Darkest Valley and Deepest Intimacy

Last week I shared that God is doing a new thing in me. I am noticing an awakening in my soul. I don’t know exactly where God is leading, but I am following. I taught our online Bible study last week on Psalm 23, and I shared some of my learning with you here. We looked at the way God is a Shepherd to us, and we learned that God leads and provides for us because that is Who God is! This week we are getting a bit personal.

Verses 1-3 of Psalm 23 speak of God, Yahweh, the Shepherd, in third person. The psalmist is talking about God. Beginning in verse 4 though, the pronouns shift to first person. Let’s review the verse before we look deeper:

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.

Why does it matter that the pronouns change in verse 4? It matters because it shows us the shift to a personal relationship. As the psalmist walks through the dark valley, he turns to God and finds God present and steady. Isn’t that what we need too? When we enter into a dark valley, we want a personal God who is attentive and steady and present to us. And that is exactly why the psalmist is expressing thanksgiving and trust. Instead of the cries for help that we see so often in the psalms, we see unwavering confidence in God’s care and God’s power to deliver. The psalmist’s problem is no longer front and center. He instead provides concrete testimony to answered prayer and to God’s trustworthiness.

The New Interpreter’s Bible One Volume Commentary related the idea that the theology we learn about God shifts into a deep relationship with God when we move through dark valleys. The author referred to the paradox that God’s care becomes known in suffering (page 316).

I will be honest. I have found that to be absolutely true. The times in my life when I have been in deep grieving and pain have been the very times when I found God to be most present. I thought at first it might be that God was all I had left - at least that is how I expressed it in the moment. But now I am not sure that really gets at it. In my most desperate moments of grief and suffering, I found God present in a way that I could not imagine before my great loss. God met me there and held me there and stayed steadfastly beside me there. I am not sure I would have been open and capable of experiencing God’s presence in the same way had I not been in deep darkness. I believe God gives a special grace to us when our suffering is deep and when we call on God in that suffering.

And then the psalmist states that he fears no evil - even though the darkness is deep and all-encompassing.

Verse 4 is the structural and theological center of this psalm. We hear the psalmist say that even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil. It is interesting to note that the Hebrew words for evil (ra’) and shepherd (ra’ah) are very similar. The commentary related this as pitting evil and the shepherd against one another. The threat is real, but not to be feared because the Shepherd is enough.

And then the psalmist pivots to explain why he is not afraid in the midst of the darkest valley.

for you are with me

This is a personal and intimate statement. And it calls us to recount another advent word we are familiar with.

Emmanuel - God with us.

We can walk through the darkest valley that life throws at us and not be afraid because God is with us. Emmanuel is with us and among us.

Here is my testimony of that truth: All though my adult life, my most desperate fear was losing my husband. It is kind of hard to even say. I had a very real, crippling fear of being widowed. I’m not really sure that I’ve ever shared that in my story before. But I can remember moments of absolute terror as I struggled with the panic of being left alone as an adult. And then it happened - the very worst thing I could imagine came true.

And God was present.

I grieved deeply. My heart felt like it was shattered into a million pieces. The road has been long and painful and lonely. And also, God has been present with me in every moment. Both are true. God being with us doesn’t remove the pain or the fear or the grief, or even the long agonizing road we walk through those dark valleys. But God is present with us. The Shepherd who leads us is Emmanuel, God with us.

Next week, we will look at the big wide table God has set for us and we will learn more about God’s character. Until then, remember that wherever you find yourself right now, God is with you.

My Shepherd

I was given the opportunity to teach our online Bible study this week. The topic was Psalm 23. I have heard it over and over throughout my life, and so I thought, “this should be fun and fairly easy.” Wow. Little did I understand the depth of this brief, familiar psalm. We heard it as children and were comforted by it as adults. But there is SO much more.

I should also say: God is up to something with me. I have taught studies before. I’ve lead small groups, and given Emmaus talks. Each and every time, I memorized words and shared them with great anxiety, expecting judgement and being critical of any mistake or falter. I really didn’t like public speaking - even in small groups. I felt vulnerable and unqualified.

But our God is always doing a new thing. My pastor has been mentoring me for the past year and a half. She sees something in me that I’ve never seen - something I’ve never allowed myself to even dream of. Here is the simple (and profound) fact: I love teaching. I love the process of diving deep into a scripture passage or book, learning as much as I can about it, and then sharing it with others to educate and disciple. And I don’t have that familiar anxiety and critical spirit. I feel alive and fully myself. Double Wow.

God is moving me toward something, and I am still discerning what that means. But I am ready and excited and anticipating something beautiful. Because when I open myself up, with all of my gifts and passions and quirks, Spirit embodies me in a way I didn’t think was possible. And I can’t wait for a next time.

