one walked with the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel.
Then we get a table set before us "in the presence of our enemies." We certainly can name our enemies, but for the most part, our enemies tend toward the metaphorical or distant. Truth is, it has been since the Civil War that we fought a war on home soil. Often we define enemy as mean people at school or work. Sometimes we make enemies metaphorical--like hunger or poverty--and like those are uncontrollable entities and not creations of our own unjust practice. But "enemies" to me has never been particularly urgent, a result, I am sure, of the relatively secure life with which I am blessed.
Imagine Israel, a tiny nation encircled by hostile forces. Forces known for their lack of mercy. Forces that could not be beaten by most, much less by this tiny group of people known as the people of God. In the midst of these enemies, God sets a table. We sit down to eat, often in a reclining position at that time. We sit down, a posture of weakness, vulnerability. When we eat, we are not ready to fight. In fact, the surge of adrenaline needed for a fight takes away our appetite. Physically, we don't seem to be able to do these two things at once.
God sets a table for us in the presence of our enemies. Eat...be nurtured. Know that the Holy One of Israel is your shepherd, your protector, and your provider. Our heads are anointed, our cup overflows. That ought to make us want to say grace at a meal!
Finally, goodness and mercy follow us all the days of our lives. Except, they don't. What the Hebrew text actually says is that goodness and mercy "pursue" us all the days of our lives. God is not content to follow. God wants goodness and mercy for us so badly that God will chase us down as we make poor choices or insist that living in the chaos of this American life is our only choice. Being pursued all the days of our lives. Perhaps we should slow down and let ourselves be caught.
That's the God that transformed my life. That's the God that continues the transformation. That's the God that I get up to worship on Sunday mornings. Joy is good. Fun is great. Spirit and energy reflect the "joy of our salvation." But we don't worship a cartoon God. The richness of God's promise, care, and interaction with us too often far greater than a "skit" can convey.
Forgive us, O Lord, for the ways in which we fail. Keep pursuing us so that we might, indeed, live in the house of the Lord our whole lives long.
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