A PSALM OF David.
1The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
2He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake.
4Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
5You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD
forever.
Original Meaning
THIS IS, OF course, one of the most familiar and favored poems in the entire book. Such familiarity often heightens the difficulty of commentator and reader alike to read the psalm anew and to prevent traditional understandings from blinding them to the depths of meaning the psalm offers. At its heart Psalm 23 is an expression of confidence in the protective care of Yahweh, upon whom the psalmist expresses absolute dependence. In this regard the psalm is a fitting response to the themes introduced in Psalm 22, where the narrator calls contemporary Israel to acknowledge their dependence on Yahweh (22:23, 27–29) and vows to praise his name (22:22; cf. 23:3) in the midst of the congregation and to future generations (22:30–31).
Psalm 23 presents a sort of “sandwich” structure, with sections referring to Yahweh in the third person occurring before (23:1–3) and after (23:6) a central section using second-person address of God (23:4–5). A fuller structural outline of the psalm includes an introduction establishing the shepherd images and the theme of trust (23:1), Yahweh’s leading his “sheep” into abundant life (23:2–3), Yahweh’s providing his “sheep” with secure life (23:4), Yahweh’s blessing of the trusting faithful (23:5), and a concluding expression of confidence (23:6).
The psalm also presents an assortment of themes and images that continue to reappear in the following collection of Psalms 24–30. Chief among these is the emphasis on the “house” or “dwelling” of Yahweh, where the psalmists hope to find protection and security. This concern surfaces in the liturgical preparations to enter the temple precincts recorded in Psalm 24, the expression of love for Yahweh’s dwelling place in 26:8, the psalmist’s earnest seeking to dwell in the house of Yahweh in 27:4–5, the lifting up of one’s hands toward Yahweh’s “holy place” in 28:2, the acknowledgement of all who are in the temple of Yahweh’s glorious kingship in 29:9, and finally the heading linking Psalm 30 to the “dedication of the temple.” This constellation of recurring themes in so many adjacent psalms can hardly be coincidence and must be explored as each psalm is considered.
The Heading (23:0)
NO NEW TERMS appear in the heading to Psalm 23, which is described simply as a “psalm [mizmor] of David.”1
Introduction (23:1)
THE OPENING VERSE establishes the dominant theme of the first four verses. That Yahweh is “shepherd” is consistent with claims elsewhere that he is “king,” since ancient Near Eastern monarchs also described themselves as shepherding their people and understood their gods as fulfilling this role as well.2 As shepherds, such kings understood their responsibility to provide protective order for their people and to administer just and effective laws.
It is especially significant within the continuing context of the consecutive Psalms 18–23 that the singular voice of the psalmist is associated—whether in reality or imagination—with the model king, David, who is particularly known for his shepherd experiences.3 That David, who understood himself to be the shepherd of Israel and who was acknowledged by the people as such, should speak of Yahweh as “my shepherd” (23:1) is a way of acknowledging that Yahweh is indeed the power behind the throne of David (and all the kings of Israel and Judah), and that in reality Yahweh is the true king of Israel. This theme finds its way throughout the remote corners of the Psalter, but it is especially prevalent in the final two books and concentrated in the Yahweh malak psalms in Book 4.4
I shall not be in want. The focus of the word “want” is not so much on the idea of “desiring” something as on “lacking” something needed. The psalmist does not mean that Yahweh shepherds us by giving us everything we desire. Rather, those who trust in Yahweh as sheep do in a shepherd will never lack for whatever they need. The NIV’s translation “I shall not be in want” succeeds in clarifying the true meaning of the phrase. In the verses that follow, the psalmist illustrates how the shepherd-God supplies abundantly all that his trusting people need.
Abundant Life (23:2–3)
THE SHEPHERD LEADS his sheep in pleasant places full of all the necessities of life: green pastures of grass and quiet streams providing water for drinking. Those who have visited the undeveloped lands of the Bible will know just how unusual this picture is. At best the land is a dry, rocky set of rolling hills covered with a sparse and tough grass. Water sources are few and often seasonal. Shepherds had to be ready to take their flocks on long migrations from one source of grazing and water to another.
The psalmist paints a scene of abundant life in three descriptive statements—each speaking of the shepherd in the third person and employing an imperfect verb form.5 The shepherd causes the sheep to lie down, makes them approach quiet waters carefully, and leads them faithfully on the correct paths. All three images emphasize the shepherd’s role as provider.
