[An On-Line worship service for the Wine Before Breakfast community and anyone else who wants to join us.]

Introduction:
God is my Shepherd

It was my first experience
at hospital ministry.
The first time that I made
a “pastoral visit” in a hospital.

The woman I knew had such stature, such presence,
but there she was … on a gurney in a hallway.

Bright lights,
out in the open,
people walking by,
no privacy,
little attention.

This was no place for Mrs. Clark.
This was no way for a woman of such beauty,
of such standing in her community,
of such respect,
to be dying.

And at this time in her life,
and in this place of such abandonment,
Norma had only one set of words,
one thing to hold on to:

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
he leadeth me beside the still waters …”

And on she went right to the last lines:

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
… even to this hospital gurney …
all the days of my life
… a life coming to an ending …
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Over and over again, she recited this psalm.

And all that I was called to do
was to hold her hand,
bear witness,
and try my best to have an ounce of the faith
that this woman possessed.

I don’t know how many folks
are reciting the 23rd psalm from memory these days.

But for Mrs. Clark on that gurney,
this was no mere Hallmark sentimentality.

She was hanging on to that Shepherd God for dear life.
These were the words that sustained her
as she walked through that darkest valley.
And she died anticipating a table set for her,
a great homecoming feast,
dwelling in the house of the Lord forever.

It is, then, for good reason that the church
marks Psalm 23 once a year with Good Shepherd Sunday.

And maybe this is a good time for the Wine Before Breakfast community
to revisit this most famous of the psalms.

So whether you engage this liturgy on Monday evening,
Tuesday morning at 7.22am, or at some other time,
why don’t you join the rest of us lost sheep
as we meditate on this audacious psalm.

We’ll open with Bruce Cockburn’s “Strange Waters”
– a postmodern take on this psalm.

And if you like,
you can read the psalm out loud
during the guitar solo
(beginning at the 3.36 point of the song).

Prelude: “Strange Waters” (Bruce Cockburn)

I’ve seen a high cairn kissed by holy wind
Seen a mirror pool cut by golden fins
Seen alleys where they hide the truth of cities
The mad whose blessing you must accept without pity

I’ve stood in airports guarded glass and chrome
Walked rifled roads and land-mined loam
Seen a forest in flames right down to the road
Burned in love till I’ve seen my heart explode

You’ve been leading me
Beside strange waters

Across the concrete fields of man
Sun ray like a camera pans
Some will run and some will stand
Everything is bullshit but the open hand

You’ve been leading me
Beside strange waters
Streams of beautiful lights in the night
But where is my pastureland in these dark valleys?
If I loose my grip, will I take flight?

You’ve been leading me
Beside strange waters
Streams of beautiful lights in the night
But where is my pastureland in these dark valleys?
If I loose my grip, will I take flight?

Psalm 23

Homily:
Everything is Bullshit but the Open Hand (Brian Walsh)

“Strange Waters” serves as the closing track
of Bruce Cockburn’s finest album, Charity of Night.

The song, and therefore the album, ends with a question:

If I loose my grip, will I take flight?

It is an interesting verb, isn’t it.
One might even think that it is a typo.
Doesn’t he mean, if I lose my grip?

But the line harkens back to an earlier song on the album.
On the fifth track, “Whole Night Sky,” the artist sings:

Derailed and desperate
How did I get here?
Hanging from this high wire
By the tatters of my faith

You ever been there?

Do these lines resonate with anything in your life?
Has it ever felt like your life was derailed – “off the rails”?
Do you know that experience of desperation?
Like you are at the end of your rope?

Or, to change the metaphor,
that you are hanging for dear life from a high wire,
suspended over a chasm,
and all that is keeping you there is the tatters of your faith?

The tatters of my faith.
My hunch is that most of us have been there,
and many of us are desperately hanging on right now.

Cockburn unpacks the spiritual crisis in the chorus:

Sometimes a wind comes out of nowhere
And knocks you off your feet
And look, see my tears
They fill the whole night sky
The whole night sky

In the scriptures, the wind is the breath of God,
that animates all of creation.
It is the life force that overcomes death.

But in this song this is an ill wind that blows no good.

Maybe it is a wind that carries a coronavirus.
Maybe it is a wind that blows away our securities.
Maybe it is a wind that has knocked you off your feet.

In the face of such a wind,
in the face of such desperation,
hanging from a high wire being blown about by such a wind,
the artist sings a song of lament.

Like the psalmists before him he confesses
that tears have been his food day and night (Ps 42.3).
Indeed, they fill the whole night sky.

Hanging by the tatters of his faith.
That’s the psalmist in lament.
That’s Cockburn in this song (and this album).
And from my experience, that’s most of us.

So why not reach to more comforting metaphors?
(And never underestimate the power of metaphors.)

And isn’t the 23rd psalm the most natural place to turn
in a time of such severe crisis?

Are you anxious?
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

Is your life derailed?
“He leads me in right paths.”

Are you in a very dark valley, or maybe an alleyway?
“I fear no evil.”

Do you feel threatened?
“You prepare a table for me
in the presence of my enemies.”

Are you hounded by pestilence and plague?
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life.”

It is all very comforting, isn’t it.
But for some of us it is too comforting, too easy.

To employ the language of Jeremiah,
this could all dress our wounds too lightly,
saying “peace, peace” where there is no peace. (Jer. 6.14, 8.11)

So when Cockburn turns to Psalm 23 in “Strange Waters”
he transposes it into a lament.

Somehow, in the midst of
the disorienting, derailing, and disturbing
experiences that he narrates,
the artist confesses to a sense of leading,
a sense of divine guidance.

But that leading has taken him on a path
beside strange, not still, waters.

Strange waters.
Strange times.
Strange virus.

