Psalm 23 ¹ The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. ² He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. ³ He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. ⁴ 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. ⁵ Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. ⁶ Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

Martin Luther once commented on the opening verse of Psalm 23, “It seems to reason that on earth there are no poorer, more miserable, and unhappier people than those very Christians. … It appears outwardly that the Christians are scattered sheep, forsaken by God, already handed over to the jaws of the wolves—sheep who lack nothing except everything…”

My autistic son Aaron was diagnosed with stage four lymphoma a little over twenty years ago. The tumor our doctor discovered in his chest was so large it was threatening to cut off his wind. The oncology doctors felt it was urgent to take a bone-marrow sample immediately so that they could identify the cancer and get started with chemotherapy. Unfortunately, Aaron had just eaten lunch. He could not receive anesthesia. The doctors would have to drill into his hip for the sample while we restrained him. As they did so, Aaron, who was about 10 years old, kept crying, “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you torturing me?”

How would you have answered him? The answer was simple, really. “We are doing this to save you.” But how do you explain that to an autistic little boy?

I think there is an answer in there to our own “why” questions, when it seems that the Lord is allowing all kinds of harmful things into our lives. “I am doing this to save you,” he says, “or your loved ones, or other people touched by your life. It’s complicated how this all works together. You probably wouldn’t understand why it has to be this way. But I am asking you to trust me. I am asking you to listen to my promises, and believe that they are true.”

The opening verses of the Twenty-third Psalm are a calming, comforting picture of a Shepherd’s love and care for his sheep. It sounds like a vacation, an escape, some far off future retreat, or even heaven. In the movies when it isn’t all puffy clouds and cherubs, heaven so often looks a little like the picture here: lush green fields laid across rolling hills with a gentle brook winding through.

But these words don’t first begin to describe life when we take our last breath in this world and open our eyes in the next. This is for as long as we know our Savior. “He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened,” Jesus says, “and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am humble and gentle in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” The love that unburdens our hearts of our sins and replaces them with God’s peace doesn’t start in the future. For those who believe, it is life every day.

It is that love that allows us to know that we are safe, even in the face of death. “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.” Notice that David does not say in the Psalm, “I will fear no evil for nothing bad will ever happen to me” or “I will not die.” He says, “I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.” We are safe because we face neither life nor death alone. Holding our hand is someone who knows a little something about death himself. Jesus died the death of the whole world when he gave his life on the cross. Jesus knows a little something about death…and life on the other side.

Now he promises, “I am with you.” Sometimes, when death starts to cast its long shadow over us, he takes our hand and says, “Don’t be afraid. I am with you. I am the conqueror of death. I give life and take it away. It is not your time yet. You are safe with me.” Sometimes he takes our hand and says, “Don’t be afraid. I am going to walk you through this door. I have made death the gate to a fantastically new and better life. You are safe with me.”

Life with this Savior is a blessed life. “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.” Even surrounded by our enemies, our Lord gives us good things. And once our cup of life, which has more than its share of pain and danger, has been cast into the ocean of God’s grace and love, “I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” We come home. Surely, that is a blessed life.

After raising his questions about the promises of this Psalm, Luther brought his readers around. “Therefore, I say, do not in this matter follow the world and your reason. People… consider the prophet to be a liar when he says, ‘I shall not want,’ because they judge according to outward appearance. But, as we said previously, stick to God’s Word and promise, listen to your shepherd, how and what he speaks to you, and follow his voice, not what your eyes see and your heart feels. In this way you have conquered.”

2 Corinthians 8:1-5 “And now, brothers, we want you to know about the grace that God has given the Macedonian churches. Out of the most severe trial, their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity. For I testify that they gave as much as they were able, and even beyond their ability. Entirely on their own, they urgently pleaded with us for the privilege of sharing in this service to the saints. And they did not do as we expected, but they gave themselves first to the Lord, and then to us in keeping with God’s will.”