Obviously grass and water are the sheep’s staff of life, and the shepherd knows how to find them both and leads the hungering, thirsty sheep to them. Although “paths of righteousness” may have an unusual ring to our ears, it can mean no more than the “right path,” that is, the one that gets you where you need to go. The ambiguity of language and context, however, allows a moral quality to creep in. If the shepherd and sheep are images of a life fully dependent and trusting on Yahweh, then “paths of righteousness” take on the meaning of a way of life that fulfills God’s expectation for his follower. The sheep are not left to their own devices but are led by God himself to take the correct path—the one that gets the sheep where they need to go.
For his name’s sake. The shepherd (God) acts in ways that reveal and confirm his character and nature. In the Hebrew culture, a personal name was often thought to reveal the character of the individual named.6 God’s revelation to Israel of his personal name Yahweh at the time of the Exodus gave her unprecedented knowledge of his nature and access to him. This knowledge and access had to be protected by the prohibition against abusive use of the divine name.7 Closely related to this idea is the concept of reputation. To have a “name” is to bear a good reputation,8 while to be disreputable is to have no name at all (Job 30:8). Here, however, the shepherd/Yahweh acts to benefit the sheep, not just in order to preserve his character or reputation but in a way that is consistent with the nature the name reveals.
Secure Life (23:4)
FROM A LIFE of abundant ease, the psalmist moves to a description of fearful threat. In the migration through the spring landscape in search of ever-elusive grass and water, the flock must pass at times into and through the deep, rugged wadis—dry stream beds cut through the semidesert hills by the seasonal torrents unleashed by the winter rains. The air in the bottom of these wadis is heavy with the rising heat of the day, and the canyon depths are swathed in dark shadows as the rising cliff walls exclude the distant sun. At this moment of crossing the wadi floor, the pleasant scenes of green pastures and still waters seem far removed—there is no grass or water, the heat can be oppressive, and the whole flock must struggle up the steep sides of the canyon to resume its journey toward the next feeding place.
Valley of the shadow of death. There is some evidence in Hebrew for the use of hyperbolic word constructions such as this one to express the superlative—the most extreme. The Hebrew word ṣalmawet is apparently a combination of two words: ṣel (“shadow”) and mawet (“death”). Together these words express the superlative—in this case, something like “the shadowiest of all shadows.” Thus, contemporary translations tend to replace the traditional translation with the more prosaic “deepest shadow.”9 The LXX (skias thanatou) shows that the literal meaning was not entirely lost on the readers, and it is probable that the author of Psalm 23 used the phrase purposefully to emphasize the danger and threat that confronted the flock in crossing these wadis.
I remember hiking down Wadi Qelt from Jerusalem to Jericho with a friend. A narrow, ancient Roman aqueduct, still flowing with water, clung to the canyon wall at a height of several hundred feet. We began our journey following the rugged footpath on the opposite canyon wall, dipping at points to the bottom of the wadi and back up the other side. It took only about two such trips down into the shadowy depths of the stifling heat at the wadi bottom (and this was in the early morning!) and scrambling back up the steep limestone wall to regain the path, before we overcame our natural reluctance of heights and continued our journey walking along the outer rim of the aqueduct—or, in the most narrow portions, in the aqueduct itself.
Even so my two-liter bottle of water was depleted halfway through our journey. When we stopped at St. George’s monastery to replenish our supply, the water tap in the courtyard first emitted only steam, and then a grudging stream of almost boiling water. I had enough trouble dragging myself up and down those rocky hills. I cannot imagine the difficulty of herding a whole flock of sheep through the “valley of the shadow of death.”
I will fear no evil. Despite the oppressive and threatening setting, the psalmist/sheep is unafraid. Because he fears Yahweh, he need not fear anything else. The rugged circumstances offered every reason for fear. On my personal journey down Wadi Qelt, dehydration was a real possibility. I also remembered halfway through the trip that this was the remote location on the way “down from Jerusalem to Jericho” that Jesus’ Good Samaritan saved the life of the man who had been robbed and left for dead by thieves (Luke 10:25–37). The psalmist’s very real reasons for fear fade, however, in the presence of the shepherd/Yahweh.