And so it is no surprise that the artist asks,
but where is my pastureland in these dark valleys,
if I loose my grip, will I take flight?

Hanging from this high wire by the tatters of my faith,
what happens if I loose my grip?
what happens if I let go?
what happens if I relinquish my hold
on this last bit of high wire security that I have?

Will I fall to my death,
or will I take flight?

Well, if it is true that in a crisis,
Some will run and some will stand
Everything is bullshit but the open hand
then the artist has provided his own answer.

You can only hang on to a high wire if you are tight-fisted.
Your grasp is secured by a fist.

If it is true that everything is bullshit but the open hand,
then its time to loose that grip,
even if you don’t know whether you will take flight,
even if that tight-fist is all you’ve got left of the tatters of your faith.

But what does it mean to be open-handed
in a time of crisis when the inclination is to be
tight-fisted in our anxious and self-protective hoarding?

Listen to the Torah:

If there is among you anyone in need … do not be tight-fisted toward your needy neighbour. You should rather open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be. (Deut. 15.7,8)

And Torah makes it clear that such open-handedness will always be needed:

Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbour in your land.” (Deut. 15.11)

Everything is bullshit, but the open hand.
Even, or perhaps especially, when you are hanging
from a high wire by the tatters of your faith.

But does any of this open space for Psalm 23 to
speak new and audacious words of comfort in our time?

Well, listen to the tension in Cockburn’s song again:

You’ve been leading me
Beside strange waters
Streams of beautiful lights in the night
But where is my pastureland in these dark valleys?
If I loose my grip, will I take flight?

There are strange waters.
There are disturbing visions.
There is conflict, anxiety, and fear.
There is the precariousness of our situation.
There is no sight of any pastureland,
any place of homecoming security on the horizon.

But … those strange and menacing waters
turn out to be streams of beautiful lights in the night.

Runway lights?
Navigation pointers?
Moments of light in the darkness?
Perhaps redemptive memories or revelatory words
pointing the way through the time of crisis?

Maybe the open-handed words of Torah are such beautiful lights.
Certainly acts of open-handed compassion, hospitality and justice
serve as beautiful lights pointing the way.

And maybe, just maybe,
Psalm 23 can be rescued from Hallmark sentimentality
and provide renewed hope.

You see, Psalm 23 wasn’t written for a time of
relative peace and security.

Rather, the psalmist sings a song of God as our shepherd
precisely when we are feeling cast adrift and alone.

Green pastures and still waters are evocative
images of security while you are wandering in the wilderness.

You sing of God restoring your soul
precisely when your soul is torn apart.

We give voice to the hope of walking down the right path
when we are lost and confused.

The psalmist names his social, spiritual, and emotional location
when he confesses,
“even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil.”

In the face of hunger and scarcity,
the psalmist confidently writes of a table set before him,
and a cup that overflows.

But how can we sing this hymn?
How can we claim this psalm as our own?

Only by loosing our grip.
Only by opening our hands.
Only by letting go of the tatters of our faith.

Will we take flight?
We won’t know until we do it.

But here is the thing my friends.

In the face of this pandemic,
in the wake of this global crisis,
in the shadow of the the climate emergency,
and in the presence of our most vulnerable neighbours …
everything is bullshit but the open hand.

While it is all so precarious,
and the world is wracked by anxiety,
it takes an audacious and open-handed spirituality
to confess:

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.

This isn’t cheap piety.
This is faith in the face of crisis.

Insisting that goodness is stronger than evil,
life is stronger than death,
the divine breath is stronger than a wind-borne virus,
and everything is bullshit but the open hand,
this psalm just might be a beautiful light shining in the night,
showing the way home,
liberating our imaginations.

Song:  “The Whole Night Sky” (Bruce Cockburn)

They turned their backs
I made it too hard
Every place they touched me
Is a laceration now

Sometimes a wind comes out of nowhere
And knocks you off your feet
And look, see my tears
They fill the whole night sky
The whole night sky

Derailed and desperate
How did I get here?
Hanging from this high wire
By the tatters of my faith

Sometimes a wind comes out of nowhere
And knocks you off your feet
And look, see my tears
They fill the whole night sky
The whole night sky

Sometimes a wind comes out of nowhere
And knocks you sideways
And look, see my tears
They fill the whole night sky
The whole night sky

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,
he restores my soul.

Shepherd God,
we thank you that you do not leave us alone,
we thank you that you lead us,
even when we do not see your hand.

[silent and spoken prayers]

Shepherd God,
Hear our prayers.

You lead me in righteousness,
for your name’s sake.

Even though I walk through
the darkest valley,
I fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.

Shepherd God,
we pray for those who are in dark valleys;
we pray for the sick, the lonely,
for those who mourn;
we pray for a world of exiles,
a world of dark valleys.

[silent and spoken prayers]

Shepherd God,
Hear our prayers.

You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
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 my Lord,
forever.

Reflection Song: “God is my Shepherd” (Brian Houston)

God is my shepherd
And I shall have no need
For he makes me to lie down
Where the fields are green

And he gives me quiet pools to drink from
And he lets me catch my breath
And he leads me where I’m meant to be
And keeps his promises

When the road I’m on goes thru
the shadow of death
I know that I need fear no ill
for he walks ahead

Like a faithful Father
he makes me feel secure
And I’m gonna serve in the house of God
Forever and ever more

You serve a six-course dinner Lord
in the presence of my foes
For I know you’re not ashamed of me,
And my cup overflows

Your goodness and your mercy
I know every day
And home to me is where you are
and its where I want to stay

I have no need to fear that you would leave
or the slamming of the door
for I found a place to rest my head
forever and ever more

Yea I found a place where I belong
forever and ever more