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Psalm .22

A note of introduction

I wrote this wry quasi-parody of Psalm 22 when frustrated with the gun-obsessed culture of death that I saw from so many of my church's leaders.

In an effort to somehow shield ourselves from an imaginary threat of a church shooting (we are deep in a red county in a purple-red state in the Bible-belt South of the USA, on an out-of-the-way street that mostly just has us and several other religious gatherings, and we are basically unknown in our community because of how poorly we do at outreach), we decided that it was best that we ensure that there are always armed-but-not-trained "security" ushers each week, and much time was spent somewhere in the gray area between fearmongering and fantasizing about needing to shoot someone who came into church "with their jacket puffed out and their hands in their pockets", which were the only signs I was given when I asked "how can you tell the difference between someone who's a threat and someone who just needs the Gospel?"

It struck me as ironic that here we were, a church of Jesus Christ, who willingly gave up his own life and was killed so that he could show undeserved mercy to his enemies in need of salvation...and all these leaders could think about was how excited they were to spend time doing "quick-draw exercises" at the gun range in the fear/hope they'd get to shoot someone.

It struck me as the direct opposite of what David wrote in Psalm 23, of trusting in God's provision and protection even in "the valley of the shadow of death" -- that instead of making our church into a place where the "green pastures" and "waters so still" could be seen by strangers who need refuge, these leaders were intent on transforming it _into_ the valley of the shadow of death for anyone who looked unfamiliar and vaguely-threatening, as measured by an undefined subjective assessment through paranoid eyes.

So, I endeavored to write what Psalm 23 would look like if it were written by these folks in this mindset. The result was this poem, which I called "Psalm .22", riffing on the ".22 caliber" size of ammunition.

And now, the poem

"The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want",

For He invites only me and mine to green pastures.

I set my sight-lines across the waters so still,

For He has restored solely me.

So if I walk through an alley wrecked by the shadow of death,

I will fear none of those people,

For my rounds and my mags, they comfort me.

I secure the Lord's table against my enemies;

I anoint my weapon with fresh oil;

My clip overflows.

Surely Glock and my magnum will follow me all the days of my life,

And I will stand guard over the door to the house of the Lord forever.