For the next few weeks, I want to share with you some my learning from Psalm 23. I am excited and energized by this psalm and all of its richness. So let’s start with verses 1-3. May we hear this familiar passage in a fresh new way.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

2 He makes me lie down in green pastures;

he leads me beside still waters;

3 he restores my soul.

He leads me in right paths

for his name’s sake.

The psalm starts with Yahweh, the name God revealed to Moses. And spoiler alert: we will see the psalm end with Yahweh too. Its a little trick called inclusio that writers use when they begin and end with a particular word or concept. In this case, the God who revealed God’s self to us is the beginning and end of this psalm of thanksgiving. We are surrounded and encircled by a God who wants to be known. How beautiful is that!

We often visualize shepherds as cute kids in bathrobes because that is what we see in nativity plays during Advent and Christmas. And shepherding was often considered a lowly profession. But in ancient times, kings were also referred to as the shepherds of their people because they guided and protected them. So there is a royal connotation here too. So as the psalmist declares The Lord is my shepherd, they are declaring loyalty to God and an intention to live under God’s reign.

I think it is important to say here that sheep are completely dependent on their shepherd. But they are not frightened, passive animals. Instead they are obedient followers, wise enough to follow the One who will lead them in right ways and to right places. The psalmist doesn’t focus on the animal-like qualities of sheep but on the discipleship qualities of those who follow. I want to be wise enough to follow the One who leads me - because I love and trust God, but also because God knows how and where to lead me.

So God, Yahweh, is my shepherd. And because of that, I have everything I need. That is a lot of goodness right there in verse 1, but then the psalmist goes on to describe what he needs and how God meets those specific needs. The shepherd leads us into green pastures - a place where food and security is abundant - and beside still waters - where there is plenty of water to quench thirst and refresh our tired souls. The Shepherd restores our souls, renews our strength and keeps us alive!

This next part is my favorite! Our Shepherd leads us in right paths - to avoid danger and provide shelter, to lead us to that green pasture and still water, where we have all that we need. And why does the Shepherd do this? for his name’s sake - because that is who the Shepherd is! It is in God’s nature to care for us, to provide for us, to lead us. We are simply to follow our Shepherd.

And here is another cool piece: the 2 Hebrew verbs used here are the same verbs that were used in Exodus 15:13. It is a song celebrating the way God led the Israelites out of Egypt. The Hebrew people’s most significant story of being led and provided for by Yahweh uses the same language we see here. And that same language is also used in Isaiah 40:11, where God is portrayed as the Shepherd who lead the Israelites out of exile. God has been leading God’s people from the very beginning - and we can trust that God is still leading us today.

There is some cool foreshadowing here in the phrase for his name’s sake. We are going to find some language later in verse 6 that reminds us of 2 of God’s most fundamental characteristics. But for now, we simply trust. Trust that God is leading us in the right direction along the right paths. Trust that God is providing all we need. Trust that God is always restoring our souls. And we are trusting because God’s fundamental nature is to care for us.

Next week we are going to look at what happens in the dark valleys when we turn to the One who leads us. I can’t wait to share it with you - that is where scripture gets really personal for me.

My Shepherd is leading me, and I want to follow obediently. Where is Shepherd leading you right now?

Hope

Last week was Easter - its hard to believe it was only a week and a half ago. The past 10 days have felt like they contained an eternity. A lot has been going on for me and I am finding it hard to hold it all. While I am breathing deep, I am still processing the lessons from Lent and Easter - especially the presence of hope.

Hope is an obvious part of Easter, and I did process some of my thoughts about that last week in this space. But I am still hungry for hope right now, and I want to know more.

What difference does hope make?

What does hope look like?

How can I hold on to hope in challenging days or seasons?

What if I can’t find hope?

That is a lot of questions for a 4-letter word, isn’t it? However, I really do believe that hope is a key part of our Christ-following journey - and I think it is a key part of our wholeness and well-being.

I will warn you now: I don’t have any hard and certain answers. I can only share observations as a fellow traveler.

What difference does hope make? Psychology says that hope implies that there is the possibility of a better future; that who we are and what we do makes a difference. Research shows that hope can help us manage stress and anxiety and cope with adversity. Hope is the thing that encourages us to keep going when the road is dark and the obstacles feel insurmountable. The Bible reminds us that God gives us hope (Jeremiah 29:11) and in Romans 15:13, Paul calls God the God of hope. A quote that speaks to me about the necessity of hope is from Thich Nhat Hanh. He says:

Hope is important because it can make the present moment less difficult to bear. If we believe that tomorrow will be better, we can bear a hardship today.

So if hope matters to me and to my journey, then how do I know it when I see it?

What does hope look like? Desmond Tutu said, “Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.” I love that quote and its beautiful word picture. I can relate to the dark and the light. But I want more nitty gritty, granular details. So I began thinking of places I have seen or felt hope and how they were connected.