Your rod and your staff. The psalmist of Psalm 22, when taunted by foes crying “He trusts in the LORD; let the LORD rescue him” (22:8a), responds with an affirmation of trust and confidence: “You who fear the LORD, praise him! . . . For he has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted one; he has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help.” Similarly, our psalmist knows that it is the presence of Yahweh’s rod and staff that vanquishes fear before the dependent flock. Life with the shepherd is secure; the rod and staff will guide and protect.
Both terms employed here are variously translated in different contexts. Either can be called a “staff, (walking) stick” for support while walking, presumably used by the shepherd to guide the movement of the flock by pushing and striking the sheep. If there is any clear distinction between the two, it is likely that “rod” (šebeṭ) is a shorter, mace-like implement that could be used as a striking weapon for raining heavy blows against enemy or attacking beast. “Rod” can also assume in royal contexts the meaning “scepter” and becomes a visible ornament of kingly authority. Graphic depictions of such royal scepters—usually a short, rod-like handle with a heavy striking knob at the end—appear frequently in the paintings and reliefs of the ancient Near East. By contrast, the “staff” (mišʿenet) more frequently suggests a longer, supporting staff and is associated on occasion with the support of the sick or elderly.10
The “comfort” these implements provide is the reassurance of guidance in correct paths to abundant food and water, and of protection by the shepherd from the dangers and enemies encountered on the way between areas of pasturage. As the sheep trust the shepherd, so the psalmist encourages the reader to join in trusting Yahweh.
DESPITE THE ATTEMPTS by some commentators to understand verse 5 in the context of the shepherd’s relation to the flock,11 it seems more likely that here the image shifts in order to connect the psalmist’s message to the human audience explicitly. The image shifts, therefore, from the joys and threats of the migrating flock to the new picture of the beleaguered faithful affirmed and honored by God in the very presence of the enemy. In these verses, Yahweh is no longer shepherd but assumes the role of host, while the trusting follower sits as honored guest at his table. The picture is one of the realization of ultimate communion with God himself.12
To accept another as a guest at one’s table was to set aside enmity and to assume responsibility for the safety of the guest while in your dwelling. To sit at Yahweh’s table is to enjoy fellowship and communion with him. To do so “in the presence of my enemies” is to have one’s special relationship to God declared publicly in a context of divine blessing and security.
Dwelling in Yahweh’s House (23:6)
NOT ONLY DOES the psalmist sit as an honored guest at table with God, but he looks forward in confidence to dwelling in Yahweh’s house forever. This theme of residing with Yahweh, while not common, does occur with enough frequency in the psalms to make it remarkable.13
What might it mean to dwell in the house of Yahweh? (1) The idea of taking refuge in the temple comes to mind, in connection with the use in 23:6a of the verb rdp (“pursue after”). It is from such pursuit by a “blood avenger” that one might flee to the temple and claim asylum by grabbing the horns of the altar.14 Here, however, the term is used to describe the relentless pursuit of the psalmist by the “goodness and mercy” of God. In this view the psalmist, pursued by enemies, takes refuge in the temple and there experiences the relentless goodness and mercy of Yahweh. The earlier reference to sitting at table in the presence of the enemy thus describes the circumstance of the one in asylum who receives the protection and care of God while the enemy looks on.15
(2) While the idea of refuge or asylum is certainly a plausible response to this passage, it is not the only one. Dahood thinks of “eternal happiness in God’s celestial abode” after the troubles of this life. While it is true that God’s “house” may refer to his heavenly dwelling,16 such an other-worldly view is unlikely in this context. More attractive is Craigie’s recognition of Exodus themes in the language of the psalm. For Craigie, the transition from shepherd/sheep to host/guest turns on the recognition of a common “wilderness wandering” motif. As the sheep are guided in their trek through the desert by the caring shepherd, so Israel was guided through the Exodus wanderings by Yahweh, who provided their needs. Craigie particularly notes the similar language in Psalm 78:19, where Yahweh is described as “spreading a table in the desert” (cf. 23:5) as he provided for the Exodus Israelites.