Did you ever observe some idiosyncrasy in your parents and promise yourself you would never do that yourself? Then one day as an adult you catch yourself doing exactly the same thing. You realize that you have become your father or your mother. Or perhaps you were working on some project with a brother or sister, an aunt or uncle, and they comment that you do something exactly the way one of your parents used to do it. Our habits, behavior, and mannerisms are often more than a reflection of self. They are a window to the generation before us.

The Apostle Paul observed a similar truth at work in our spiritual lives. As he looked at the Christians who lived in Macedonia and in Corinth, he noticed that their giving was more than a revelation of the kind of people they were. It pointed beyond them to the grace of God that made them that way. The same is true of our Christian giving today.

Examples drawn from life are powerful teaching tools. Even though we may not feel so comfortable with using the example of real live people to teach about Christian giving, that is exactly what Paul did for the Corinthians. He wanted them to learn from the example of the Macedonians.

There is much in these Macedonians to admire, and much to prick our consciences. Paul refers to their “severe trial,” and their “extreme poverty.” The opposition to Christianity was strong in Philippi, Berea, and Thessalonica, the cities of Macedonia that had Christian congregations. The book of Acts tells us Paul wasn’t able to stay in any of these cities more than a few weeks before he was chased out of town, leaving the new Christians there to deal with their hostile neighbors. History tells us that years earlier, when the Roman army went marching through, they followed a “scorched earth” policy. Macedonia as a whole was not the richest part of the world, and the Christians who lived there were particularly poor.

Not exactly the recipe for making people generous, is it? You know how the tension that is created when money is in short supply around the house dries up all your patience with the people who call during supper asking for a donation to some cause. It makes us feel sorry for ourselves. It makes us look for someone to blame for our predicament.

But the Macedonians? They were overflowing with joy. Their joy was like a can of Coke dumped over ice, and the bubbles come foaming up and spill over the top of the glass. What came spilling over the top of these Macedonians was a rich generosity that gave more than their poverty would suggest they were capable of giving. They weren’t afraid that Paul was going to ask them if they could contribute something to this special offering for the poor in Jerusalem. They went to him and begged to be a part.

Undoubtedly, what made the Macedonians this way is that they kept their focus straight. They weren’t just giving money. The gift was a whole lot bigger than that. They were giving themselves. The money was just a token, a sign that their lives, their hearts, their souls had been given up.

They weren’t just paying bills or supporting an institution or doing a favor for an old friend. They gave themselves first to the Lord. This was an act of worship, something that is easy for us to lose sight of when we are faced with the urgency of all our bills and obligations.

Paul holds up their example not so much as a pattern for us to trace, or as standard by which we should be measured. Rather, it is an example of the wonderful difference that can be made, the beautiful things that can be produced in the lives of people by the love and forgiveness that God has impressed upon their hearts. The incredible generosity of the Macedonians assures us that God’s grace is real, and that it really makes a difference. Their giving was evidence of God’s grace. That grace can still make us generous givers, too.

Romans 4:4-5 “Now when a man works, his wages are not credited to him as a gift, but as an obligation. However, to the man who does not work but trusts God who justifies the wicked, his faith is credited as righteousness.”

Leave church for a moment. Go to your workplace. See how things work there. Whether you punch a clock and work with your hands, or sit behind a desk and push paper, or travel around trying to push a product, what happens every week or two? You get a paycheck. You expect that paycheck. You demand that paycheck, because you earned it. Your employer isn’t doing you any favor by paying you. He owes you. If he were to put on some big display every time he paid you, as though he was going beyond the call of duty by giving you this money, you would think he was being absurd. He has an obligation to pay you for your work.

If our own good works made us righteous in God’s eyes, if we earned heaven by the way we serve, wouldn’t the same be true? God would owe us. Giving us eternal life would be an obligation. He wouldn’t use words like grace, or gift, or free. He would fork over the goods and be quiet about it.

It appeals to our pride to try to save ourselves this way. We might even wonder why we shouldn’t go this route. If you go back and read the whole context of the book of Romans up to this point, you will see how impossible Paul makes this to be. In the book of Revelation the Apostle John warns people who are confident about themselves, “You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” We’re not just a little behind on meeting God’s demands. Spiritually, we are flat broke. We are crippled, blind, and even dead.

