Sunday Musings

A familiar Psalm? Maybe not.

Mar 19, 2023

On this fourth Sunday in Lent, the lectionary shares a well-loved biblical passage: Psalm 23.

Even in an age when people are leaving religion behind, millions still recognize and find comfort in this often-quoted psalm. It is most commonly heard in worship as a funeral reading, and used for counseling and in pastoral care.

While the words offer familiar solace, there are ways to read Psalm 23 that are less common to those of us who live in North America and Europe. The conventional western interpretation is a rich one with a rich history, but it isn’t the only way to understand this beautiful psalm. Today, I want to defamiliarize this text — and open it up to a surprising possibility for Lenten reflection.

There are three versions of Psalm 23 below, bringing a rich sensibility to its poetry and lyricism — and each of which are mentioned in my musing.

Psalm 23

The Book of Common Prayer

The Lord is my shepherd;
I shall not be in want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures
and leads me beside still waters.

He revives my soul
and guides me along right pathways for his Name's sake.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I shall fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me;
you have anointed my head with oil,
and my cup is running over.

Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

King James Version

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Robert Alter version

The LORD is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
In grass meadows
He makes me lie down
by quiet waters guides me.
My life He brings back.
He leads me on pathways of justice
for His name's sake.
Though I walk in the vale of death's shadow,
I fear no harm,
for You are with me.
Your rod and Your staff—
it is they that console me.
You set out a table before me
in the face of my foes.
You moisten my head with oil,
my cup overflows.
Let but goodness and kindness pursue me
all the days of my life.
And I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
for many long days.

a table is ready and waiting
in the presence of my enemies

— Elouise Renich Fraser

“The average Christian in the world today is a poor person, very poor indeed by the standards. . . of North America and Western Europe. Also different is the social and political status of African and Asian Christians, who are often minorities in countries dominated by other religions or secular ideologies,” wrote Philip Jenkins in a 2006 article for Christian Century.

There’s much tension right now between western Christians and Christians in Africa and Asia, especially around how to read the Bible. In progressive religious bodies, the difference is acute around concerns of sexuality and gender, and is causing rifts in our global faith communities. As Christians struggle with one another across a myriad of cultures about issues of justice and equality roiling the planet, it behooves us to consider how our contexts shape the way we interpret texts — and what we think the Bible says to important concerns of life.

Jenkins continued: “A largely poor readership can readily identify with the New Testament society of peasants and small craftspeople dominated by powerful landlords and imperial forces, by networks of debt and credit. . . . For the growing churches of the South, the Bible speaks to everyday issues of poverty and debt, famine and urban crisis, racial and gender oppression, state brutality and persecution.”

This might seem a strange place to begin musing on Psalm 23. But, in that same article, Jenkins pointed out how even the most familiar texts take on meanings almost unrecognizable to western believers in cultures pervaded by poverty and persecution. Indeed, he identified Psalm 23 as a surprising example of this principle when he invites westerners to a common interpretation found in churches across the Global South:

Read Psalm 23 as a political tract, a rejection of unjust secular authority. For Africans and Asians, the psalm offers a stark rebuttal to claims by unjust states that they care lovingly for their subjects — while they exalt themselves to the heavens. Christians reply simply, “The Lord is my shepherd — you aren’t!” Adding to the power of the psalm, the evils that it condemns are at once political and spiritual, forces of tyranny and of the devil.

Psalm 23 a political tract?

I confess: I’ve never considered that possibility. But I took up Jenkins’ challenge to read the psalm politically, with empathy toward a non-western view.

The psalm’s central pivot is the line about paths and “for God’s sake.” The lines before lead up to that couplet — and the lines after flow from it.

Comparing the versions above, a problem becomes clear for western readers. In the Book of Common Prayer (the version I’ve read in worship and private prayer for forty years), the pivot reads: He revives my soul and guides me along right pathways for his Name's sake. In the King James version, the Bible I knew mostly as a child or through musical settings, that phrase reads: He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

I’ve heard scores of sermons about the “right pathways” meaning that God guides us when lost and leads us on life’s journey. We can’t ultimately go astray. That’s pretty comforting.

But I’ve heard it differently interpreted as well: King James’ “paths of righteousness” is often understood as making good moral choices. We do not struggle on our own when it comes to a life of mercy and charity.

