The Transforming Grace of the Shepherd
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters.
He revives my soul. (Psalm 23:1–3, Book of Common Prayer)
Psalm 23 is often read at funerals, perhaps because its language wraps people in comfort and reassurance. But during the Easter season, its words shimmer with a different kind of power: a declaration of life restored, of souls awakened, of resurrection made personal. These familiar lines invite us not only to trust in God’s presence but to enter a space of transformation. And transformation, as any artist knows, is the heart of creation.
In the season of Easter, we live in the afterglow of the empty tomb. Jesus, the Good Shepherd, has laid down his life and taken it up again; not only for his own sake, but for ours. Resurrection is not a one-time event locked in the past. It is an ongoing movement, a divine rhythm that moves through the Church and into the world. And just as artists take what is ordinary: paint, stone, silence, word; and shape it into something new, so God takes us, in our ordinariness and brokenness, and begins the slow, sacred work of re-creation.
The psalmist says, “He restores my soul.” The Hebrew verb used here suggests a turning, a returning, a bringing back to life. It is the language of repentance and healing, of breath re-entering lungs. It is also, we might say, the language of art. For art, at its best, is not decoration or distraction. It is the courageous act of attending to beauty and truth. It transforms both the maker and the beholder. When we open ourselves to beauty; whether in music, painting, storytelling, worship, or silence, we open ourselves to the possibility of God moving in us in new ways.
Faith, like art, requires vulnerability. The artist steps into the unknown with only the raw materials of their soul, trusting that something will emerge from the mess of beginnings. Is this not also the journey of Easter? We stand in the light of the risen Christ, still carrying the wounds and doubts of our Good Fridays, yet daring to believe that new life is not only possible, it is promised. That belief doesn’t always arrive fully formed. Sometimes it starts with a brushstroke. A stanza. A whispered prayer. A breaking of bread. A walk through green pastures, real or imagined.
And we are not left to wander alone. The Shepherd walks with us not only in the brightness of Easter morning but also in the shadows that linger. His rod and staff; they are symbols not just of protection but of guidance, of shaping, of artistry. The rod is a measure; the staff leads. Together, they suggest the kind of firm and faithful hand that an artist might use to bring forth something beautiful and true from the chaos of the canvas.
In this season, let us see our lives as works of art in progress. Let us remember that God’s Spirit hovers over the waters of our daily chaos just as in Genesis, ready to create again. Let us give thanks for those in our community who offer their gifts, those who paint and sing and write, those who arrange flowers, cook meals, teach children, or sit quietly in prayer. All of these are acts of creation. All of these are ways the Shepherd restores souls, not only ours but those around us.
This week, I give special thanks for the creativity of the Dayhab group, who have filled our church sidewalks with chalk art and messages of joy, hope, and reassurance. Their colorful expressions are a beautiful reminder that transformation does not need to be lofty or grand to be holy. Sometimes it is as simple and profound as a message of love written in bright colors underfoot. On your way into church this Sunday, I invite you to take a moment to pause and receive their gift, to let their art speak to your soul and remind you that we are all being renewed.
As we walk together through Eastertide, may we learn to see resurrection not only as a theological truth but as a living, creative force. May we allow God to shape our lives into reflections of his beauty and goodness. May we become co-creators with the Shepherd who leads us toward stillness, refreshment, and transformation.
And in those moments when the path is unclear or the valley deep, may we remember that we are part of a larger story; a story that begins in love, moves through death, and ends in unending life. The Shepherd is still at work. The resurrection is still unfolding. The masterpiece is still being made.
Kevin+
