Yesterday’s first lesson was a much beloved passage from the Old Testament— Psalm 23. It has probably wound up on more posters, pictures and wall plaques than any other. The one in my parent’s bedroom in my growing up years even glowed in the dark!
My fascination with the imagery in this Psalm began back in high school when I ran across an old Reader’s Digest article from June of 1950 titled, A Basque Shepherd Looks at the Shepherd’s Psalm. The article was originally written by James K.. Wallace for the National Wool Grower magazine in December 1949. and Republished by the Digest in July 1980 it has become the most requested reprint in the magazine’s history. The original printing was long before Phillip Keller did his examination of Psalm 23 from the perspective of an actual shepherd.
That fascination has continued throughout my ministry. It has been sharpened by knowing some real life shepherds along the way. I must admit, though, when I think of a shepherd, it is not David to whom Psalm 23 is attributed who comes to mind.
The most vivid image that comes to mind with Psalm 23 goes back to my first congregation half a century ago. One of the initial home visits I made was to Aileen and Lawrence who lived on their farm about 10 miles out of town. That visit was to be repeated monthly for the next four years.
Lawrence was in his mid eighties and Lawrence was a shepherd. His wife Aileen was about— well it’s not polite to ask or tell a ladies age. Their simple home was a center of hospitality and I never left one of those communion calls without some steaks or a roast or a chicken from the deepfreeze.
Somewhere in the late fall or early winter of my second year there Lawrence’s three adult children came to me as the new kid on the block and said, “You’ve got to convince dad to give up his sheep!” This was a message they didn’t have the courage to deliver, so I got stuck with it.
I struggled with the task for a couple days and was still trying to figure out what to say when I made the drive out to their home . The solution came, I will always believe, from the one who self references as the “Good Shepherd” (John 10:11ff). Lawrence was well acquainted with the model of the Good Shepherd— I had seen that up close with him at shearing time. Severely crippled by arthritis he would still struggle into his old pickup truck and drive down to the pasture to tend his flock, especially at lambing time. This was the big concern of his children.
Working my way around to his sheep in some now forgotten fashion, I asked the big question, “Lawrence how many lambs did you lose last spring because you couldn’t get to them?” With tears running down his face he replied, “About a dozen.” To which I said, “You don’t want that happening again this season do you?” Speechless, he simply shook his head “no”.
I reminded him that his younger neighbor, also a good shepherd was willing to buy him out and would care for his flock. He decided on the spot to sell and my mission was accomplished.
About 25 years after I left that parish I got a call from the nursing home where Lawrence, now past 100 years old, lived. The person calling said, “Lawrence asked us to contact you to let you know that Aileen has just died.” He was still shepherding the not so young any more pastor who had helped him give up his beloved flock. The last time I saw him was when I traveled back to that little community to help celebrate his 104th birthday.
Lawrence will always be the shepherd I think of first when I hear Psalm 23.
