"Praying in the Valley"

“Praying in the Valley”
Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS
Worship in the Park,May 7, 2017
Psalm 23

Psalm 23 is one of the most beloved texts in all of scripture. My guess is that many of us here, even if we can’t recite many other things by memory, could recite the bulk of this psalm from memory.

In one sense, it seems a little daunting to preach this Psalm because - after all - what new thing could be said about it? It’s short. It’s sweet. It’s profound. It’s a prayer of deep trust that - even centuries later - continues to guide us in times of tragedy and pain.

Sometimes I think we (okay *I*) have a tendency to gloss over the basics of our faith. It’s fun to find a new hook or a twist in an old story. One of the things I love about that Bible is that I can come back to these old stories again and again and find new insights and meaning.

But sometimes I think there is value in simply holding up an old and sacred text to the light and giving thanks for it goodness just as it is. No twist, no newfound meaning required.

I think the reason this text is sacred to so many is because it gets at the very core of what it means to be a human seeking religious understanding. Religion is a word with a lot of baggage, I know. To me it just means a worldview - a way of understanding what life is all about. Many religions, it seems, also help us deal with the core existential crisis of being human - our immortality. It can be deeply unbearable to walk through our lives with the knowledge that death is inevitable. Not just our own deaths, of course, but the deaths of so many.

We live in a world where death and crisis is seemingly always-present…..a friend told me just earlier this week how jarring it was to be enjoying time with her family and BAM - a text message arrived alerting her of a loved one’s death.

Images of pain and violence in near and far-off places assault us in the news. Some of us lost sleep this past week, I know, thinking about the millions who might soon have their access to healthcare restricted. Those who have serious health concerns can’t always access the care they need. For them, death seems near. Some of us spent time in tears this week, wondering how on earth we will ever find a way to keep black lives safe in a society steeped in racism. We ponder the life of Jordan Edwards and too many others like him - sacred and beloved children of God turned into hashtags. For too many of God’s beloved children, death seems near.

And so - to cope with all of these crises….the ones that come from the result of evil systems and the ones that happen naturally because we are simply human - to cope, we tell ourselves stories about what it means to live and die. What it means to be human.

This Psalm carries within it beautiful imagery of what it means to be human - walking in the valley of the shadow of death. The version in our hymnal translates the Hebrew tsalmaveth as “darkest valley” but other English versions call it “the valley of the shadow of death.” Literally, walking with the realization that - even if we could get rid of systemic evil, even if we had a perfect government - we are all mortal and our bodies will not last forever.

The Psalmist proclaims that though he walks with this deep awareness of his own human limitations - though he knows that the ultimate tragedy of death may befall him at any moment - he does not fear evil because God is with him.

Now I want us to notice something interesting - in all of the things God the Shepherd does in this Psalm, none of them really change potential outcomes. The Psalmist isn’t saved from death. He is led by God. He walks with an awareness of God’s presence. He is comforted and sustained by the shepherd. He is nourished and fed by God’s abundance. And he dwells comfortably in the presence of God’s his whole life long.

The valley of the shadow of what it means to be human still hangs over his head. The difference is, with faith in God, it is somehow more bearable.

We all walk through the valley of the shadow of death in one way or another. Our religion - our faith - is what we tell ourselves to make it through the journey.

The image of someone walking through a valley shadowed by death reminds me of the big battle scene near the end of Rogue One, the most recent Star Wars story to be released on film. Star Wars is, of course, practically a religion all its own. “May the Force be with you…” (And also with you.)

So in Rogue One there is a beloved character named Chirrut Imwe. He is this magnificent, wise guardian. And in the Battle of Scarif, as the Rebel forces are quite literally walking in the valley of the shadow of the Imperial Death Star, Chirrut plays an incredibly important role. When he learns that the master switch has to be flipped in order for the successfully transmission of the Death Star plans to the other Rebels, Chirrut essentially sacrifices himself to flip the switch.

Painstakingly, he steps right through the crossfire of the battle, walking slowly towards the master switch. And the whole time he chants his mantra, “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.” I should probably mention that Chirrut is blind. So he can’t see any of the deadly lasers that are whizzing past him. He is guided only by his faith that the Force is with him.

As he walks through the valley of the shadow of Death Star, Chirrut fears no evil because he is connected to something beyond himself. His mantra keeps him grounded and steady - just as the words of the 23rd Psalm have done for so many Jews and Christians who find themselves in deep valleys. You know, when Jesus breathed his last, the words on his lips were from a psalm. Seared into his soul, he held tightly to the prayers passed down to him from his faith ancestors. He prayed those ancient words as he walked through his own valley.

Chirrut successfully flips the switch - but his life is lost in the process. As he falls to the ground, his closest companion - Baze Malbus - runs to his side. Baze says, “Don’t go. I’m here.” And Chirrut responds, “It’s okay. It’s okay. Look for the Force. And you will always find me.”

Cradling his beloved brother in his arms, Baze responds, “The Force is with me. I am one with the Force. The Force is with me. I am one with the Force. And the Force is with me.”

The words we allow to sear our souls matter.

The poetry, music, language, art, prayer we consume forms our humanity in truly powerful ways. When we walk through valleys shadowed by death and pain, these faith mantras come to us and give us strength. As we pray our way through the valleys, we are reminded that we never walk alone.  And because we are not alone, we can persist. All the days of our lives.

 “God is my shepherd, I shall not want. God is my shepherd, I shall not want. God is my shepherd, I shall not want.”