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Hello and welcome to The Comfortable Words. Last week Julia moved us through a location exercise, and so I’ll begin with one and I want to reflect for a moment on Psalm 23, that favorite Psalm. So just take a moment and quiet yourself, take a deep breath, and get present to where you are today. To what’s happening around you, and what’s happening within you.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
The Good Shepherd guides from green pastures, to quiet waters, to deep dark valleys, to a protected banquet, and ultimately to home, to a dwelling with God. Where do you find yourself today? Where is your soul? Is it in a place of abundance, surrounded by green pastures? Maybe you have a sense of tranquility like the image of quiet waters suggests? Perhaps your soul is in a very different place — in the valley. Full of shadows and fear and anxiety. The next image is interesting — a banqueting table set in the midst of enemies. Maybe you feel provision and protection yet at the same time you sense the dangers lurking behind you. Where is your soul today?
In the Comfortable Words we are reflecting on the words of Jesus, or the words about Jesus, in the midst of an uncomfortable and discomforting times, a world where the state of our souls are constantly in flux.
The experience of life and our souls being in a state of flux is itself uncomfortable and sometimes discomforting. Movement and change is something we resist. Our souls long for home. But the Good Shepherd, Jesus, is always keeping us on the move and he reminds us that we’re not yet home. The Comfortable Words this week come from Matthew 14, where you see a few different movements. There are three movements that I want you to see.
The first movement is in the valley. The first part of Matthew 14 describes the violent murder of Jesus’ cousin, John the Baptist. But not just his cousin, his good friend. The one person who probably understood Jesus better than anyone. Jesus immediately got into a boat and “withdrew privately to a solitary place” (Mt. 14:13). I imagine that Jesus’ soul entered into a kind of valley of the shadow of death. Sadness and overwhelm. But Jesus is not alone in that valley because others are with him: “Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns.” For me, it’s a poignant picture of the state of the whole world. The crowds — whole mass of humanity — there in the valley of the shadow of death. And Jesus enters into it with them.
When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them… (Mt. 14:14)
Which is a pretty remarkable thing to consider because, I don’t know about you, but when I imagine a scene with crowds, my immediate feeling is not compassion. One person may be stupid, but a crowd of people are imbeciles. You call in security when you see a crowd. You need protection from crowds. But not Jesus. Jesus sees something deeper.
Earlier in Matthew, in chapter nine, there is a similar scene, and Matthew tells us exactly what Jesus saw.
When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. (Mt. 9:36)
Jesus saw through the eyes of a shepherd, and remarkably, he saw not just a mass of sheep, but the one sheep that needed rescuing. He saw the one that was harassed and helpless.
He sees where you are harassed and helpless. When I think of that word harassed, I think of something that happens over and over again. Something that piles up. Have you ever had one of those seasons in life where things pile up? I had one of those last month. One of my kids was in a terrible car accident. He came out of it miraculously, thank God. But the car didn’t. It looked like it was put in a trash compactor. And so we borrowed a car. Which was great until it broke down. And then broke down again the next week. And then Julia got this terrible mystery rash all over her body. It looked just like poison ivy but couldn’t be because she hadn’t been crawling around outside in the weeds. It turned out our dog had, and when you give your dog a full body hug after he rolls in poison ivy, you get poison ivy. And then one day my neck and shoulder froze up and I couldn’t move for three or four days. And right in the middle of this, I was riding my motorcycle out on a country road and I was leisurely following a Mack truck. I pulled up to a stop sign behind him and, in order to make room for another truck to turn down our road, he put his truck in reverse and started backing up — not realizing that I was behind him. So, yes, my motorcycle got run over by a truck. Fortunately, I jumped off just before he ran over me. That pretty much summed up life last month — I got run over by a Mack truck. Maybe you can relate.
The words that Jesus uses for harassed and helpless are quite vivid words. The word harassed in the literal root sense is “to flay” or strip, to skin. There is violent imagery under the surface. And the sense of the word helpless is “to fling, to be thrown, cast down.”