Craigie goes on to connect this backward glance at the Exodus with anticipation of future eschatological feasting at God’s table.17 To me it seems more likely that the twin themes of provision in the desert and anticipation of dwelling in the temple resonate most strongly with the experience of exilic pilgrims on their journey (whether actually or mentally) from their Diaspora homes to celebrate communion with God and his gathered people in the Jerusalem temple. To these travelers—pointed toward the temple—the images of the guiding, protective shepherd and of the provisioning Exodus God offer the hope necessary to sustain them during their rough pilgrimage to Jerusalem and their lives in exile as well.18
Thus, these exilic pilgrims, with their remembrance of the past and anticipation of the future, provide the necessary “glue” to bind the two halves of Psalm 23 together—provision in the desert and dwelling in God’s house. Regardless of which interpretation one assumes, to dwell with God is a potent image of eternal security and ongoing relationship.
AS NOTED ABOVE, the theme of approaching and dwelling in the house of God binds together Psalms 23–30. In this group of psalms, the desire to dwell with God is related to Exodus and pilgrimage themes that were particularly meaningful to the exilic Jewish community, who lived far away from the spiritual center of their faith—the second temple in Jerusalem. These Diaspora Jews lived in a hostile foreign environment, where their faith was constantly being stretched and challenged by threats of destruction (cf. Esther; Dan. 3; 6) or where they were tempted to assimilate to the majority culture (cf. Dan. 1). Their faith was sustained—at least in part—by the hope of standing within the temple precincts and experiencing the communion of worship with the international fellowship of Diaspora pilgrims.
The idea of being able to dwell eternally in the temple, rather than worshiping only sporadically there on a pilgrimage, must have communicated the most fervent hope of the faithful exilic Jews, who lived at such great distance from this central, unifying image of the faith.19 It is little wonder that these images exercise such power in the Old Testament writings. As far as the Psalter goes, it is interesting to note that most of the references to “dwelling” in the house of Yahweh occur in the first three books of the collection (Pss. 1–89).20 Let’s explore further this magnificent image of residing in the presence of God.
House as temple. It is clear that the hope expressed is to dwell in the temple and not simply to be with God in his heavenly dwelling. In 27:4 and 65:4 the “house” (bet) of Yahweh is parallel with the more explicit word hekal (“temple, palace”).21 In 26:8, the house is the “place where your glory dwells”—an allusion to the presence of Yahweh’s kabod in the Most Holy Place. Finally, the psalmist in Psalm 84 refers to the altar and singing praises (84:2–4), both indicating that the temple of Yahweh is in mind.
The temple is a symbol of Yahweh’s presence with Israel. It is here that God “comes down” in a special way to be with his people. It is here that they can approach him, knowing they will find him. As Psalm 24 so appealingly describes, the temple is the place where a prepared people (24:3–6) and a mighty, victorious God converge in worship. To be present in the temple is to be before God—to have access to him in lament, praise, and thanksgiving. To be ever dwelling in the temple, then, means to remain always in God’s caring and effective presence—to escape the sense of distance and absence that must have plagued the days of the exilic Jewish community living at great distance from the spiritual center the temple afforded and in the midst of often dangerous and hostile circumstances.
Temple as place of refuge. The Deuteronomic legislation provided that those who were fleeing vengeance for a death they had accidentally caused could find asylum in a “place” Yahweh would designate. Certain cities are listed as places of refuge to which such persons could flee.22 That Jerusalem—and in particular, the altar of the temple—became one of these places is implied, though never stated unambiguously. According to Exodus 21:14, should a person guilty of deliberate murder seek asylum inappropriately, the authorities should “take him away from my altar and put him to death” (“my altar” implies the temple was considered a place of asylum). The narratives in 1 Kings regarding how both Adonijah and Joab sought asylum by seizing the “horns of the altar” in the Jerusalem temple lend weight to this view.23
Certain other passages in the psalms reflect this understanding of the temple as providing protective refuge for those pursued by vengeful enemies. When Yahweh is described as “covering with his wings” those who seek refuge, there may be more in view than the protective care of a mother fowl for her offspring. The wings may well be a reference to the cherubim whose spreading wings overshadowed the ark of the covenant in the temple.24 Psalm 36:7–8 brings together these two images of refuge under the wings and dwelling in the house of God: “Both high and low among men find refuge in the shadow of your wings. They feast on the abundance of your house.” While it seems unlikely that the ark itself could have served as the place of refuge—since access to the Most Holy Place and the ark was limited to the high priest alone—this metaphorical use of the ark as place of asylum is understandable since it was the place where forgiveness was extended through the yearly sacrifice of the sin offering for all the people.