The attitude that wants to work out our own way to God only drives us farther away. No one ever gets closer to him by trusting more in oneself. No one ever loves God more by believing he has received less from him. The work for your wages method deadens faith.

Then we see the other side of Paul’s illustration. “However, to the man who does not work but trusts God who justifies the wicked, his faith is credited as righteousness.” If we don’t work for our place in God’s heart and home, there is only one other way to get it. It has to come to us as a gift. We simply trust him to give it to us.

The God who became a man and died on a cross even “justifies the wicked.” The gift goes to those who have been working for the competition. The Lord credited righteousness to drunks like Noah, murderers like Moses, adulterers like David, cowards like Peter, skeptics like Thomas, and persecutors like Paul. No matter what our great failings may be, he invites us to trust him and be confident that he will credit us as righteous people, just like them.

We receive God’s grace every day. It’s always given, never earned.

John 18:10-11 “Then Simon Peter, who had a sword, drew it and struck the high priest’s servant, cutting off his right ear. (The servant’s name was Malchus.) Jesus commanded Peter, ‘Put your sword away! Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?’”

To understand Peter better, approach this episode a little like a question on Jeopardy. “If the death of God’s Son on the cross is the answer, then what is the question?” Or put it this way: “If Jesus’ death on the cross is the solution, then what is the problem?”

If my salvation required God to leave heaven, become a human being, subject himself to his own rules, keep them all perfectly, then permit himself to be unjustly arrested and condemned, submit to beatings and tortures that would have killed many, be nailed to cross and hung there to die, and be forsaken by God the Father (essentially the experience of hell), then my sins are not a minor, insignificant bending of God’s rules. They must be unspeakably evil, dangerous far beyond my poor ability to measure or understand. My condition must be dead and lost far beyond my powers to help. If Jesus had to do all that, what do I think I am going to add?

It’s a little like chemotherapy. When the solution is to pump a body full of hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of deadly poisons for months or years, the threat isn’t just about feeling a little sick. This problem isn’t going to be solved with just a slight adjustment to diet and exercise. Similarly, my sins put me beyond all normal expectation of help or survival. Only God’s own miraculous intervention can save me.

Jesus cross, and the horror that he suffered there, teaches us this. The solution helps us see the full extent of the problem. But that was just Peter’s problem. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to believe it. He had big plans for that first class cabin on the promenade deck. Jesus’ cross took them all away. The first time Jesus openly mentioned his cross to the disciples, Peter pulled him aside and contradicted him in the strongest terms. You remember: “Never, Lord. This shall never happen to you.” And Jesus replied, “Get behind me Satan. You are a stumbling block to me. You do not have in mind the things of God but the things of men.” Here, when the plan is finally going into effect, Peter has drawn his sword and will fight to prevent it from happening.

Like Peter, we need to stop fighting God’s plan. Like Peter, we need to let Jesus drink the cup the Father has given him (as if we could prevent it, anyway). Like Peter, we need to learn to stop struggling with the cross and let Jesus lead us to accept all that it means for us. The cross may mean that I am sinner who cannot save himself, but it also means forgiveness for every sin and a place as God’s holy child. The cross may mean that all my life and accomplishments in this world are going to come to nothing. But it also offers escape to a new life in a new world infinitely better than the one we are leaving behind.

Sometimes children fight the very things that save them–the shot with the antibiotic their bodies need, the seat belt that makes it possible to survive an accident. Sometimes even God’s children have resisted the very thing that saves them–the cross, and all that means for our sin and for our world. Stop struggling. Let the cross do its work. Life is waiting on the other side.

Revelation 1:16 “In his right hand he held seven stars, and out of his mouth came a sharp double-edged sword. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance.”

