Sermon, 4 Easter, Psalm 23

Last week I said that I wanted to look at the inclusivity of God during the Easter Season. I think we need to be reminded of God's inclusive nature from time to time. We need to be reminded that God or the Church isn't set up to be exclusionary. We need to be reminded that it's not US against THEM. It's about how WE can fulfill God's mission of unity.

So last week I gave an overview of this theme as it played out in all three readings: God inviting an enemy of the Church to be an apostle; John's vision of every creature gathered together and praising God; and Jesus asking Peter to feed, tend and feed again his sheep. And today we get some of those same themes in both the gospel and the reading from Revelation.

I could, I suppose, simply re-preach last week's sermon; but in the six years I've been here, I can't recall one person ever saying, "I want to hear that sermon again next Sunday." So instead of re-preaching, I want to focus on a place I rarely focus on -- the psalm.

Today we recited Psalm 23. Just like we hear the passage about Thomas every second Sunday of Easter, we recite Psalm 23 every fourth Sunday of Easter. Psalm 23 is probably the most famous passage of Scripture -- or at least in the top five; and it is certainly the most famous of the psalms.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He maketh me lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside still waters.
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.

This psalm gives comfort to thousands, if not millions of people. You can count on it being printed on funeral home service bulletins. People want it recited in hospitals. This psalm has a way of making us feel loved and comforted.

But if you look closely at Psalm 23, it also speaks to God's inclusiveness and it has the ability to disturb us.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies.

What's that all about?

You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies.

One interpretation of this verse is that it was meant to show God's goodness to the righteous and that our enemies will have to endure seeing us catered to while they go without. Sort of a cosmic, "You got yours, now I get mine" revenge karma. But that certainly doesn't fit with the inclusive nature of God that we've been hearing.

So imagine this instead: Imagine you're going to a picnic on a warm summer day. You park the car in a lot by a busy road some distance away and make your way to the party. As you approach, you can hear the sound of a small stream. The rushing water gets louder as you come even closer. Willow trees line the bank. You cross a small foot-bridge and make your way to a large, grassy field. Noises from the parking lot and road have disappeared. They are replaced by the sound of the water and the sounds of children laughing. You see several people tossing a Frisbee around. You hear a ball smack into a glove as a couple of other people play catch. You breathe in the smell of fresh cut grass. A plane buzzes lazily overhead. Someone greets you.

"Welcome. We're glad you could make it."

They lead you to a very large picnic table in the middle of the lawn. As you approach, people stop their games and chatter and move in to find a place to sit.

"Thank you for everything you've done," says the person who greeted you. "This picnic is to celebrate and give thanks for you being you."

As you look around at the faces expecting to see a variety of loved ones and people you've helped through the years, you receive a shock as you recognize the guy who got you fired, the boss who made life difficult, the so-called friend who couldn't be trusted. You name it -- everyone who ever did you harm is there. And they are all welcome to sit and eat and play and laugh.

And there you are, at a table prepared for you in the presence of your enemies.

We have two responses to this situation. We can choose to not participate in the banquet. We can choose to say, "If THOSE people are invited, then I'm not staying." We can choose to separate ourselves from the rest of the body.

This is exactly what has happened in the Anglican Communion and in our own wider Church. People holding a puritanical view of holiness have excused themselves from the banquet table and have refused to participate with people they have named as enemies. They are choosing disunity over unity and exclusion over inclusion.

Our other response is to realize that it is God who creates the invitation list. If all those other people who are my enemies are allowed to the table, maybe I need to reevaluate my list of enemies. Maybe it would do me good to turn the tables, so to speak, and realize that some of those people might consider me the enemy. And what does it say about them if they are willing to sit down at the same table with me?

You spread a table before me -- I call that the altar; because no matter what color, nationality, gender or political persuasion you are, all baptized Christians are welcome to partake of that meal.

In the presence of my enemies -- In some sense, I call that the pews; because, really, some of our worst arguments have come between church members.

Psalm 23 may be less about pastoral comfort than it is about disturbing inclusion. Maybe we should ask ourselves what's more important -- the pews we build, or the table God invites us to.