In this light the picture in 23:5–6 of the beleaguered psalmist being treated with great honor and care “in the presence of my enemies” may refer to the experience of one’s enjoying asylum in the temple while enemies waited for an opportunity to carry out their vengeance. In the legislation concerning cities of refuge, the one who sought refuge was safe as long as he remained in the designated city. The refugee had to remain there until the death of the current high priest,25 but then he could return home with impunity.
Dwelling as more than asylum. Although the idea of temple as refuge lends a certain light on the interpretation of these passages, dwelling in the house of God seems to mean more than a place of security from pursuing enemies. Note how the psalmist desires to “dwell in the house of the LORD forever,” which suggests more than escaping an immediate threat. Dwelling in God’s house is viewed in these passages as an expansive rather than a restrictive experience.
One does not just escape vengeance and impending death but experiences abundance and delight: “[People] feast on the abundance of your house; you give them drink from your river of delights” (36:8). Yahweh is here viewed as opulent host who exercises liberal hospitality to his guests, who are honored to have been chosen to live with God and who are “satisfied with the goodness” of Yahweh’s house. Dwelling in God’s house, therefore, is an experience of blessing and honor as well as protection. In this context, Psalm 23’s spread table, anointed head, and overflowing cup are the gracious ministrations of a welcoming host, who lavishes honor, care, abundant goodness, and protective care on his guest.26
Ongoing experience of God himself. Dwelling in God’s house is also an opportunity to experience God intimately on an ongoing basis. The one who sits at table with the divine host is treated to a feast of the presence of God as well as to gourmet table delicacies. Psalm 27:4 captures this hope magnificently when the psalmist declares: “One thing I ask of the LORD, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to seek him in his temple.” Dwelling with Yahweh affords the guest opportunity to experience the “beauty” (noʿam) of God. The Hebrew word noʿam comes from the root nʿm, which has the meaning “be pleasant, delightful” rather than the visually pleasing effect that we normally associate with “beauty.” Coming to Yahweh’s house is not only escape from enemies; it is escape to the very presence of God himself.27
The source of light and life. To come to the dwelling of God is to approach the very source of light and life. Where Yahweh dwells, there his “glory” penetrates and illuminates everything (26:8). On one level, the desire to live in the house of Yahweh is a plea for direct access to God. Along with constant view of the “delightfulness” of Yahweh, the guest in God’s house has the ability to “inquire” of God for guidance (27:4). Such guidance allows God’s guests to prosper on the way that God knows (1:6). They are described as flourishing trees; “planted in the house of the LORD, they will flourish in the courts of our God. They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green” (92:13–14).28
The hope expressed in Psalm 23 to “dwell in the house of Yahweh forever” is grounded in the belief that Yahweh is the source of life and light and that to dwell with him is to have eternal access to these resources. Thus the psalmist of Psalm 36:7, 9 declares: “How priceless is your unfailing love! . . . For with you is the fountain of life; in your light we see light.”
In other words, the desire to dwell in God’s house is more than just a hope to escape from the threats of our enemies. It more importantly involves coming into and remaining in the presence of God’s glory with all the necessary implications of personal preparation. Being in God’s presence implies the ability to gain divine guidance in following the way of Yahweh as well as to experience the blessing of the divine hospitality: abundant provision, steadfast love, forgiveness, protection, light, and life. In a sense, dwelling with God is to experience what Paul speaks of as the mature Christian’s goal: to see God face to face and to know him fully as one is first known by him (1 Cor. 13:12).
Contemporary Significance
PSALM 23 OFFERS several images of life with God that can have significant impact on how we live our contemporary lives of faith. In what follows I discuss three of these that I consider reflective of the heart of this psalm.
Life as pilgrimage. The idea of pilgrimage through dangerous territory to the house of God is subtly interwoven with the images of shepherd and flock. Pilgrimage was certainly one of the foundational elements of Israelite identity, even before the Exile. Israel remembered her earliest ancestors as “wandering Arameans” (Deut. 26:5) who survived the sojourn in Egypt before receiving the Promised Land. Abraham too left home and family to travel endlessly in search of the new home God had promised. After the Exodus, Israel as a nation experienced forty years or more of wandering before entering the Promised Land.
