Sunday, April 26, 2026 – Easter 4
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
The Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Psalm 23 - King James Version
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
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.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
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.
Psalm 23 - The Message
God, my shepherd!
I don’t need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
you let me catch my breath
and send me in the right direction.
Even when the way goes through
Death Valley,
I’m not afraid
when you walk at my side.
Your trusty shepherd’s crook
makes me feel secure.
You serve me a six-course dinner
right in front of my enemies.
You revive my drooping head;
my cup brims with blessing.
Your beauty and love chase after me
every day of my life.
I’m back home in the house of God
for the rest of my life.
I’ll never forget the first time I had a close encounter with a sheep. We didn’t live on a farm, but some folks in my dad’s parish did. And one day, one of those farm families invited me to come and experience a day on the farm for myself.
I’m sure that my lack of farm-experience was obvious. And I suppose that this was too great temptation for those farm kids to resist. And so, they convinced me that one of the best things to do on a farm was to wrangle a sheep. And by wrangling, they meant tackling. That sounded reasonable to me.
I watched the farm kids go first. And somehow, each one did manage to grab hold of and subdue a sheep. And then it was my turn. I remember that I screwed up all the courage I had. And then I ran at that sheep with all my might. Well, this must have scared the poor creature to death, because that sheep bolted like lightening. But so, did I. And suddenly, I was gaining on the sheep. Suddenly, I saw my opportunity. And so, I leapt through the air but landed short of the goal, only managing to grab hold of one of the back legs.
No one had told me to let go if that happened, and so I held on for dear life. I held on as that poor sheep ran and kicked trying to get away from me. I held on, as that sheep drug me across the field. I held on until finally that sheep knocked me loose.
Well, I was a bit dazed at first, but when I finally stood up, let’s just say that it wasn’t only mud that covered me. I was also covered with all the souvenirs sheep tend to leave wherever they go. And when the farm kids saw this, they laughed until they cried. And when their mother saw it, she laughed until she cried. And then she took a garden hose to me, leaving me to dry out in the hot Indiana sun.
Well, I thought of that story as I trapsed around the island of Iona, off the west coast of Scotland. I thought of that story because Iona has far more sheep than people. And I had some close encounters with those Scottish sheep. I delighted to see them up on the crag behind the hotel, defying the laws of gravity. And I delighted to see them in the broad green pastures through which I hiked – always stepping carefully, I might add. And I delighted to see those precious lambs, frolicking and jumping with the joy of new life. Sheep take center stage on Iona. And sheep take center stage in the Psalm of the day.
Psalm 23, beloved by so many, is the most requested reading at any funeral over which I have presided. It is read beside the beds of the dying. It is memorized by church school children. And because of all of that, most preachers won’t touch it in a sermon. It’s just too familiar. In, fact, I don’t think I ever have preached on it before. But let’s just say that recent events have given it a new layer of meaning for me.
In the ancient world, a shepherd literally lived with the sheep, 24/7, 365 days a year. It was a shepherd’s entire purpose in life to keep the sheep from wandering off or into the mouths of predators. And because these very real dangers existed, a shepherd often needed to be strong and decisive. A shepherd had to drive those sheep in order to keep them safe, or to get them fed, or to quench their thirst. And, of course, the sheep didn’t always understand why the shepherd would drive them the way she did. Maybe sometimes, it even seemed cruel. But the shepherd knew what the sheep needed more than the sheep did.
As much as I had anticipated that week of study on Iona; as much as the Church Council had supported me in that quest, as much as so many of you had encouraged me to go, by the time the trip actually rolled around, Iona was the last place I wanted to be. As the events of my life unfolded, and as my family grieved, I just didn’t want to be so far away.
But everything has been set in order. And it was too late for refunds. And everyone kept telling me that it would be good for me. And so, reluctantly, I went.
