by Adam Chiarelli  

Every Friday morning, barring innocent distraction or blatant forgetfulness, our family will sit together, some of us still and some very squirmy, seeking to let each word of this psalm seep into the cracks of our weary being. It’s significant for us, as a family, to begin Fridays in this way. Friday has become our family’s Sabbath space, to be welcomed back into the generous rest of the Lord. We have explored the gift of Sabbath as a household for almost six years. Yet David’s experience of the Father’s love and care, captured in these familiar words, would not begin working on us until three years ago. What began as a curious idea, perhaps an opportunity to practice SOMETHING spiritual together as a family, has gone on to shape us in increasing measure, spirit, soul and body, by the tending of the Good Shepherd. 

The genesis of our practice was shockingly simple. I had suggested to my wife, Febe, that we just try something new to begin our Sabbath mornings. “Hey, I’d like to start reading Psalm 23 together as a family to start our Fridays.” The family was open. Admittedly, I had been immersing myself in the catalog of Eugene Peterson, and had more than likely come across one of his brilliant thoughts or reflections, almost certainly provoking me to wonder at the beauty of Jesus as Shepherd. So, armed with curiosity and a small hope of something formative, we began. 

Nothing fancy. Nothing shaped. We simply read the Psalm. Each week, we would take turns, slowly reading these words out loud. Many weeks, we would swap out translations. Most mornings, we read it once. Other days, a second time. Sometimes,  Febe would act out some fantastic movements that went with the words, and each time, our girls would laugh, because if anyone knows how to interpret words with action, it is their mom. There were some weeks we would ask if anything stood out, sparked our curiosity in a new way. We did not teach it. And we resolved not to put too much expectation on the time. There was no study and no expectation that we would walk away from the Psalm having found something new. We just gave ourselves to it. To Him. 

“The Lord is my Shepherd, I lack nothing…”

I will never forget the time, after a few months of starting our Sabbath this way, our oldest daughter shared a confession. She said, “When I would hear this chapter when I was little, I always heard it as ‘the Lord is my shepherd I shall not want’, as if he is mine, but I don’t want him!? I was so confused?!”

What in the world?! How long had she been confused at David’s declaration of intimate relationship with God!? She had been hearing these words for years, yet had no idea the depth of them. Is it possible to be so familiar with something, and yet miles away from its true intention? It was the first time I realized, perhaps, how significant this journey would be for us. 

“He leads me beside quiet waters…” 

The journey would not stay in the living room. Most Sabbath days, after an obnoxiously sized breakfast, we would hit the local hiking trails. There is an incredible conservation center not far from where we lived at the time, and it became a refuge, as most of our days center around city life. Getting lost in the splendor of God’s creation has a healing effect that is unique amongst the medicinal arts, and many days we have felt tended to by the trees and the creeks we find ourselves in. But these familiar hikes began to shift dramatically for me, as we gave ourselves to the mediation of Psalm 23. 

During these long walks, with the words of David ringing in my being, I became deeply acquainted with the constant noise of my soul. Standing next to the silent streams, I could hear a never ending squall of sound reverberating inside of me. We had given ourselves to a Sabbath practice for three years already, and yet as I walked these trails, I wondered if I had actually known rest?! It seemed I could come away with the Lord and my family, but I could not settle into a felt sense of peace. How could this be? It must not be. 

“He restores my soul…”

It was soon, both painfully yet beautifully, obvious to me that deep work was needed. And that deep work was, in fact, being offered to me. Each Friday, after sitting at the feet of Jesus as a family, listening to his love and care reflected through David, I found myself back among the trees and trails. But now, the Shepherd of my soul had my attention. As I walked the trails, I would offer a prayer… “You restore my soul.” And I believed it. I was experiencing it. Little by little, I was becoming whole. My mind was settling, my soul was opening to the goodness of life all around me, my body was easing and letting go of all it was carrying: questions, concerns, disappointments.  It might have been a similar experience to what the poet, essayist, and ecological champion Wendell Berry discovered, and put voice to in his work: The Peace of Wild Things:

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars 

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. 

The weariness that had set into my bones slowly began to give way to rest. Steady breathing and steady strides along familiar paths with those I loved most. And not only was I being shaped, but my family was growing in love and awe – of God, one another, and the world in which we found ourselves.

Sometimes, I can slow to see what the Lord is unfolding. Perhaps, like many of us, I am looking for a particular message and medium. Over time, it became clear that the Lord had more in store for us than I had hoped. We could have sat and combed every word of Psalm 23 without ever leaving the house. We would have learned much. But there is something about entering into the scripture, in the context of our lived experience, that serves as a better teacher. It was not until we began to learn Psalm 23 on the paths and among the trees that the heart of God became known experientially. But by opening ourselves as a family each Friday morning to the words of David, we seem to have been training our spirits to look for the Shepherd on our walks. The poetry of Psalm 23 had done its work.

Recently, our girls had a scripture memorization project for school, and I noticed that Psalm 23 was the focus for a particular week. I watched as they created beautiful cards, full of color and design as the backdrop, and wrote the words they had already come to know. I cannot say that each of them has it memorized; it may not be cemented in their brains. But they already have a history with it. It’s in their bones. We soaked in the words and then walked them in the woods. 

Friday continues to be our family’s Sabbath. We still give ourselves over to sizable breakfast spreads that require some healthy walks afterwards. We have moved in recent months and the trails now look very different to us. A new city with new landscapes. There are many days that I still carry the clamoring sounds of life within my soul, and it seems no babbling brook can drown out the sound. There are weeks when we arrive at the Sabbath, as family, and are too aware of weariness in our hearts – weariness that will not seem to release. My soul still has cracks. Our house still needs rest. But Jesus is meeting with us. The Good Shepherd is tending to us. One reading and one Sabbath at a time.

Let me leave you with a poem that came out of my Sabbath reflections around the ever unfolding gift of Psalm 23…

Lead me beside your streams

Lay me down amongst your grasses

Let my roots go deep, my leaves stay green

As every season passes.

Let your water wash me

Saturate my every stem

Cool me though the sun advances

Restore my soul again.