During the Exile the exilic community came to think of their life outside the land as a new form of Egyptian bondage and their hoped-for return as another Exodus. With the rebuilding of the second temple as a spiritual center for Diaspora Judaism, pilgrimage to Jerusalem became an important way to maintain a universal Jewish identity. Worship in the temple provided an important opportunity for an international community of Jews to come together in an expression of unity: the worship of the one true God, Yahweh.
Pilgrimage to the Promised Land reinforced the exilic Jews’ sense of temporary residence in the lands of exile. They were “passing through” and looking forward to reaching the land promised to their ancestors. The pressures of living in a hostile, non-Jewish environment were similar to those dangers confronted by pilgrims on their way to the Jerusalem temple. Continued focus on the goal kept both sets of pilgrims—real and metaphorical ones—faithful to Yahweh in difficult circumstances. The psalms of pilgrimage, with their attention to faithful living in the midst of the dangers of the journey, spoke to the needs of the everyday life of the exiles.
Pilgrimage remains an apt image for our continuing lives as Christians before God. It assumes that where one is now is not where one is heading. Hebrews 3 talks of the goal of God’s people as entering into the “rest” intended by him since the creation of the world and symbolized by the Sabbath rest he instituted at the beginning (Gen. 2:1–3).
The kind of rest envisioned both in Hebrews and Genesis is not the kind of rest that restores the energy of one tired out by labor. God was not exhausted by his creative labors. Rather, he rested on the seventh day because he was done; creation was complete and whole with nothing lacking or omitted.29 This is the kind of rest the author of Hebrews has in mind: to enter into the state of whole, complete life intended by God at the beginning: “For anyone who enters God’s rest also rests from his own work, just as God did from his” (Heb. 4:10).
Like the believers whom the author of Hebrews addresses, life as we now know it does not conform to the “rest” intended by God. We stand in what some theologians like to call the “already but not yet.” Through the saving grace unleashed by Jesus we have begun to experience the reality of the restoration of the world to its original creation intention. Our inward selves are being transformed into the likeness of Christ. Our relationships with others are founded on self-giving love (agape) rather than personal benefit. Even our relationship to animate and inanimate creation can be restored to God’s original intention of providing protective care and making fruitful.30 Through Christ’s victory, the kingdom of God has already broken in among us, and life is being transformed and restored.
Nevertheless, the world at large is not yet the place of completeness and wholeness that the author of Hebrews envisions in the hoped-for “rest.” Like the heroes and heroines of faith described in Hebrews 11, we have yet to experience the fullness of what has been promised. We still see much in life—even in ourselves—that confirms the brokenness and incompleteness of life, that denies the very concept of “rest” as God intended it in Genesis 1. We live as strangers in a strange land, travelers on the way, not at home here but testifying to the reality of the future rest that has invaded our lives and urges us on to its ultimate completion at the “day of Christ.”
Setting a table before us. The central image of Psalm 23 is the prepared table, a symbol of honor and provision. The fact that the table is prepared “in the presence of my enemies” accords well with verse 4 about the protection afforded by the shepherd’s rod and staff while traveling through the valley of the shadow of death. It also fits with the discussion of pilgrimage, in which life lived in the presence and power of God is life lived in a world that is not yet restored to the wholeness God intends. As a result, the faithful, though experiencing divine presence and reward for their faithfulness, are still among enemies.
We need to acknowledge to ourselves and to others that being in Christ does not mean that the troubles, cares, pains, and dangers of this world are simply removed from us. We remain “in the presence” of our enemies. We need also, however, to ask and constantly remind ourselves in what ways, day by day, God is setting a table for us in the presence of our enemies.
As a practical example, I remember when I was, for an extended period of time, underemployed. Finances were tough, and for a variety of reasons it did not seem likely that circumstances would change soon. The year was coming to an end, and Christmas was looming with the unwelcome prospect of a meager celebration overshadowed by concerns to make ends meet. I remember feeling inadequate and guilty that my failures were affecting my wife and children in ways I felt they did not deserve. I began to wonder where God was in all this.
Two things happened at that time that I equate with God’s preparing a table for me in the presence of my enemies. My enemies were mostly of my own making—fear, guilt, shame, anger. But one afternoon I arrived home from my part-time job to find a package of wrapped Christmas presents on my doorstep. No note identified the giver—it was not family—but there was something for each member of the family. They were simple things—a pair of socks for me—but these simple gifts demonstrated that we were loved and cared for by both God and his people. I suddenly felt as if the welcoming oil of God’s anointing had been poured in abundance over my head.
