The End is the Beginning

The End is the Beginning

Psalm 23:6

April 14, 2019 (Palm Sunday) • Mount Pleasant UMC

So, all throughout Lent, I’ve been asking and encouraging you to memorize the 23rd Psalm. I’m not going to put you on the spot this morning, but I am wondering if you have done as well as this little girl. Take a listen.

That is so sweet that just watching it will give you cavities! Well, I hope you have been able to memorize this psalm, but more than that, I hope this psalm has gotten inside your heart and your life. More than having it up here (in your head), I hope the words of this psalm have transformed something in here (in your heart). This morning, we come to the end of the psalm, a verse that in many ways sums up the whole of what we’ve been trying to say about the good life. At the end of the day, at the end of the journey, here is David’s hope and prayer: “Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever” (23:6).

The sheep have been on a journey in the last couple of verses. They passed through the darkest valley, or the “valley of the shadow of death,” a place where threats might loom around every corner, and then they came to the high ground where they ate dinner in the presence of enemies, predators who could tear them apart at any moment. I don’t know about you, but after going through experiences like that, I might be a bit paranoid about who or what could be following me. But, David says, when he looked around after all that, when he looked behind him, all he could see were two of God’s agents: goodness and mercy (cf. Goldingay, Psalms for Everyone, Part 1, pg. 75). What is David talking about here? “Goodness,” when it’s applied to God, might be better defined or translated as “benevolence.” Another translator calls it God’s “long-suffering patience.” Let’s put it this way: it’s the reality that God still wants to be with us, no matter how often we mess up and no matter how badly we mess up. That’s something I’m very thankful for. Next month, Cathy and I will celebrate thirty years of marriage, and I usually follow that by saying something like, “I can’t believe she’s put up with me for thirty years.” Talk about long-suffering patience! And, yet, as great as that is, God has put up with me for nearly 52 years. Well, God and my parents, and I know that at times I wasn’t easy for my parents to put up with, so I can’t imagine how frustrated God gets with me sometimes—most of the time. But because God is good, and because God knows who we really are and, even more importantly, who we can become, God doesn’t just “put up with us.” God loves us—you and me. He really does. Whether you believe it or not—and I struggle sometimes to believe it—he loves you, and he loves me, and he does so because he is good. His goodness follows you, surrounds you, envelops you.

And God’s goodness is closely tied to his love, the other thing David says is following him. In older translations, it says “mercy,” which is the way a lot of us learned it: goodness and mercy. The Hebrew word there is a word I mentioned last week, a word I remind you of often: hesed. It’s a word that refuses any sort of easy translation. It is three letters in Hebrew, two syllables, and in our English Bibles it has been translated using somewhere around 110 different words or phrases. The King James Version alone used fourteen different words to translate it, the most popular and well-known being a compound word made up just for this purpose: “lovingkindness.” The NIV, which we use here in worship, uses twelve different phrases or words, “love” being the most common. The most common ideas surrounding hesed include truth, mercy or compassion, covenant, justice, faithfulness, goodness, favor and righteousness. Some say it is the most important concept in Scripture, and it is the defining characteristic of God. Perhaps the best way to translate hesed is this: “when the person from whom I have a right to expect nothing gives me everything” (Card, Inexpressible, all over the book). It’s grace. It’s mercy. It’s love. It’s getting what we don’t deserve and never could. Hesed is all of that—and it’s how we experience God’s goodness.

Goodness. Hesed. These are the things that follow us. Those are the things that enable us to live the good life. But what about those times when life doesn’t seem to be good, when it feels like God has forgotten about us? What about the time when our bodies break down? Because they do. To quote the famous theologian Rick Swan, “The longer you live, the older you get.” And as we get older, things stop working. It’s annoying at first, and then it becomes difficult. And then the doctor says words like “cancer” and “tumor” and “surgery” and “dementia.” We begin to wonder where God’s goodness and love are then. Or we watch as a loved one who means the whole world to us dies, sometimes quickly and sometimes slowly. What about the times when we have a friend who turns on us, who betrays us, who does us harm? What about the times when our children decide to go their own way, and all we can do is stand and watch as they head down a destructive path? What happens when the job is gone and the money to pay the bills runs out? All of these situations and more can make it difficult to believe that God’s goodness and love are following us (cf. Keller, A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23, pg. 126). David himself struggled. His son rebelled against him and for a time took the throne away from him. Friends betrayed him; his father-in-law tried to kill him and spent years chasing him through the desert. He had a son die in infancy, he had one son who killed his brother, and as an old man David struggled with his own poor health. How could he say that goodness and love followed him?

It’s because he had experienced God’s goodness and love to be ever-present out in the wilderness, among the sheep, when he was on the run, when he faced his worst fears. If his sheep had known the protection and goodness of their shepherd, how much more will God’s sheep—David and you and me—know the goodness and love of our shepherd? He provides us green pastures, quiet waters, right paths. He goes with us through the darkest valley and watches over us with his rod and staff. Our cup overflows—we have more than we could imagine. Why do we doubt his goodness? Why don’t we trust him more?