We are not left to wonder about the identity of these stars in Jesus’ hand. Verse 20 tells us, “The seven stars are the angels of the seven churches.” These aren’t some kind of guardian angels for these churches. The word angel literally means “messenger.” These are the men who deliver Jesus’ message to the churches. We commonly refer to them as pastors.

Jesus holds his pastors in his right hand. That’s a thought that could fill a man with a sense of holy awe and fear. You want to be careful that when you claim you are speaking for him, you are actually speaking for him. One of my best friends in college was the son of the pastor at Redemption Lutheran Church in Milwaukee, WI. One of the things that always struck me about their sanctuary was the cross suspended from the ceiling by a chain. It hung directly over the pulpit. It seemed to me that you would want to be particularly careful about what you said while you were standing in that pulpit. That cross provided the Lord a convenient way to show his displeasure if the preacher dared to preach something false.

We don’t need something hanging over our heads to remind us to be careful with the message. Jesus holds not just pastors, but all of us, in his hand at all times. His hand can close in judgment at any time.

I don’t think that is the main thing he wants us to think about here, however. If Jesus holds those who serve him in his hand, who is going to take them away from him? If Jesus holds you in his hand, who can hurt you in the end? Even if an angry mob with pitchforks and torches should attack and make this your last day on earth, “what can man do to me?” Jesus makes the promise to all of his sheep: “No one can snatch them out of my hands.”

One last thought on Jesus holding us in his hand. I don’t know whether Jesus was right handed or left handed, but the many Bible references to the right hand, like the one here, suggest that Jesus is speaking about the skilled hand as well as his powerful hand. This is the hand with which most people do their most work.

Jesus makes the people he holds in his right hand his chosen instruments. You are his tool to reach out to others and save them. We all understand that only Jesus is the sacrifice for our sins. Only his word, his gospel, is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes.

But faith comes from hearing the message, right? Pick up the Sword of the Spirit, and start swinging. Speak the gospel. You yourself are in Jesus’ hand. That’s not just a safe place to be. It is a useful one.

1 Samuel 17:48-50 “As the Philistine moved closer to attack him, David ran quickly toward the battle line to meet him. Reaching into his bag and taking out a stone, he slung it and struck the Philistine on the forehead. The stone sank into his forehead, and he fell facedown on the ground. So David triumphed over the Philistine with a sling and a stone; without a sword in his hand he struck down the Philistine and killed him.”

There is a time for the child of God to retreat when under attack. When the kinds of temptations that appeal to the lusts of our own sinful natures are luring us, especially sexual sins, God’s word to us is “Flee!” Nothing in Scripture suggests that we should engage the temptation to see how long we can hang in there before we finally give in. That would be foolish, not faithful.

But David was facing an entirely different situation here. The Giant Goliath had insulted God. He had called into question God’s power and grace. God’s reputation as the Deliverer of his people was at stake. And when God’s reputation suffers, so does the faith of his people.

The real issue was not the physical battle between an impetuous teenager and a godless Giant. It was the spiritual attack on the hearts of God’s children. There was an entire army standing behind David. But their faith had been compromised by Goliath’s size and threats. That’s why they were behind David, not out there meeting the challenge themselves. That meant that more than lives were at stake this day. Their very souls were in danger.

For that kind of battle, you can’t get started fast enough. David ran to meet the giant. There is an appropriate sense of urgency for us to get going, to engage our spiritual battle with the world for the hearts of neighbors who don’t know Jesus or church members who are losing their grip on him. For this the signal is never “Flee!” but “Charge!” when we are acting on faith, not fear.

Doesn’t David’s story make you want to do something? Doesn’t it make you want to act? Let me share with you a little story told by a pastor at a youth conference: “My kids have “Dave and the Giant Pickle,” (The Veggie Tales version of this story) and after they watched it a few times, I watched it with them and I thought, ‘That’s enough.; And so we read this whole narrative and my little son Johnny, he’s four years old, and he says, ‘Dad, he killed him all the way dead, didn’t he?’ I said, ‘Yeah, he did.’ He says, ‘He chopped his head off with a sword, didn’t he?’ I said, ‘Yes, he did.’”

