Prepare to Feast

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

When I memorized this psalm four decades ago, this phrase made me think of when we were in the grocery store and I wanted all the cereals with tiny toys and sparkly marshmallows, or when I wanted colorful candies that were at my eye level, or I wanted, wanted, wanted something else.  And my clever mom said, “Turn your wanter off.”  (For a good measure of my life, I thought she was saying, “Turn your water off,” which seemed irrelevant at best.). Nonetheless, the message formed in my mind: want nothing.  Turn your wanter off.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

I understood the concept of being made to lie down, as we were a family that took naps on Sundays.  I was at that point in my life uninterested in lying down in the middle of a perfectly good afternoon.  (I have often wished naps were like punch cards, and you could redeem now the ones that you didn’t want then.)

Laying in the grass sounded itchy and buggy, but also better than being made to lie down in my bed, so I compromised that I would settle for green pastures on a Sunday afternoon.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow death.

I couldn’t read, and I thought “yea” was like, “Yay!”  Yay, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death!  Huzzah!

And the valley of the shadows of death was the dark hallway to the bathroom in the middle of the night, the scariest thing I could encounter at that age and hour, so it all kind of made sense.  I made it to the bathroom and flipped on the light: “Yay!”

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

Even then I thought it was a weird use of the word mine.  Who ever used it that way, except the King James people?  I never said, “This is mine brother,” or “These are mine toys.”  Mine?  Please.  My.

Anyway, I thought the verse mean that Jesus would someday throw such a good party that I would hardly notice and barely mind that the people I didn’t like were also there and loved by him.  (This might actually still be a fairly accurate doctrine.)

The rod and staff sounded a little too much like the wooden spoon in the kitchen that had “multiple uses.”

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

In my mind, there would be three little dogs who would follow me in the house of the Lord: Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy.

Anyway, such a meandering introduction brings me to two things: a gratitude for early memorization, and a fresh introduction to new versions and translations.  Instead of the KJV, I now lean into the NLT.

The Lord is my shepherd.  I have all that I need.

He lets me rest in green meadows, he leads me beside quiet waters.

He restores my strength.

He guides me along the right paths for the honor of his name.

Even when I walk through the darkest valley,

I will fear nothing,

For you are close beside me.

Your rod and your staff comfort and protect me.

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

You honor me by anointing my head with oil.

My cup overflows with blessing.

Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life,

And I will live in the house of the Lord forever.

Psalm 23 NLT

All these years later, memorization is a visual tool for me, a stringing together of images.  And this version is teeming with images that serve and lead me in a much deeper way.

Here are the words that have risen off the page and crept into my soul:

Even when I walk through the darkest valley —
Even when.
Not even if,
not even though,
and certainly not Yay.
Even when.
It’s inevitable.
And even then —
I will fear nothing, for you are close beside me.

You prepare a feast for me in the presence of my enemies —
In the presence of.
Not in the absence of,
Not shortly following the dismissal of,
But in the actual very presence of my enemies.
I understand now that the enemies are not people I don’t like,
But the things that threaten me.
Fear.  Depression. Overwhelm. Worry. Noise.
In the presence of these very things,

God promises me a feast.

A feast: more than my senses can capture, so much that my cup overflows.
It calls to mind the understand of one thousand gifts,  how no one thing will save the day,
but a thousand small mercies will save the journey.

So when I am staring down something I would rather not face,
really would rather not, I call to mind a new phrase.
In the presence of this monstrosity, this darkness, this thing I would rather not:

Well, let’s prepare to feast.

Just in case you also needed a fresh understanding of some old words,
Or you’re staring down a thing you would really rather not,
I offer you this call to action that replaces many lesser others:

(Rub your hands together, as one who sits down at a table, mouth watering in anticipation)

Let’s prepare to feast.