Gathered on the side of the Mount of Olives, two thousand years ago, was a mixed group of people, some who believed, some who doubted, some who were ready for an armed revolution. They were all there that day to enter the city with this traveling teacher from the northern town of Nazareth. For three years, this Jesus had been building a following, and many believed this was the year he was finally going to kick out the Romans, lead a revolution and put Israel back on the map. They followed him and they shouted the ancient words of the psalm, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” (Luke 19:38; Psalm 118:26). If they sang the rest of the words of that psalm, which they probably did, they would have ended with these words: “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever” (118:29). Interesting words to be singing on this day, aren’t they? They sound a lot like, “Goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life.” Even as Jesus entered Jerusalem on this first Palm Sunday, even as the people waved palm branches as symbols of nationalism, they reminded each other of the goodness and love of God that had followed each of them from the moment they were born.

The embodiment of that goodness and love rode ahead of them and near them on a donkey. He wasn’t riding into Jerusalem to become king. He came into the city not to set up an earthly kingdom but rather hoping the people would receive him as the Son of God that he was and is. And yet, halfway down the hill, he stopped and wept over the city because he knew they would not (cf. Luke 19:41-44). Today, that moment is remembered at one my favorite places in the Holy Land. It’s a small little chapel called Dominus Flevit—“The Lord Wept.” It’s a beautiful little teardrop-shaped chapel that looks out toward the city, and it’s a place that breaks my heart every time I visit. When you sit in that chapels and you look out toward the city, you can’t help but be reminded of what Jesus realized on that first Palm Sunday: that despite his goodness and love, many people would ignore him. Many would refuse to follow him. Many would reject the very goodness and love he came to bring.

Those who followed him that day sang out, “Blessed is he.” They sang, “Goodness and love.” But they didn’t live it. Caught up in the spectacle, they failed to see the savior.  By the end of the week, they or others like them had traded the cries of “Blessed is he” for screams of “Crucify him!” Jesus had failed them. He had not done what they wanted him to do, what they expected him to do, what their religious leaders had said the messiah was supposed to do. Jesus failed them, and suddenly his goodness and love—what he came to bring in the first place—wasn’t enough. And that leads me to ask: is it enough for us? Is it really enough for us? What priority does Jesus have in the way we treat others? The way we treat our families? What priority does Jesus have in the way we spend our time? Our money? You probably know that one of the best ways to determine what is most important to someone is to look at their checkbook or debit card statement. Does the way you use your resources—financial and otherwise—line up with what you say is most important to you? To put it more starkly: does your life say “goodness and love” or “crucify him”?

As Jesus weeps over the city, I imagine he also sees the coming week in his minds’ eye. He will spend the first part of the week doing some final teaching to most anyone who will listen. The things he teaches will cause his enemies to become even more entrenched against him so that by Thursday night, he will be sharing one final meal with his closest friends and on Friday, he will be hanging on a cross. Those who have turned against him will think they have finished him. They will think his cause is done, that he is gone for good. They will not realize what we know to be true: what he is doing on that cross was the purpose of his life. What he is doing on that cross will open the way for people to come home to the heavenly Father. Where sin once stood in the way, Jesus now provides an open door to those who make the choice to follow him. The end is actually the beginning; his death is the way to life. He is a making for all of us to be able to dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

What is true of Jesus’ story is also true with his ancestor David’s shepherd song. At the end, David sings of what Jesus makes possible: “I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever” (23:6b). For a shepherd, going home meant that time of year when food and sustenance was plentiful in familiar fields, corrals, barns and shelters. It’s winter, the season of rest (Keller 136). But every shepherd knew that, come summer, the flock would once again need to head out, away from the comforts of home, for a long period of time in order to find enough food to sustain the flock. It was the rhythm of life for a shepherd. But David envisions a time when you would never have to leave the surroundings of home. To dwell in the house of the Lord meant to come to a permanent dwelling, a place where the flock belongs.

That image is working on at least two levels. Because we most often hear this psalm read at funerals, our minds immediately go to living in heaven, the place of rest after we die. And that’s not a wrong way to understand this, though when David originally wrote this psalm, he would have had very little understanding of what eternity looked like. For the Hebrews, God’s goodness and love had to be seen, experienced and proven in this life or it was useless. It was not good enough for God to demonstrate his justice in some unseen afterlife. That’s why David, a couple of psalms over, says this: “One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life” (Psalm 27:4). And then, later on in that same psalm, he proclaims, “I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living” (27:13). In the land of the living. A good Hebrew like David might say something like, “Yeah, that heaven thing sounds cool, but what I really need is to know that I can live in the presence of God right here and right now.” I’m not trying to say eternity is unimportant; not at all. But eternity begins now, when we decide to move into the house of the Lord, when we trust Jesus as our Savior and live with him as our Lord and Master. What Jesus came to provide for, what Jesus died for, is not so that we can go to heaven—in the sweet bye and bye when we die. That’s a bonus. What Jesus came for, the reason he rode into Jerusalem at the beginning of that final week, the reason he went to the cross, is so that you and I could know eternal life now, a better way of life lived now. What begins now continues into eternity, to be sure, but dwelling in the house of the Lord begins now. When all has been said, the good life, at its most basic, is life lived in the presence of God.

