Surely Goodness and Mercy
Surely Goodness and Mercy
I asked that question simply because the life I was now living did not feel particularly good. I could never quite view the verse through the same lens that I did prior to her diagnosis and homecoming. Life didn't feel very good, and to be fair, it still doesn't from time to time. Tiffanie was still gone. The empty chair is still empty. The phone wasn't ringing anymore. I wasn't getting any more funny videos from her. Holidays felt and still feel different. My birthday just passed and instead of it being a day of celebration it feels like a day of doom and gloom. Ordinary moments can become painful reminders of what you have lost.
So how can David say, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me”? One of the things that we've been doing in this study isn't just looking at what David writes; instead we look at what David doesn't say. He doesn't say that nothing painful will happen. David's life was an honest estimation of a man who experienced deep pain and loss. He wasn't immune from the woes of this world. He doesn't say that the Shepherd will keep us from every valley. In fact, just a few verses earlier, David had already walked through the darkest valley imaginable. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.” That was the message of the previous verse. The Shepherd doesn't promise that we will never walk through the valley. He promises that we will not walk through it alone.
And now, at the end of the Psalm, David looks back over the road and declares something remarkable: Goodness and mercy have been there, too. What? Did David really write that? David says even as I look back at the valley of the shadow of death I still see, even in that dark, scary place, I still see God's goodness and mercy. Again, let's look at what David doesn't say in that phrase. Goodness and mercy does not mean that life has always been easy for David. Nor will it be easy for us. This distinction matters to those of us that are grieving. Sometimes Christians unintentionally make grief harder by trying to explain God's goodness. They say things like “God has a plan.” “Everything happens for a reason.” “God needed another angel.” “God will use this for something good.” Some of those statements may be intended to comfort, and they probably come with the best of intentions, but in the immediate aftermath of loss, they can feel painfully inadequate. It would be like having a person cooking an ethnic food without ever visiting the country of tasting a dish from that country. They have no experience in an area in which we that are grieving seemingly have mastery.
I think it's important to note that David doesn't attempt to explain everything that happened along his journey. He simply declares that the Shepherd was faithful throughout it. That thought was a profound one and made me rewind what I've been through for the past three years. It might make you rewind too. There are times in our grief journey when we want an answer to every step, every failure, every struggle, every confusing moment, every moment when things just didn't seem to make sense. But friend, not to be callous or cavalier, we might not understand each step of the journey. God's goodness does not mean that everything that happens to us is good. Read that again. The existence of terrible things doesn't negate God's goodness. Death is not good. Loss is not good. Cancer is not good. Loneliness is not good. The empty side of the bed is not good. There are things in this broken world that are genuinely heartbreaking. But the existence of sorrow does not mean the absence of God's goodness. That isn't something that you just carry out from Bible study or church on a Sunday morning. It's something that you carry out after walking through the valley, being singed by the fire, and drenched by the deep waters.
Sometimes God's goodness looks less like changing our circumstances and more like sustaining us in circumstances we cannot change. You might remember the serenity prayer. The opening lines says "God grant me the serenity to accept things that I cannot change." That's easy to read, it will take a lifetime to put into practice. God meets in simple moments. It is the strength to get out of bed when we don't want to. It is the friend who sits beside us without trying to fix us. It is the unexpected moment when a painful memory makes us smile instead of cry. It is the ability to love someone so deeply that losing them hurts this much. It is the grace to take one more step. And sometimes, goodness is simply the reminder that our story is not over and that there are countless blank pages yet to be written in your life.
David doesn't say goodness alone is following him. He says goodness and mercy. Mercy. The only time I used the word mercy growing up was when my cousins were beating me up and I yelled mercy, or basically stop, give me a break, take sympathy on me. Mercy is a beautiful word for grieving people. Mercy means God understands our weakness, and let me be totally transparent, grief shows us our weaknesses. I work with widowers and some of those precious men are as strong as bulls. They are muscular. They are 'men's men.' They are farmers, truck drivers. They are tough enough to spit nails. But when grief arrives it also brings with it weakness. God knows we are weak. He knows there are days when we don't have much left, when the tank is near empty. He knows that grief doesn't follow a schedule and doesn't punish us or judge us when we regress instead of progress. He knows that you can be doing well for several days and then suddenly find yourself crying in the grocery store because you saw something that reminded you of them. He knows your mental health can be fragile. He knows the hurt of birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. He also knows when a random Tuesday afternoon hurts for no reason at all.
