The Valley

It's been a tough couple of weeks for me, and I've been finding solace in music and Psalms. I heard a beautiful sermon on Psalm 121, "I lift my eyes to the hills, from where shall my help come? My help comes from the Lord, maker of heaven and earth." The sermon talked about an image of a weary traveler looking up toward hills, not majestic hills like we might see in the rocky mountains with cars and GPS for safety, but hills where bandits are hiding and you're walking or maybe riding on a donkey hoping to God you don't get attacked or fall off the edge of the cliff. This image continued to follow me as I read through Psalm 23 this morning:

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
    I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
    your rod and your staff—
    they comfort me.

 You prepare a table before me
    in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
    my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
    all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
    my whole life long.

 I've read or heard this Psalm a million times, for myself or others in hospitals or on their death bed, but this time I imagined myself here, a lonely traveler walking into a valley of unknown danger, bones crunching under my feet--human or animal?--and all sorts of scary places from which evil might pounce. Maybe I'm on a mission for somebody else's sake. Maybe I've felt alone, trying to be strong for the good of my friend, but in giving my strength to somebody else I feel vulnerable and unprotected. I look over my shoulder, twigs snapping left and right, and dusk is falling. I kneel down and cry because I don't know what else to do. Danger is everywhere. I'm afraid. I pray "help me, God. Please help me."

And then there is a hand on my shoulder, warm and gentle. It helps me up. I can't see the hand or who it belongs to, but it gently supports me, one hand on my back, the other on my elbow guiding me. I hear predators all around me, but they don't come to me. The hand guides me up the mountain and into a shelter. I sit at a table to eat, and my enemies are all around. Criminals and violent people sit across from me glaring, but the hand is there with me, and they are at a distance. The hand places a blessing on my forehead, and sends me off on my journey. I can feel the hand no longer, but the mark of the cross is upon me...

The Hebrew word that has been translated over and over as "follow" (radap) is actually better translated as "pursue." Following sounds passive, but pursuit is active. Even when I wander off into a dark place, or am tricked there. Even when bad people are grabbing at me or hopelessness is eating me from the inside, goodness and mercy isn't just following somewhere, but pursuing me like a dog chasing me. Goodness is breathing hard, panting, running after me to find me. Mercy is tracking my cell phone signal and catching up. I can't get rid of them because they pursue me endlessly.

Anne Lamott wrote that the two best prayers she knows are "help me" and "thank you" and I think she's right. I find it hard to pray sometimes because I feel like I need to be eloquent, but when I'm totally at the end of myself, I have no choice but to say help me help me help me, God. And because of the words of the Psalms, I know that God is already on the case. God isn't just passively observing us walk through trials, but pursuing us with single minded determination wherever we should wander. That's all I wanted to say today: God's love pursues you always even in the valley of the shadow of death. Whatever valley you are in today, be still and know that God is the Lord over all things, even death, and will never abandon you.