I was soon reminded of why they call it a pilgrimage. A trip to Iona is not for the faint of heart. It took me two planes, a train, a ferry, a bus, and then another ferry to actually arrive. And all of it in the rain. By the time I actually made it to the hotel, I was exhausted, and wet, and still wondering what on earth I was doing there.
I was the first one off that last ferry, and the first one who arrived at the front desk of the hotel. All I wanted in that moment was my room key, a hot shower, and a nap. But when I arrived, I was instructed to go into the sun lounge for orientation. And so, like a good sheep, I obeyed.
Well, when it was over, and I had warmed myself with coffee and biscuits, I stood at that wall of windows that overlooked the sea. As I said, it had rained all day. But suddenly, the clouds parted, and when they did, the most marvelous rainbow appeared over the water. And something inside of me shifted. And I felt my sister’s presence so close. And I was overcome with a sense of gratitude.
Now in that moment, I had no idea how profound that week was about to be, but in that moment, I knew that I was in a very verdant pasture. And I hoped that my soul would be restored.
Our lives can so often feel out of control. We are all driven by external forces. We are all forced into places that we would never ever choose to go. We are like sheep. And we have all learned the painful lesson that not all shepherds are good. Not all shepherds are looking out for our best interests. Not all shepherds protect the flock. But some do.
I know that a pastor is called to be a shepherd. I know that my job is to look out for this flock here in Ye Fresh Meadows. I take it very seriously that I am to do my best to make sure that each sheep is safe and fed. But this is what I have learned. This is my sheepish observation. Sometimes, those roles are reversed. Sometimes, it is the people who shepherd the pastor.
As I traveled through the valley of the shadow of death, you were there, with your rods of kindness and staves of your comfort. And with those, you kept me from getting lost. And you set before me and my family a table groaning with blessings: cards and food and flowers and gifts, not just for me and Marcos, but for my parents. You filled our cups until they overflowed.
And I learned a new lesson about this beloved Psalm. Yes, indeed, the Lord is my shepherd. But he’s also got some wonderful assistants.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
The Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Psalm 23 - King James Version
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
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.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
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.
Psalm 23 - The Message
God, my shepherd!
I don’t need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
you let me catch my breath
and send me in the right direction.
Even when the way goes through
Death Valley,
I’m not afraid
when you walk at my side.
Your trusty shepherd’s crook
makes me feel secure.
You serve me a six-course dinner
right in front of my enemies.
You revive my drooping head;
my cup brims with blessing.
Your beauty and love chase after me
every day of my life.
I’m back home in the house of God
for the rest of my life.
I’ll never forget the first time I had a close encounter with a sheep. We didn’t live on a farm, but some folks in my dad’s parish did. And one day, one of those farm families invited me to come and experience a day on the farm for myself.
I’m sure that my lack of farm-experience was obvious. And I suppose that this was too great temptation for those farm kids to resist. And so, they convinced me that one of the best things to do on a farm was to wrangle a sheep. And by wrangling, they meant tackling. That sounded reasonable to me.
I watched the farm kids go first. And somehow, each one did manage to grab hold of and subdue a sheep. And then it was my turn. I remember that I screwed up all the courage I had. And then I ran at that sheep with all my might. Well, this must have scared the poor creature to death, because that sheep bolted like lightening. But so, did I. And suddenly, I was gaining on the sheep. Suddenly, I saw my opportunity. And so, I leapt through the air but landed short of the goal, only managing to grab hold of one of the back legs.
No one had told me to let go if that happened, and so I held on for dear life. I held on as that poor sheep ran and kicked trying to get away from me. I held on, as that sheep drug me across the field. I held on until finally that sheep knocked me loose.
Well, I was a bit dazed at first, but when I finally stood up, let’s just say that it wasn’t only mud that covered me. I was also covered with all the souvenirs sheep tend to leave wherever they go. And when the farm kids saw this, they laughed until they cried. And when their mother saw it, she laughed until she cried. And then she took a garden hose to me, leaving me to dry out in the hot Indiana sun.