Hope felt like my parents driving 6 hours down to Florida the day my husband died. It felt like my best friend holding space for me when I was sad and overwhelmed last week.

Hope looks like my son taking pictures of the sunset. It looks like the orange daisies the boys picked out for me for Easter because they know I love the color.

Hope smells like the forest on Monte Sano trails. It smells like the first cup of coffee in the morning.

Hope sounds like my friend’s voice calling to remind me that I am loved. It sounds like harmonies sung during worship on Sunday morning.

I’ve never found hope in a big flashy way. Hope comes to me in the small moments and experiences all around me. But I have to be looking. I have missed plenty of hope-filled moments when I was distracted or cranky or just not paying attention. Hope comes to me in the noticing of everything around me.

How can I hold on to it in challenging days or seasons? This is a hard question. It is easy to have hope when life is sunny and full of joy. But let’s be honest - there are plenty of dark and difficult days too, when hope is harder to grasp. Brene Brown says in The Gifts of Imperfection, “Hope is not an emotion; it’s a way of thinking or a cognitive process.” So at least in part, hope is a choice. There are seasons when I have to choose hope over and over again, purposefully and willfully, in defiance of my feelings and fears. On these days, when hope feels so foreign, I can choose hope by reminding myself of where I have seen God in the past, knowing that God is still present and steadfast today. One of my favorite verses speaks to that: Psalm 62:5, “Let all that I am wait quietly before God, for my hope is in God.”

What if I can’t find it? Truthfully, sometimes I still can’t find it, despite my desperation and longing. So what then? For me, I turn to my friends, who hold my hands in the dark. I turn to the psalms, where naming and expressing every emotion is modeled. And I look behind me, at all of the places God has been faithful. Anne Lamott speaks to this persistent seeking:

Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.

My friends, when you feel most unsure, most powerless, reach out for hope. Ask a friend or a mentor to hold the light for you. Remind yourself of all the times that God’s steadfast love has been present and sure. Hope is there. Easter teaches us that. I’m going to keep searching for hope. I hope you will too. Where do you see hope today?

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.”

— Emily Dickinson

Connected in Story: The End and Beginning

In Which We Find That Hope Wins…

I have been thinking a lot about what I’ve learned in the last 7 weeks. Lent is a time for contemplation, and here on the blog, I’ve done that through the lens of my favorite stories. I have been reminded that relationship and connection is the glue that holds our stories together. I have been marinating in the idea that authenticity and vulnerability are the gateway to connection.

We need one another. We are literally built to connect with God and one another and creation. But that is hard, y’all. From the very first time we sense judgement or feel afraid of being unloved, we begin to armor up and hide the bits of ourselves that are most Real.

It takes raw courage to take off that armor, and some of us spend a lifetime trying to uncover who we are.

On Easter Sunday, as my pastor prayed, she used the phrase “Easter people.” I’ve heard that phrase before, but it hit me differently this year. I started to consider what that looks like practically. First, here is the truth: being Easter people does not mean everything is easy and happy all the time. Being Easter people is not about the cute springy clothes we wear on that Sunday or the perfectly decorated Easter baskets we give.

I think being Easter people is more like an egg hunt. It is holding our empty baskets and hoping to find something beautiful. It is looking behind bushes to find that thing you know is there, but you can’t quite imagine yet. It is seeing that purple egg just beyond your reach and asking your friend to help you. An egg hunt takes work and persistence and not giving up until the last egg is uncovered. It is hope embodied.

All of our hope hangs on Easter. Easter Sunday is the day that the darkness and somber tone of Lent turns to hopeful expectation. We have hope because of the resurrection, because Jesus showed us that death does not have the final word. We see it every spring: the cold and dark of winter fades away, and life begins to break through. Trees bud and birds sing and baby animals are born. Life wins. Hope wins.

Now I have to be absolutely honest here. Life does renew itself. AND also suffering leaves its mark. Both/And. Both are true and both exist in the same place. Jesus showed us that. Yes, he lived again, but there were still scars. The joy of resurrection did not erase the trauma and suffering of “good” Friday. Suffering marks us - not just with scars but also with compassion and understanding. We are different people when we walk through the valley of Lent and come out on the Easter side. That is why it is so important that we do not rush our way to Easter without the Lenten journey. God knows our propensity for seeking the easy way to happiness. Because of God’s kindness and grace, we are given the option of the slow and contemplative route to Easter.

We have been talking about stories this season - especially the way our story fits into The Story. Last week, I talked about Frodo and Sam. About their friendship and the way Sam held his friend in his darkest moments until the struggle ended. Today I want to remind you that your story matters. Hope wins in you. Hope in the middle of our struggles bring transformation and new life. God is present with you as you are writing your story.

