Thou Art With Me…Psalm 23

We all at some point enter the valley of darkness where we grieve and wonder if the dawn will come again. Some of you know this dark valley well. You loose a house or a job, there is an illness in the family or maybe relationship issues. Something threatens life as we know it. An earthquake shatters our sense of security and normal life is thrown asunder. Today we particularly remember those who grieve the loss of someone close through death. For many there is an unseen ache in our lives as we remember those who are no longer here. It maybe is something that hits us just once and a while, which reminds us we still have a foot in the valley. But it maybe something that’s there when we wake up and when we lie down again at the end of the day – a constant ache that never seems to leave us. On the outside things may appear normal but inside there seems like there is nothing left. Our normal energy has gone, and all the flavour and colour of life have disappeared. We become like a land with no water or a dark frozen winter landscape with nothing growing. We simply exist getting through each day as best we can wondering if the dawn of a new day will ever come. The Bible calls this time the valley of the shadow of death, or the time of dry bones when all that is living has dried up. Another name could simply be the dark winter when it seems nothing is alive any more and life has come to an empty standstill.

Such times are tough. The tears seem to flood out for no apparent reason. We may get angry with little provocation, and it’s hard to concentrate and sometimes sleep. It can be a good thing to reach out for help. The temptation we all face is to say is that there must be something we can do to escape because it is hard to believe that any good could possibly come of feeling so desolate. Keeping up contact with family and friends, keeping the house and garden going, sometimes just making yourself get up in the morning are all important, but I don’t think there is any magic bullet that will turn our mourning into dancing.

If you know someone who is grieving deeply, you will know that the temptation is to ignore them. There isn’t much joy in their lives and it rubs off. We wonder what we can say thinking there must be something we can do to make things better, but our words seem empty. In the Jewish tradition there are some prescribed ways of dealing with the darkness of death. People are encouraged to visit those who grieve, to make time to go over to their house. Keeping contact is important and just going will be appreciated. But instead of thinking ‘what will I say’ and ‘how can I make it better for my friend’ you are encouraged to take with you the gift of space and silence. If the person grieving wants to talk you talk, but if the grieving person wants to sit, you sit. There is no magic words that will make grief better, there is no magic fix. In the Jewish world taking the gift of silence and space is called sitting shiva.

I think we too quickly forget that one of the four seasons of the year is winter. For one quarter of our time on earth we are in the season of darkness. Letting go, just as the trees let go of their leaves, lying fallow in stillness is important. In the fallow time it seems there is not much happening, but without it new growth can’t come. We like to avoid winter, but you know and I know that grief and darkness and death will be and are part of our lives. I look out today over you all and I see and I feel the grief and the pain that is part of you, and part of me. Some of it very fresh, some buried from long ago but it’s there. I wonder if you have ever thought of God as the as the mysterious presence who sits shiva with us in this time. Quietly, gently listening, absorbing, being, and in the patient being there with us there is a gentle insistence that calls us to face the emptiness, the darkness, the bitterness, the pain, the guilt – to face it and in the right time to make some choices.

There is a story in our scriptures of a woman who looses her home, her husband, and then both her children her two sons. Her name is Naomi – and Naomi becomes wracked with bitterness. So much so that when her friends try to console her she says don’t call me Naomi any more call me Mara. Do you know what Mara means – it means the bitter one. There’s another story of someone who looses his family and home – Job. His wife says to Job, curse God and die. She was so bitter and angry with God for what had happened to them. I think anger and a sense of unfairness are very human reactions to grief, but we have to make sure they don’t overwhelm us and that choice is ours. Don’t let bitterness take root and consume you. Or maybe you have a sense of guilt. Maybe you say to yourself if only I had….. if only I had done something differently…. Don’t let the darkness destroy you, don’t let it happen!

There is a Psalm that we read this morning. It is maybe the best loved of all the psalms in our Bible. It begins talking about God in the third person – he leads me to still waters, he makes me lie down, he restores my soul. But in the fourth verse it gets more personal. Even though I walk through the darkest valley I will fear no evil for thou art with me. Thou art with me. God is no longer a distant ‘he’, but is now a close ‘thou’. Thou art with me. God isn’t delivering any magic bullet but the promise is simply that God will be there with you. You know I can’t explain it well but I do know that as we sit shiva with God something happens. A day comes when we notice the sun is warm again, and the song of the birds brings a smile to our faces. Some might say simply ‘time heals’, but I believe it’s something deeper than this. Time doesn’t heal, God does!
Somehow God is patiently alive in our lives restoring our soul. It does take time, but there is something much more than time at work. I look back on the dark times of life and proclaim something was moving in the darkness and desolation. Someone was there with me gently encouraging and leading. Gently insistently the presence of God is putting things together again in our lives. Someone, something is there listening to my cry of ‘it’s not fair!’ God is there. Even when it doesn’t feel like it “Thou art with me”. Thou art with me and this presence patiently according to the Psalm will move us through the valley. God is not interested in skirting the valley or leaving us to wither in the valley. The presence of God knows well that it is in our journey through the valley that we will be changed for good, deepened for good. The Psalmist talks of a strange thing – the preparing of a meal. Having journeyed together through such dark times and discovered there is a new dawn the goodness and mercy of God is celebrated. And in that celebration the Psalmist says ‘you anoint my head with oil’. This reflects the ancient custom of pouring oil over the head of the honoured and treasured guest. It is a sign of deep love and valuing. Having journeyed through the darkness our relationship with God is deepened. Having wrestled with God with our questions and shed our tears with God in our sadness the promise is that we will draw closer to God and know deeper in our hearts that we are held, guided, and valued.

The first Christians believed God entered their lives as a living Spirit who is God himself. They believed this Holy Spirit would patiently work in our lives to draw life out of dark tombs and lead us to find life again. The first Christians spoke of all things working together for good and of God using the tragedies of our lives for good. They share with us great wisdom.
To those who sit in darkness today I want to say ‘your heart will recover’ You will recover, you will find joy again, spring will come – be patient, God is working for this in your life. God is with you.
May you know God is often found sitting shiva with us – grieving with us – gently putting the shattered pieces together in a new way, calling us to find new life.
May we all know that God will heal us.
May we all know God’s love that will not leave us in the valley, but will seek each one of us and lead us to a new dawn..

Dugald Wilson 2 Nov 2011