Well, I thought of that story as I trapsed around the island of Iona, off the west coast of Scotland. I thought of that story because Iona has far more sheep than people. And I had some close encounters with those Scottish sheep. I delighted to see them up on the crag behind the hotel, defying the laws of gravity. And I delighted to see them in the broad green pastures through which I hiked – always stepping carefully, I might add. And I delighted to see those precious lambs, frolicking and jumping with the joy of new life. Sheep take center stage on Iona. And sheep take center stage in the Psalm of the day.
Psalm 23, beloved by so many, is the most requested reading at any funeral over which I have presided. It is read beside the beds of the dying. It is memorized by church school children. And because of all of that, most preachers won’t touch it in a sermon. It’s just too familiar. In, fact, I don’t think I ever have preached on it before. But let’s just say that recent events have given it a new layer of meaning for me.
In the ancient world, a shepherd literally lived with the sheep, 24/7, 365 days a year. It was a shepherd’s entire purpose in life to keep the sheep from wandering off or into the mouths of predators. And because these very real dangers existed, a shepherd often needed to be strong and decisive. A shepherd had to drive those sheep in order to keep them safe, or to get them fed, or to quench their thirst. And, of course, the sheep didn’t always understand why the shepherd would drive them the way she did. Maybe sometimes, it even seemed cruel. But the shepherd knew what the sheep needed more than the sheep did.
As much as I had anticipated that week of study on Iona; as much as the Church Council had supported me in that quest, as much as so many of you had encouraged me to go, by the time the trip actually rolled around, Iona was the last place I wanted to be. As the events of my life unfolded, and as my family grieved, I just didn’t want to be so far away.
But everything has been set in order. And it was too late for refunds. And everyone kept telling me that it would be good for me. And so, reluctantly, I went.
I was soon reminded of why they call it a pilgrimage. A trip to Iona is not for the faint of heart. It took me two planes, a train, a ferry, a bus, and then another ferry to actually arrive. And all of it in the rain. By the time I actually made it to the hotel, I was exhausted, and wet, and still wondering what on earth I was doing there.
I was the first one off that last ferry, and the first one who arrived at the front desk of the hotel. All I wanted in that moment was my room key, a hot shower, and a nap. But when I arrived, I was instructed to go into the sun lounge for orientation. And so, like a good sheep, I obeyed.
Well, when it was over, and I had warmed myself with coffee and biscuits, I stood at that wall of windows that overlooked the sea. As I said, it had rained all day. But suddenly, the clouds parted, and when they did, the most marvelous rainbow appeared over the water. And something inside of me shifted. And I felt my sister’s presence so close. And I was overcome with a sense of gratitude.
Now in that moment, I had no idea how profound that week was about to be, but in that moment, I knew that I was in a very verdant pasture. And I hoped that my soul would be restored.
Our lives can so often feel out of control. We are all driven by external forces. We are all forced into places that we would never ever choose to go. We are like sheep. And we have all learned the painful lesson that not all shepherds are good. Not all shepherds are looking out for our best interests. Not all shepherds protect the flock. But some do.
I know that a pastor is called to be a shepherd. I know that my job is to look out for this flock here in Ye Fresh Meadows. I take it very seriously that I am to do my best to make sure that each sheep is safe and fed. But this is what I have learned. This is my sheepish observation. Sometimes, those roles are reversed. Sometimes, it is the people who shepherd the pastor.
As I traveled through the valley of the shadow of death, you were there, with your rods of kindness and staves of your comfort. And with those, you kept me from getting lost. And you set before me and my family a table groaning with blessings: cards and food and flowers and gifts, not just for me and Marcos, but for my parents. You filled our cups until they overflowed.
And I learned a new lesson about this beloved Psalm. Yes, indeed, the Lord is my shepherd. But he’s also got some wonderful assistants.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
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