Our reflexive response when we are in the valley is to build a shelter. To protect ourselves. To keep the heat of the sun from beating down on us. But our shelters don’t hold up. And as soon as we realize that, I think there’s a temptation to sink into a kind of despair. And you begin to feel like what is momentary is really eternal. Nothing will change. Rescue seems out of reach. When you have seasons like that, it can feel like you’re not just in the valley but in the pit.
The Pilgrim’s Progress is an allegory told by John Bunyan. He wrote it while sitting in prison. It’s the story of a man named Christian on his way to the Celestial City, heaven. Along the way he encounters all kinds of trials and temptations before he finally arrives at home. One of them was the Slough of Despond, the place where his fears, doubts, and apprehensions, all gathered and settled around him like quicksand. Christian steps in, and because of the heaviness of the pack on his back, it slowly swallows him. That’s the temptation in the valley — to sink deeper and deeper into despair and despondency.
Fortunately, there is a way out. And it’s not through our own genius. It’s through his. We only call out for help. And he, being the Good Shepherd lifts us from our terrible state. He reminds us that this pit is not our final resting place. This is one stop on the road, not the final destination.
And that’s what happens here in Matthew 14. Jesus spends the day healing those who came to him. And as it gets late in the day, the disciples ask Jesus to send the crowds away to get some dinner so they catch some rest.
16 Jesus replied, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.”
17 “We have here only five loaves of bread and two fish,” they answered.
18 “Bring them here to me,” he said. 19 And he directed the people to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people. 20 They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over. 21 The number of those who ate was about five thousand men, besides women and children. (Mt. 14:15-21)
When my house guests go home after dinner, we are picking up the glasses and putting them in the dishwasher. It’s kind of boring. Can you imagine cleaning up after this house party? The disciples walking around picking up twelve basketfuls of leftovers, eyes popping out of their heads. What just happened?
In this one passage you see a movement from death valley to miracles on the mountaintop. And just like the valley, there is a temptation to set up camp. To settle down. The temptation in the valley was to sink into despair. The temptation on the mountain is to enshrine the moment. To build an altar and worship.
Isn’t it the case that when life is going great that you are like, “We are good, God. I like the mountain. You know what, I don’t even need a mountain. Green pasture is fine. I don’t mind a little manure smell. Still waters are fine enough, I don’t need a waterfall. Let’s just chill here awhile.”
When the Apostle John tells this story, he says that after the people saw this miraculous sign, all the healings and the miraculous feeding, they wanted to make Jesus king by force. They wanted to enshrine the moment. Just like we do.
But Jesus wouldn’t let them. He scooted out. He hit the road again. And just before he gives the benediction to the crowd, he does something that makes me feel very uncomfortable.
Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side. (Mt. 14:22)
In the valley we want to build a shelter. On the mountain we want to build an altar. Both are ways to stay put. But Jesus gives an invitation to get into the boat. To get moving again. To not despair the valley or enshrine the mountain because these are just mere stops along the way.
To journey with the one who had nowhere to lay his head. To be at home with the one who had no home here on earth. To remember that our home is in heaven. To remember that this life is a journey of faith.
This season I keep coming back to a song about finding your way home. It’s by Foy Vance, called Guiding Light, and there’s a link in the show notes. The lyrics go like this.
‘Cause the sun is low And I yet have still so far to go My lonely heart is beating so Tired of the wonder
…I’m thinking ‘bout my only friend And so I find my way home
‘Cause when I need to get home You’re my guiding light
The Lord is your Good Shepherd, friend. He makes you lie down. And he helps you get up. When you yet have so far to go, and when your lonely heart is beating so, he is your faithful friend who will lead you home.
I want to close with a prayer for today’s journey. Wherever you are, maybe you could put your hand over your heart or give the sign of the cross as I pray.
Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, you have brought me in safety to this new day: Preserve me with your mighty power, that I may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all I do, direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.