I will leave you with one last quote to finish our series. In it, we see Frodo and Sam, battle-worn and looking for some sign of hope to hold on to. We need this hope. We embody this hope as Easter people.

Frodo: I can’t do this Sam.

Sam: I know. It’s all wrong

By rights we shouldn’t even be here.

But we are.

It’s like in the great stories Mr. Frodo.

The ones that really mattered.

Full of darkness and danger they were,

and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end.

Because how could the end be happy.

How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened.

But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow.

Even darkness must pass.

A new day will come.

And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer.

Those were the stories that stayed with you.

That meant something.

Even if you were too small to understand why.

But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand.

I know now.

Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t.

Because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding on to, Sam?

Sam : That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.

My friends, live your hope-filled stories. When the hope is hard to find, remember that hope and love and life always win, not matter how hard it is to find them in the Lenten desert days. May we live as Easter people.

Connected in Story: Chapter Six

In which our friends carry us through….

We’ve journeyed six weeks into Lent together. Six weeks to tell our stories and to walk with Jesus. Six weeks of Lent to tell our truths and to see the ways that our story fits into The Story God has been telling since the beginning of time. The Story - full of joy and pain, full of sacrifice and redemption. We have peered through the lens of the stories I have loved throughout my life, simple stories that remind us of profound truth.

Winnie the Pooh reminds us that community is where we live out our story. Anne of Green Gables helps us find home within community and within ourselves. Harry Potter shows us the power of ordinary people living their heroic stories. Star Wars helps us find connection in something bigger than ourselves. And the Velveteen Rabbit taught us that even when life leaves us shabby and worn, we can be authentic and loved by those who understand our story.

This week, we are traveling to Middle Earth because a ring has been found that threatens all of creation.

Now I must be truthful here: I saw the movies before I read the book - almost unheard of for me. I am a strong believer that the book is always better - always. But I fell in love with this story because of the spectacular beauty in the movies. I did read and enjoy this book, but it is a little bit of a commitment. The 50th anniversary edition is one volume of 1178 pages.

For those of you who may not have read the 455,125 words, The Lord of the Rings, written by JRR Tolkien, is an epic story of heroism, friendship and sacrifice. A young Hobbit named Frodo Baggins is tasked with destroying the One Ring in the Fires of Mount Doom where it was forged. Powerful forces are unrelentingly searching for The Ring, but Frodo is surrounded by 8 companions to help him in the journey. One friend in particular, Samwise Gamgee is loyal and compassionate and vows to stay with Frodo no matter what. The Ring takes its toll on the Fellowship and on Frodo and Sam. At the end of the journey, when Frodo can’t find the strength to go on, it is Sam who holds Frodo and the mission together.

“Come on Mr Frodo!” He cried. “I can’t carry it (the Ring) for you, but I can carry you.”

And Sam literally carries Frodo the rest of the way up the mountain. This is a true picture of our closest relationships. When we literally have no strength left, when we cannot see the way through, God gives us faithful companions to carry us and our broken dreams.

We are not created for isolation. We are made for relationships. Yes, relationships are challenging and vulnerable, but they are essential. One thing the stories I have shared throughout Lent have in common is the relationships that enrich the lives of those who tell their stories.

Pooh has Piglet, Tigger, Eeyore, Rabbit, Kanga and Roo - and of course Christopher Robin.

Anne has Diana, her bosom friend.

Harry Potter has Ron and Hermione.

Han Solo has Luke and Leia and Chewbacca.

The Velveteen Rabbit has the Boy and the Skin Horse.

And Frodo? Frodo has dear Sam. Sam, who refuses to leave his side. Sam, who leaves behind the safety of the Shire to help him reach his destination. Sam, who looks after Frodo and defends him against some pretty terrifying creatures. Sam, who carries Frodo up Mount Doom when there is no other way.

Please nurture your deepest relationships. Find your tribe and love them hard. Risk your carefully guarded heart and be authentic. Pour into your people and let them pour into you.

For me, I have people who have guarded my heart and carried me when I had no strength left. They have seen possibilities and helped me dream. They believe in me and hope with me and cry with me and celebrate transformation in me.

This is what we are meant for - love and belonging and authenticity. Jesus modeled this for us while he was here on earth. He had a crowd of followers, but he also had a group of twelve men, a group of women who loved and followed him faithfully, and a small group of three, who he trusted to go with him to the garden.

I am so grateful for Caleb and Cole and Jack and Sandy. For Mary, Jared, Jackson, Andy, April, Abbey, Drew, Kate, Lisa, and Tommy. For Belinda and Carol and Allison and Denise. These are my people and I need them. I depend on them, and they believe in me. I am a better human because they are in my life, in my corner cheering me on and doing life with me.

Who are your people? Name them here and thank them today.