Year A, Lent 4, Psalm 23, Chicken Noodle Soup

 https://youtu.be/giRliA--qho

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ. Amen

Sometimes you just need a bowl of chicken noodle soup.  Or whatever other ‘comfort food’ that warms your soul.

Comfort food.

For me ‘comfort food’ is that which I associate with my mom.  And home.  And that place where I know I’m always welcome no matter what is happening in my life.

Chicken noodle soup has memories associated with it for me.

First and foremost I associate it with saltine crackers and 7-Up, the first foods I was able to have after being sick.  It was always an indication that my ordeal was approaching an end and I would soon be better.  And I remember my mom.

There are other foods I connect with my mom and heartwarming memories.

Banana bread.  A staple at our house.

Apple tarts.

Rhubarb delight.

Homemade cinnamon rolls with freshly ground whole wheat flour from the fields around their home in Joplin, MT.

At Christmas time it was the lefsa.

And of course, the cookies:  sandbakkels, and crumkakka.

And also, for me, rice cereal.  Mom would make the rice with milk, and we’d put butter (Norwegians put butter on everything) and cinnamon, and sugar on it.  It was an evening meal for us.  And I loved it.

All of these foods connect me to a time in my life when I still experienced the comfort of my mother’s bosom.  Wrapped in her care and love.

It was a simpler time.

A time when the great problems of my life melted away with a word of encouragement, the assurance that I was loved, all within a safe place that was home.

As the years passed by, the problems of my life didn’t melt away like that.  There were times of rejection out in that cold cruel world.  And there have been times of a desperate yearning to feel that love once again.

Ironically, now that I’m older I’m beginning to feel a lot of other connections with my mother.  Connections related to my health.

Bad knees.  Achy legs. Hypothyroidism. And on the list goes.

And I yearn for that warm cup of chicken noodle soup that makes the hurt go away.

 ¹The Lord| is my shepherd;
  I shall not | be in want.

Words I need to hear.

 ²The Lord makes me lie down | in green pastures
  and leads me be- | side still waters.
 ³You restore my | soul, O Lord,
  and guide me along right pathways | for your name’s sake.

Images of a safe place,

 ⁴Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall | fear no evil;
  for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they | comfort me. R

What a wonderful assurance that someone is there.

 ⁵You prepare a table before me in the presence | of my enemies;
  you anoint my head with oil, and my cup is | running over.

There you have it, the chicken noodle soup, a sign that the ordeal will soon be over.

 ⁶Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days | of my life,
  and I will dwell in the house of the | Lord forever. R

Home.

Psalm 23 is our spiritual chicken noodle soup.

Throughout our lives and at the time of our deaths we take comfort in these words.

Within this psalm, David has included three things:

                A memory.

                A prayer.

                And a hope.

A memory.

 ¹The Lord| is my shepherd;
  I shall not | be in want.
 ²The Lord makes me lie down | in green pastures
  and leads me be- | side still waters.

Faced with the uncertainty of trying times, we look back.  We remember.

That’s where the chicken noodle soup gets its power.

It evokes the memory for me that my present illness will soon be over.  It recalls my mom’s loving care. 

The bed my mom prepared for me.

The cup of soup on the bedside table.

The glass of 7-Up always present.

Healing powers.

Most of all, these memories form the foundation of hope.

We have hope for the future because we remember the way God has cared for us in the past.

I have faced many trials in my life.  And in spite of all my worries that each one might be my comeuppance, grace intervened.  God watched over me.  God delivered me.

I remember that.

I shall not be in want.

And in that light I pray:
³You restore my | soul, O Lord,
  and guide me along right pathways | for your name’s sake.
 ⁴Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall | fear no evil;
  for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they | comfort me. R
 ⁵You prepare a table before me in the presence | of my enemies;
  you anoint my head with oil, and my cup is | running over.

Now we are talking to God, not about God.

You restore me.

You guide me.

You are with me.

You comfort me.

You care for me.

And you anoint me with the healing oils.

And I am blessed beyond measure.

Our greatest fears surround death.

COVID 19 is among us.  And we don’t know what the future holds.  So we turn to God.

⁴Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall | fear no evil;

It is fear that too often drives us.  Some fears are rational.  COVID 19 is much more lethal than the flu.  We are learning that.  And for some there will not be enough 7-UP and chicken noodle soup to make them well.  And so fearing it, we take precautions.  Social distancing.

When I was sick as a child I was sent to my room.  It feels like that now.  “All y’all just go to your rooms.” 

Rational fears.

And then there are the irrational ones.  Like the “Oh, my God, I must run and buy every roll of toilet paper I can!” type of fear.  Kind of funny that we take comfort in, of all things, having a closet full of toilet paper.  Come on folks!

But whether our fears are rational or irrational we have this prayer.

You restore me.

You guide me.

You are with me.

You comfort me.

You care for me.

And you anoint me with the healing oils.

And I am blessed beyond measure.

Like our moms, God is present.  Loving.  Caring.  Healing.

And so we hope:

 ⁶Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days | of my life,
  and I will dwell in the house of the | Lord forever. R

Here there is a bit of a disconnect with my childhood home.  A big disconnect. 

My mom made it a point to teach us to fly.

Independence was a major value in our home  growing up.  We were to learn and grow, and then leave the nest.

I’ve joked many a time that mom gave us an 18 year nonrenewable lease. 

And yet even so, home was always there.

“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.”

This sentence comes from the opening of St. Augustine’s “Confessions”.  When I looked it up, one author called it the greatest sentence ever written.

It ranks right up there with the conclusion to Psalm 23:

⁶Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days | of my life,
  and I will dwell in the house of the | Lord forever. 

Faced with all the turmoil and uncertainty of life we are invited into the Lord’s rest.  Embraced by God’s goodness and mercy, we are at home once again.  Secure in the bosom of God.

Here the most powerful image and most blessed of experiences comes back to me.  That of a baby nursing at its mother’s breast.

What a way to enter into this world.

And perhaps that’s the way we will leave it.

Wrapped in the tender embrace of our God, our souls are soothed by God’s beating heart and nourished by God’s own flesh and blood.

Sometimes we need chicken noodle soup.

And sometimes, what we really need is to be held tight at our Mother’s breast once again.

Amen