Yahweh

Yahweh

The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing. (Psalm 23:1)

I'm only five feet from an eagle. His wings are spread, and his talons are lifted above the branch. White feathers cap his head, and black eyes peer at me from both sides of a golden beak. He’s so close I can touch him. So near I could stroke him. With only a lean and a stretch of my left arm, I could cover the eagle's crown with my hand. But I don't. I don't reach for him. Why not? Afraid? Hardly. He hasn't budged in fifteen years. When I first received him as a gift, he really impressed me. When I first set him on the credenza, I admired him. Man-made eagles are nice, but you kind of get used to them after awhile. David is concerned that you and I don't make the same mistake with God.

His pen has scarcely touched papyrus, and he's urging us to avoid gods of our own making. With his very first words in this psalm, David sets out to deliver us from the burden of a lesser deity. You could even make the argument that he seeks to do nothing else in this psalm. For though he speaks of green pastures, his thesis isn’t about rest. He describes death's somber valley, but this poem isn’t an ode to the dying. He tells of the Lord's forever house, but his theme isn’t about heaven. So why, then, did David write the Twenty-third Psalm? Maybe it was to build our trust in God . . . to remind us of who God is. In his psalm, David devotes one hundred and fifteen words to explaining the first two: "The LORD." In the arena of unnecessary luggage, the psalmist begins with the heaviest: the refashioned god. One who looks nice but does very little.

For instance, have you ever thought of God as something like a genie in a bottle? Convenient. Congenial. Need a parking place, a date, or even a field goal in the last seconds of the game? All you have to do is rub the bottle and poof – it’s yours. And, what's even better, this god goes back into the bottle after he's done. Or maybe you’ve thought of God as a sweet grandpa. So tender-hearted. So wise. So kind. But very, very, very old. Grandpas are great when they’re awake, but they tend to doze off when you need them. Ever viewed God as a busy dad? Leaves on Mondays, and returns on Saturdays. Lots of road trips and business meetings. He'll show up on Sunday, though, so you better clean up and look spiritual; then on Monday you can go ahead and be yourself again because he’ll never know.

Have you ever held those views of God? If so, you know the problems that they can cause. A busy dad doesn't have time for your questions. A kindly grandpa is too weak to carry your load. And if your god is a genie in a bottle, then you’re greater than he is. He comes and goes at your command. A god who looks nice but does little. Reminds me of a briefcase I bought many years ago.

I'd like to fault the salesman, but I really can't. The purchase was my decision, but he certainly made it an easy one to make. I didn't need a new satchel. The one I had was fine. Scarred and scratched, but otherwise perfectly serviceable. The chrome was worn off the zippers, and the edges were scuffed, but the bag was fine. Oh, but this new one, to use the words of the college-aged boy in the leather store, was "really fine." Loaded with features: copper covers on the corners, smooth leather from Spain, and, most of all, an Italian name near the handle. The salesman gave his line and handed me the bag, and I bought them both. I left the store with a briefcase that I have used maybe twice.

What was I thinking? It carries so little. My old bag had no copper-covered corners, but it had a belly like a beluga. A notepad and a newspaper, and this fancy Italian satchel is "fullisimo." The bag looks nice but does nothing. Is that the kind of God you want? Is that the kind of God we have? David's answer is a resounding “No.”

"You want to know who God really is?" he asks. "Then read this." And he writes the name Yahweh. "Yahweh is my shepherd." Though foreign to us, the name was rich to David. So rich, in fact, that David chose Yahweh over El Shaddai (God Almighty), El Elyon (God Most High), and El Olam (God the Everlasting). These and many other titles for God were all at David's disposal, but when he considered his options, he chose Yahweh. Why Yahweh? Because Yahweh is God's name. You can call me a lawyer, or a dad or even a duffer when it comes to golf – these are all accurate descriptions – but they aren't my name. I might call you dad, mom, doctor or student, and those terms may describe you, but they aren't your name, either. If you want to call me by my name, you say Randy. If I call you by your name, I say it. And if you want to call God by his name, say Yahweh. God has told us his name