“I have a sword in my office. It’s an unsharpened sword. We came in the next Sunday morning and I was out making copies—Johnny was in my office—and I could hear—it makes a certain sound—a “shing” when it comes out of the sheath, and he pulled it—and he comes out in the office and he’s almost in tears, and John says…it never dawned on me that he didn’t think Goliaths were still around today.  He says, ‘Dad,’—he’s almost in tears and he’s dead serious and he says, ‘If Goliath comes in this office, I will chop his head off.’” “I’m on your team, that’s where I am.”

That’s the power of God’s word in the heart of a young man, the power and faith that makes him ready to act. The battles God gives us to fight for him today may be spiritual, not physical. We fight with words, not swords. But his word gives us the faith to engage the battle, and trust him for victory in the end.

1 Samuel 17:45-46 “David said to the Philistine, “You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This day the Lord will hand you over to me, and I’ll strike you down and cut off your head. Today I will give the carcasses of the Philistine army to the birds of the air and the beasts of the earth, and the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel.”

David was absolutely convinced of the reality and power of our God. The God of the armies of Israel was the one who destroyed the chariots of Egypt and brought down the walls of Jericho. In both cases, Israel did not have to fire a single shot or swing a single sword. This was the God who allowed just 300 Jewish soldiers under Gideon to defeat a Midianite army of over 100,000. This God, who could flick Goliath away like an irritating fly, was as real and as present for David as a person sitting next to you at this moment.

Here we have our Christ window into this Old Testament account. Here we see our Savior, because the God of the armies of Israel is the same God whose love and power have delivered us in way that makes all of this look tiny. Our hero and champion Jesus is this same God of the armies of Israel. He has defeated the devil and all his demons. He canceled every one of our sins and destroyed death itself. We didn’t even have to lift even a finger in that fight.

He did it all for us by giving up his own life at the cross, then taking it back again in his resurrection from the dead. This same Jesus is present with us every time we take the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God (Ephesians 6:17), out of its sheath and use it today. Confronting sin and overcoming unbelief is not about our power. It’s not about our cleverness, our persuasive arguments, or skills in debate. It is about the power of Jesus Christ working in his word. He says this word “will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.”

With this gracious, saving God on our side David was completely confident of victory. And we should be just as confident for our battles with God’s enemies, too.

That’s not to say that our success will always look like David’s on the outside. The early Christians were often forced to defy the Roman empire of their day in order to remain loyal to Christ. In thousands of cases that meant beatings, torture, and even death. Did that mean failure and defeat? Even when their bodies were lying lifeless on the sands of the arena, their souls were living and reigning with Christ in heaven. Beyond a personal victory over the powers of this world, their example of faithfulness in the face of death inspired many more to hear the gospel, know Jesus as their Savior, and spread his love to others.

It has often been said, “the blood of the martyrs was the seed of the church.” The more Christians died, the more the gospel got out, and the more the Church was winning. These early Christians were courageous, not cowards. They believed the truth, not the world’s brash claims. God give us the faith to be as courageous and loyal as they were.

1 Samuel 17:42-44 “He (Goliath) looked David over and saw that he was only a boy, ruddy and handsome, and he despised him. He said to David, ‘Am I a dog, that you come at me with sticks?’ And the Philistine cursed David by his gods. ‘Come here,” he said, ‘and I’ll give your flesh to the birds of the air and the beasts of the field!’”

Trash talk is not a phenomenon that began with late 20^th Century sports. This kind of psychological warfare goes back at least 3000 years. Goliath used it against David. Right away the giant went to work trying to destroy David’s courage.

First, he attacked David’s person. He despised the young man. Goliath seemed offended that the Israelites would send a teenager to fight him. His words and body language said, “You are an inadequate little wimp.”