And here is the beautiful things, God is not standing over us with disappointment because we aren't “over it” yet. To my knowledge God never looks at His children, tapping His foot, looking at His watch wondering what's taking so long. Why? Because He is merciful. The Shepherd understands the sheep. He knows when we are tired. He knows when we are wounded. He knows when we have wandered. And He knows when all we can do is lie down and say, “God, I don't know how I'm going to do this.” I've told that to God more often then I can count.
The voice of mercy shouts out saying that we don't have to have it all together. That's its ok to be a mess. The way I looked at it was that I was at least God's mess. You don't have to understand everything. You don't have to be an actor and pretend that everything is okay. Please hear this point, you DO NOT have to rush your grief. You simply have one task, follow the Shepherd. And if you stumble, just know that He holds you and guides you along the way.
As I was studying this passage I was struck with something that I hadn't noticed, almost like a hidden pictures with the words of David. He doesn't say that goodness and mercy will occasionally visit him. They are not seasonal visitors that come by every now and then. He says they will follow him. The Hebrew word can literally be translated into pursuing something or someone. But what does this look like practically? Let me paint a word picture for you. I got for a week each night with my oldest son. We walk trails in the woods. Let me tell you something, I don't always know what's around each bend in the trail. I can see everything ahead of us. The same can be said about tomorrow. I don't know what tomorrow holds. I certainly have no idea what next week, next month, or next year will hold. After losing someone the whole concept of the future and what lies ahead can be difficult. So much so for me that I've dealt with anxiety attacks and ambushed by panic. That's what grief does. Grief makes the future seem frightening because the future you imagined having included someone who is no longer there. BUT, David writes that as we walk forward, something is following us. Goodness. Mercy. That's not just goodness and mercy on the good days. They days when the sun is warm on our face and when the birds are singing. Not just on days when our mental health is high. Not just on days when we feel close to God. Not just on days when we understand what He's doing. Instead goodness and mercy follow us ALL the days of our lives. Let me repeat that, all the days of your life. No matter what the day may looks like and no matter how you may feel in the moment, goodness and mercy follow you. You might ask, what about in the difficult days? Yes. What about on the lonely days (I hate those days)? Yes. What about days when my faith feels so thin that I can see through it? Yes. Goodness and mercy are still there, always and forever.
Psalm 23 begins with the Lord is my shepherd. Before green pastures, before still waters, before the need to have our soul restored, before we were broken in the valley, He was there. I find this to be a profound beauty. The Shepherd was there before the valley, before the heartache, before the breaking. David made it clear right out of the gate in verse one that he belonged to the Good Shepherd. That he was a simple sheep in his Savior's flock. Then as David walks through the dark valley he declares with confidence that "You are with me." Now at the end of the Psalm, David turns around to examine his journey. To reflect of where he's been and what he's experienced. As he turns around he sees twin companions, goodness and mercy. He looks forward and what does He see, the Shepherd who led Him faithfully all the way. He might even see the Shepherd beside Him, walking David's pace through life's turmoil and woes. To be fair with you God was before David, beside David, and behind David the entire journey.
And maybe this is one of the deepest parts of the 23rd Psalm that we need to apply when we are grieving. God is not simply waiting for us at the end of the road of grief. No. Instead He is with us. Not just with us, but with us in it. He was there with us before the loss, before the last phone call, before the hospital room, before their funeral, before everyone returns to their home and your house becomes silent. He was there then, and friends, He is with us now.
I think one of the most shocking things that grief has taken from me is the sense of home. After Tiffanie passed away nothing has quite felt like home. Leslie and I are now married but we haven't been able to create a 'home' yet since we are still immigrating, so the feeling of home seems foreign. I think most grieving people would openly admit that home doesn't feel like home anymore. And yet David writes, "And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." That word house hits me differently now that grief has become my lifelong companion. The word home jumps off the page offering me comfort. Why? Because I still have a home ahead of me.
For the grieving Christian, it may be the most important part of the entire Psalm. I think the Psalm would lost it's power if verse six were to be expunged from the text. The Psalmist doesn't just look back at where he's been, but now he looks forward. His eyes go from the shadowlands to a land where no shadows molest or harm. David reminds us that are grieving that this world is temporary. Our bodies, homes, and earthly lives are nothing more then a spring flower or a vapor of wind. But the Shepherd is leading us somewhere permanent. He is leads us home. Home. Do me a favor and say that word out loud.
The Psalm ends on such a beautiful high note. There is a day coming when death will no longer separate us. I know that one of you had to say amen after reading that! There is a day coming when grief will finally end. There is a day coming when the Shepherd will wipe away every tear and hold us tenderly in His arms. I don't know how long my journey will be, nor can I guess how long yours will be. I don't know how many valleys remain or what hardships could still be on the horizon, but I do know this, I know where the Good Shepherd is leading. He is leading us home. Home beloved. Home.
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