Moses was the first to learn of it. Seven centuries prior to David, the eighty-year-old shepherd was tending sheep when the bush began to blaze and his life began to change. Moses was told to return to Egypt and rescue the Hebrew slaves. He raised more excuses than a kid at bedtime, but God trumped each one. Finally Moses asked, "When I go to the Israelites, I will say to them, 'The God of your fathers sent me to you.' What if the people say, 'What is his name?' What should I tell them?" Then God said to Moses, "I AM WHO I AM. When you go to the people of Israel, tell them, 'I AM sent me to you.'" (Exod. 3:13-14) God would later remind Moses: "I am Yahweh. To Abraham and Isaac and Jacob I appeared as El Shaddai; I did not make myself known to them by my name Yahweh." (Exod. 6:2-3)

The Israelites considered the name too holy to be spoken by human lips. Whenever they needed to say Yahweh, they substituted the word Adonai, which means "Lord." If the name needed to be written, however, the scribes would take a bath before they wrote it and then destroy the pen afterward. God never gives us a definition of the word Yahweh, and Moses never requested one. Many scholars wish he had, because the study of the name has raised some healthy discussions. The name I AM sounds strikingly close to the Hebrew verb to be – havah. It's quite possibly a combination of the present tense form (I am) and the causative tense (I cause to be). Yahweh, then, seems to mean, "I AM" and "I cause." God is the "One who is," and the "One who causes."

So why is that important? Because we need a big God. And if God is the "One who is," then he is an unchanging God. Think about it. Do you know anyone who goes around saying, "I am"? Neither do I. When we say "I am," we always add another word. "I am happy." "I am sad." "I am strong." "I am Randy." God, however, starkly states, "I AM," and adds nothing else. "You are what?" we want to ask. "I AM," he replies. God needs no descriptive word because he never changes. God is what he is. He is what he has always been. His immutability motivated the psalmist to declare, "But thou art the same." (Ps. 102:27) The writer is saying, "You are the One who is. You never change." Yahweh is an unchanging God. And he’s also an uncaused God.

Though he creates, God was never created. Though he makes, he was never made. Though he causes, he was never caused. Hence the psalmist's proclamation: "Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God." (Ps. 90:2) God is Yahweh – an unchanging God, an uncaused God, and an un-governed God.

You and I, on the other hand, are governed. The weather determines what we wear. The terrain tells us how to travel. Gravity dictates our speed, and health determines our strength. We may challenge these forces and alter them slightly, but we never remove them. God – our Shepherd – doesn’t check the weather; he makes it. He doesn't defy gravity; he created it. He isn't affected by health; he has no body. Jesus said, "God is spirit." (John 4:24) Since he has no body, he has no limitations – equally active in Cambodia as he is in California. "Where can I go to get away from your Spirit?" asked David. "Where can I run from you? If I go up to the heavens, you are there. If I lie down in the grave, you are there." (Ps. 139:7-8) Unchanging. Uncaused. Ungoverned. These are only a fraction of God's qualities, but aren't they enough to give you a glimpse of your Father? Don't we need this kind of shepherd?

When Lloyd Douglas, author of The Robe, attended college, he lived in a boardinghouse. A retired, wheelchair-bound music professor resided on the first floor. Each morning Lloyd would stick his head in the door of the teacher's apartment and ask the same question, "Well, what's the good news?" The old man would pick up his tuning fork, tap it on the side of the wheelchair and say, "That's middle C. It was middle C yesterday; it will be middle C tomorrow; it will be middle C a thousand years from now. The tenor upstairs sings flat. The piano across the hall is out of tune, but, my friend, that is middle C." You and I need a middle C. Haven’t you had enough change in your life? Relationships change. Health changes. The weather changes. But the Yahweh who ruled the earth last night is the same Yahweh who rules it today. He never changes. Yahweh is our middle C – a still point in a turning and out-of-tune world. Don't we need a still point? Don't we need an unchanging shepherd? We need a Yahweh. We don't need what Dorothy found.

Remember her discovery in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz? She and her trio followed the yellow-brick road only to discover that the wizard was a wimp. Nothing but smoke and mirrors and tin-drum thunder. Is that the kind of god you need? You don't need to carry the burden of a lesser god . . . a god on a shelf, a god in a box, or a god in a bottle. No, you need a God who can place 100 billion stars in our galaxy and 100 billion galaxies in the universe. You need a God who can shape two fists of flesh into 75 to 100 billion nerve cells, each with as many as 10,000 connections to other nerve cells, place it in a skull, and call it a brain. And you need a God who, while so mind-numbingly mighty, can come in the soft of night and touch you with the tenderness of a May morning mist. You need a Yahweh. And, according to David, you have one. He’s your shepherd.

Grace,

Randy

Yahweh - Audio/Visual