Some still use that kind of trash talk against those fighting on God’s side. Many years ago a pastor was attending a conference where an agnostic professor was speaking. After the speech the pastor questioned the speaker about something unbiblical he had said. The professors just dismissed him by saying, “Oh, you’re from one of those churches where they have no scholars.” He was saying, “Intellectually, you are an inadequate little wimp. You can’t win this argument with me.” The same thing is going on when you stand up for the truth and others call you a “fundamentalist,” “Bible-thumper,” or “dinosaur.” “You’re too stupid to figure this out,” they imply.

Second, he mocked David’s weapons. “Am I a dog, that you come at me with sticks?” David had nothing more than his slingshot, a little bag of stones, and a staff in his hand. They didn’t look like much use against a giant whose spearhead alone weighed 15 pounds, not to mention his sword, shield, and armor. “You don’t have the tools, the weapons, to beat me.”

Do our weapons for fighting God’s battles look even weaker? We have nothing more than a message about God’s love, a ritual involving words and water, a little taste of bread and wine mixed with a promise of Jesus’ forgiving presence. They look harmless compared to the money, the fun and excitement, the reasonable sounding arguments, and sometimes the raw power and influence of those who find Christianity old-fashioned, restrictive, unscientific, or too boring to take seriously.

Sometimes we even begin to believe the trash talk. We doubt whether word and sacrament are enough. Then we reach for gimmicks or lose courage. We begin to fold, because we don’t think we have the tools, the weapons, or the resources to win.

So are we just going to let the giant win? Should David have resigned himself to the conclusion that Goliath was going to feed him to the birds that day? Should we accept that we are going to lose the next generation to the world and the false teachers, that we can’t compete with worldly pleasures for the hearts of our neighbors, that we are too small and too poor and too outgunned to make a difference in a culture that seems bent on overturning everything that is good and true and godly?

Or are we going to stand and fight? Our weapons don’t look impressive, but we wield divine power when we use them. The gospel is enough to protect ourselves and drive back the enemies of biblical faith in every era.

Mark 1:32-34 “That evening after sunset the people brought to Jesus all the sick and demon-possessed. The whole town gathered at the door, and Jesus healed many who had various diseases. He also drove out many demons, but he would not let the demons speak because they knew who he was.”

The whole town showed up. If they came, Jesus healed them. He didn’t limit himself to standard office hours, though he had already put in a full day. As long as people kept coming, he kept serving. Take note the next time you wonder if you are good enough to come to him, or if you have come too often, or if you can come right now. If you come, he serves you. He wants you to know that about him.

In fact, he had a grave concern that the people who were coming to him would know him truly. It may seem strange to us at first that he would not let the demons speak when he threw them out. “They knew who he was,” Mark tells us. Apparently they were trying to identify him on their way out. But Jesus wouldn’t let them do it. He wanted people to know who he was, but not this way.

I don’t think it is hard to understand why. Later in his ministry Jesus called the devil the father of lies. The very first temptation into the very first sin that plunged the human race into death and hell was all about lies and half-truths. He isn’t a reliable witness.

About 10 years ago Jim Carey was in a movie called Liar, Liar. He is a lawyer, and his son makes a wish that, for a whole day, his dad can’t tell any lies. The wish comes true. In many scenes telling the truth gets him into trouble. But in one scene in which he is asked what he thinks of his colleagues, his past lying leads everyone to think he is merely being funny when he tells them what he thinks.

Maybe you have heard of “paltering.” It is telling the truth in order to deceive. Salespeople do it. Politicians do it. You carefully choose the truths you express to give someone the wrong impression. A potential client asks you, “Do you think your sales will grow next year?” You answer, “Our sales have grown consistently the last ten years.” It may be true, but it hides the fact you do not expect growth in the year to come.

So the devils are clever. They couldn’t resist Jesus power to throw them out. They knew that this would lead people to believe his power came from God. But they also knew anything they said would be questioned by the people. So they tell the truth, or at least they try to, in order to deceive. Their well-known reputation for lying would help to cast a cloud of doubt over Jesus true identity.

That’s why Jesus won’t let them speak for them. He doesn’t want their witness. He lets his power and love do all the talking so that we can know him as God and Savior.