Living in his presence is not just about “me and Jesus” any more than it was just about “David and the sheep” or even “David and God.” We have a relationship with Jesus, but that doesn’t mean we neglect the world. In fact, consistently, Jesus says that his disciples, his followers, will be out there engaging the world, showing goodness and mercy to others. I have what might be a shocking revelation for us all this morning: the Christian life is not about “me” and it’s not about you. When Jesus stood on that hillside and wept, he wasn’t crying because in a few days he would be undergoing a painful death. He was weeping because people had rejected his message. They had rejected life. They refused to follow, to be the best people he knew they could be. Jesus wept because he knew goodness and love were not going to rule the day—and they still don’t today. Maybe more than any other time in my life, goodness and love are out the window. We want those things and that experience for yourselves, but we aren’t sharing it with others. Just imagine if at least Christians allowed God’s love and mercy to flow through them into the world—if even just the Christians did that, do you think the world might change? 31% of earth’s inhabitants claim the name of Jesus—so why is there not more goodness and love in the world? Jesus called us salt and light, so that got me to thinking—if 31% of a dark room is lit, does that make a difference? If 31% of your lunch today were salt, would that make a difference? Yes, of course it would! Why, then, does 31% of the world’s population not make a bigger difference in the way the world is? Why is there not more goodness and love evident in the world?

Maybe it’s because we’ve forgotten that it’s not about you or me. We’ve made ourselves the priority and not Jesus, the sheep and not the shepherd. We love the idea that goodness and love will follow us, surround us, but we’ve forgotten that it’s supposed to flow through us to others. Later on in this week, as I said, Jesus did some teaching that methodically upset most everyone he came in contact with, and during that time, one of the things he said is that the ones who are truly following him are those who feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the prisoner and the sick, and give the thirst something to drink (cf. Matthew 25:31-46). Do you remember what he called those who cared for others in those ways? Sheep. He called them sheep. The priority for the ones who are followed by goodness and love is to care for others. It’s not about me, a sheep. It’s not about whatever reward I will receive in heaven. If that’s our motivation, we’ve missed Jesus’ message and we’re among those he is weeping about on the side of the Mount of Olives. It’s about those “out there” who yet need to know the goodness and love that could be theirs as well.

So, let me confess how this has worked itself out in my life this week. You may be shocked to know that, a lot of mornings, I find myself at Starbucks. Chai tea latte, non-fat, no water. Grande or bigger depending on the day. And it’s been a busy, frustrating and exhausting couple of weeks. I’ll be very honest this morning: there was at least one day in the last two weeks where, if someone had offered me another job, I would have taken it without thinking about it. That’s happened about three times in the last twenty-six years, so not a bad average. And I’m not saying that to get sympathy or attention. I’m sharing that because I’m willing to bet you’ve had days like that, too. And if you haven’t yet, you will. (So, be encouraged!) So, one morning this last week, I was sitting at Starbucks, frustrated over many things, and I looked up from my screen long enough to see the people around me. Really see them. I remembered (or, probably more accurately I should say the Holy Spirit reminded me) that one of the reasons I go to Starbucks is to establish relationships, something that takes a long time (and a lot of lattes). Anyway, the Spirit reminded me again of two things that morning: he will walk with me through all the “stuff” that happens, and he is enough. I’ve been saying all through this series that what God most wants is to be with us. His presence is enough, and I heard that message loud and clear while I sat in Starbucks. The shepherd will go anywhere to be with his sheep.

So this is Holy Week, and out of all of the weeks in the year, this week gives us a chance to spend extended time with Jesus. The Scripture readings this week will help us follow the story of what happened in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, but more than just reading the story, let me encourage you to spend time with Jesus this week. What the shepherd most wants is to be with you. You are his child, and he loves you. What we should want most is to be with him, so let me ask: is that true in your life? This week, spend some intentional time with him. Time in worship (we have several opportunities for worship this week), time in conversation, time in his presence. Walk with Jesus through the story; don’t just read it. This week, as we go to the Upper Room for the last supper, let’s listen to what he says and watch what he does. As we stand before the cross, at what seems to be an ending, let’s listen to the Spirit as he reminds us that death is not the end. There is more to the story. Even at the cross, the end is the beginning. Even at Calvary, the promise is true: goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord…now and forever. Let’s pray.