Just a few days later an anonymous money order arrived in the mail. Again, no one ever claimed responsibility. But it was enough to take the edge off the anxiety that surrounded us and allowed us to enter the Christmas season with a renewed sense of joy in the expected advent of God’s greatest gift.
Acts like these are confidence-builders that set aside the taunts of our enemies. When we have sinned and are seeking to rebuild broken lives in the community of faith, the handshakes of friendship, the hugs of caring, the invitations to social occasions and fellowship, and the opportunity to serve others and God all give testimony that God is at work in us and for us. When we have lost for whatever reason the trappings of social success and acceptance, we need signs that our brothers and sisters in Christ love us and care for us, as does Christ himself. These acts of love become tables prepared by God (and his people) in the presence of our enemies, who want to tear us down and shatter our hopes. I challenge you to seek to become a “caterer” at the table God prepares for those who are surrounded by enemies.
Dwelling in the house of God. Related to the idea of pilgrimage through a strange and hostile land is the hope to dwell forever in the house of Yahweh, his temple. That house is, of course, the end goal of the exilic pilgrimage. It also provides a potent metaphor for the goal of restoring God’s original intention for the world and its inhabitants that becomes the ultimate hope of both Judaism and Christianity. In the temple the faithful come together in God’s presence to experience unity and communion, wholeness and peace.
How then do we today dwell in the house of God? Is this only a future hope, a sort of wishful thinking? Or can we take up residence here and now? Must we wait until the final apocalyptic consummation of the world, the defeat of evil once and for all? Or is there a sense that our residence in the dwelling place of God is in the face of and in spite of the very real and ongoing evidence of world evil?
As long as we think of the “house of God” as a place—whether in time or outside of time—we are probably doomed to wait in vain for its appearance. As long as we are looking for an experience that takes us out of the pain and uncertainty of living, we will not know what it means to dwell in God’s house forever. But as Psalm 23 shows us, dwelling in God’s house does not mean some sort of translation out of our circumstances of pain. Instead, it means to dwell with God in the very presence of our enemies! It is possible, says the psalmist, to experience the gracious presence of God and to receive the abundance of life he offers in the midst of life as it presently is. That is the already breaking into the not yet.
Let me suggest a few practical ways we can dwell in God’s house here and now. (1) If such dwelling means to be in God’s presence and to see his gracious beauty, then we need to find ways to acknowledge that presence in the small, seemingly insignificant happenings of everyday life. Most often it is a choice we make to acknowledge that God is present and active around and in us. To stop and admit that the chatter of a small child’s voice in the bushes outside our window is a testimony to the goodness of God; to acknowledge that the compassion that pours out of us for a person in pain is a link to the compassion of God himself; to allow ourselves to be angry at the violence and injustice that fills our world—these are ways of entering God’s presence and dwelling with him. When a sunset reminds us of the creative and sustaining power of God; when the hassles of the long commute remind us how far the brokenness of our world is from God’s intention; when we open our innermost secrets to the judging, healing, forgiving eyes of our maker—then we know God is among us and we are with him.
(2) Another way I have found essential to maintaining an awareness of my presence in the house of God is to unite consistently with the family of faith in the broadest range of worship experiences. When, like the ancient exilic pilgrims to the temple, I stand in the fellowship of believers to acknowledge that all aspects of my life are under the care and sovereignty of God, then I am reminded that God is here among us in spite of (and even in) our joys and pain, suffering and death, marriage and divorce, sickness and health. Worship with the community of faith (whether inside or outside the church building) helps me to stitch together all the competing and conflicting aspects of my life into a whole lived in the presence of God. Worship is not for me an escape from the threatening pressures of my world by fleeing into the protective arms of my Savior. Instead, worship is a moment in which I gain the perspective that God is indeed with me in the midst of my daily hassles and failures.
(3) Finally, I dwell in God’s house and in his presence whenever I unite with him and his people in service to his world. God loves his world—the poor, the suffering, the animals, the environment. God desires justice, equity, compassion, and generosity. If we are dwelling in his house and seeing God as he truly is, then we cannot help but know these things and seek to live them out as well. Whenever we bring love, caring, joy, restoration, forgiveness, salvation, and hope to God’s creation and its inhabitants, we are dwelling with him and he with us.