Together, these two readings combine into a single promise: We are never alone on the way and God assists us toward moral virtue.

And, of course, that is true. But it isn’t all.

Look at the Robert Alter version — a modern translation noted by scholars for its precision — and the pivot sentence contrasts sharply: My life He brings back. He leads me on pathways of justice for His name's sake.

In the scriptures, “right” and “righteousness” are interchangeable with “justice.” But in North America? Well, not so much. In cultural parlance, right means “correct” (versus “wrong”) and “righteousness” means good behavior (versus “naughtiness”). Very few middle class church people would ever think of substituting “justice” for either word.

Alter’s version, however, thunders JUSTICE as the pivotal word in the psalm. When you read the prelude, listen as it builds toward “pathways of justice.”

The LORD is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
In grass meadows
He makes me lie down
by quiet waters guides me.
My life He brings back.
He leads me on pathways of justice
for His name's sake.

The Lord is the authority here, not a corrupt government or unjust ruler. And God’s shepherding “rule” is that of abundance and generosity in a world shaped by sabbath rest, not a power motivated by greed or zero-sum economics. The psalmist proclaims this is the reality of the Lord’s government, the beloved community over and against all oppression and exploitation. Through it, we humans are restored to what was always intended: My life He brings back; Our lives He brings back.

The renewed life, however, does not remain content in grass meadows or by quiet waters. The world is that which God intended, but the wounded world does not recognize it. Instead, those who are citizens of this sacred realm are called forth on “pathways of justice” to make God’s name — God’s sabbath reign — known throughout the world.

Alter’s second section of psalm reads like this:

He leads me on pathways of justice
for His name's sake.
Though I walk in the vale of death's shadow,
I fear no harm,
for You are with me.
Your rod and Your staff—
it is they that console me.
You set out a table before me
in the face of my foes.

Although westerners usually think of it as a restful psalm, from this perspective, Psalm 23 is an active one. Doing justice will not be easy. Indeed, if you travel the “pathways of justice,” you come face-to-face with sin, evil, and death. Yet God’s people “fear no harm” confronting the powers of this world because God is with them. God’s rod and God’s staff — and not the instruments of torture and violence used by brutal states — console the faithful. Even in the worst of circumstances, when surrounded by enemies who wish nothing but harm, God makes a place for us at the feast, providing sustenance and abundance in the wilderness.

The final section is a prayer for faithfulness that those pursuing the pathways of justice will remain steadfast to the sabbath reign until the end of life:

Let but goodness and kindness pursue me
all the days of my life.
And I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
for many long days.

When read politically, the funeral psalm is transformed into a protest anthem. It still comforts, yes. It reminds those abused, on the margins, forgotten, and poor that they are, indeed, citizens of a more just realm: Blessed are the poor; blessed are those who mourn; blessed are the hungry; blessed are the persecuted. The Lord of generosity and justice is with us.

But it also calls God’s people to stay on the pathway of justice, assuring us that injustice, oppression, and death can and will be overcome. The sabbath world is here; the sabbath world is at the horizon. Keep on the path.

INSPIRATION

I was silently reciting to myself the 23rd Psalm, 'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want . . .' [. . .] The man with the tinted spectacles and the man from the police department were looking at me thoughtfully. They mistook my silence as a sign of weakening. I knew I had to show courage. In fact, I felt much better for having recited the words of the psalm. I had not been so free of fear the whole evening as I was in that moment standing beside the black jeep, a symbol of repression. I lifted my head and said in a loud and firm voice, 'I'm not guilty! I have nothing to confess.’
― Nien Cheng, Life and Death in Shanghai

Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lacked any thing.

A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.
— George Herbert

We shall walk through the valley and the shadow of death,
We shall walk through the valley in peace,
If Jesus himself shall be our leader,
We shall walk through the valley in peace.
— A.L. Hatter, African-American spiritual

I’ve never been here
though I know it exists
somewhere beyond
my power to make it happen
a table is ready and waiting
in the presence of my enemies
an oasis in the Sahara
awaits my arrival with
more than enough oil
to anoint my head and
water to quench my thirst
— Elouise Renich Fraser, from her blog

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