In the ancient world mapmakers needed a way to portray areas of the earth that were not yet explored. They symbolized these areas by using dragons, monsters and large fish. The phrase "here be dragons" was given to that technique by later cartographers studying the ancient map-making lore. These off-the-map places were frightening, but they also gave the hint of treasures that might be found in the unexplored. There is a story from the days when maps were marked with mythological beasts about a battalion of Roman soldiers. The battalion found themselves caught up in a battle that took them into the territory that mapmakers had represented with their monsters and dragons. Their commander , not knowing whether to forge ahead into the unknown or turn back in retreat, sent a messenger to Rome with this urgent request: "Please send new orders. We have marched off the map."

Ever felt that way? Totally unprepared to deal with what life brings, wishing for a clue as to how to proceed, wondering if one more step is even possible – wishing you could send a messenger out to receive new directions when life takes its unexpected twists and turns? This morning we shared the familiar words of the 23d Psalm in the form of a litany prayer. It is a text that many of us can quote from memory and almost all of us can recite with some prompting help. The Psalm more than any other perhaps is where we go when we need comfort and reassurance when we find ourselves in those "here be dragon" places. We call it the Shepherd's Psalm … and as someone described it: "the six longest shortest verses of the Bible."

Surprisingly, for all its familiarity there is considerable debate about this Psalm. The text brings up images of David, the shepherd boy. And he would have known personally the images evoked in the words of the Psalm. He would have known the dangers of working in the narrow valley … single file passageways with hiding places for wolves and bandits … always the danger of rock slides. Hence the image of God as the ultimate shepherd to guide through the narrow valleys of life would have been a natural image. When King, David would have found these images precious at several points. One such time was his flight from Jerusalem after being attacked by his rebellious son Absalom. Perhaps the Psalm was composed as a song of thanksgiving after his return to Jerusalem. Other scholars feel this text might be a pilgrimage song of the Israelites, steeped in their history of exile and wilderness wanderings. Again, it is God who guides them through it all.

No matter what the particular setting of this Psalm, it was a song of trust for the people of Israel. Whether for the King caught up in the political turmoil of his reign, or for the nation which found itself homeless and wandering, this psalm got one through the wilderness. It served as the enduring reminder that God would guard and guide them through life's joys and pains; that God was ultimately trustworthy. And maybe that is why the Psalm endures – the author knows life is not free from pain or easy. The author also knows that God's presence will be with us in the green pastures and the valley of death. And rest assured in the end we will dwell with God all of our lives – the valleys, even though twisted and torturous are not the end. For the Christian church the cross becomes the ultimate symbol of both the despair of the valleys and the power of God to overcome and dwell with us.

For all the comfort this Psalm provides, it also runs the risk of being lost in familiarity. As with all things that are often repeated, the impact of the Psalm can be muted when we rattle off the familiar words. We did an exercise in the Companions in Christ classes that addresses a way to get at this issue. The exercise asked us to write a reverse paraphrase of the 23rd Psalm … to envision that God was the opposite of the promise held in the words of the Psalm. Here is my version: "O Lord, you are like a shark; you devour all the good in my life. You lead me into the fiery abyss and raging storm. You lead me into chaos and despair and you lose me in their midst. Even when the sun is shining on a clear day and goodness is everywhere around me I am alone with you; you cover my eyes … you blind me to the goodness. You set a terrible table before me and I watch my enemies take all they want. My heart is full of pain to overflowing. My life is dogged by misery and despair, I cannot shake them loose. And I will be consigned to dwelling in your house for as long as I live." Try that sometime, and then read and hear familiar words take on new levels of comfort.

This fourth Sunday of the Easter season is celebrated as Good Shepherd Sunday in all three lectionary years. It is here we are reminded that God will be with us and shepherd us through all of life … even through those places that seem off the map and are marked only with beasts and dragons. We go with the example of Jesus Christ who tells us in our gospel text that we will know his voice calling to us and guiding us. Again, as Christians we take the sign of the cross with us … a sign of life … victorious even in the valley of the shadow of death. The earliest Christians did not wear cross jewelry, but they did carry the sign of the cross with them. Today, when we "cross our fingers," what does it mean? Crossed behind our back it signifies we don't actually mean what we are saying. Or we cross our fingers for luck, hoping something will or will not happen. I am reminded of an incident when my daughter Christa was ten or so. She and her friend Victoria were plotting to be able to spend the night together. They really wanted this to happen even though it was a school night. Listening to them plot together I heard Victoria say: "Christa, you pray and I'll cross my fingers." They wanted to make sure all their bases were covered. Little did Victoria know she was actually following a practice of the earliest Christians. Given that it was illegal to be a Christian, believers needed signs to find other believers. One such was to greet another with crossed fingers – the sign of the cross. The sign had nothing to do with luck or deception. It was a greeting and a reminder that God was with them … keeping and guiding them.

Knowing the assurance of God's presence and guidance through our lives, even when it seems we are off the map in the "here be dragon" places also charges us to go to a world that in so many ways is off the map. We are sent to a world that finds itself sending the same request as the Roman commander: "Please send new orders. We have marched off the map!" And so we go – with crossed fingers and linked arms to remind us of the power of the cross and with the map of God's guidance and presence – sent to the "here be dragon" places to bring the word of God that can walk with the world through its deepest valleys and darkest days. We know with certainty there is no place we go where God will not be. Thanks be to God.