This issue marks the 30th anniversary of The Door Magazine... more or less. And as I prepare this column, I am also marking 30 years since I became a believer, or when, as Paul said, "it pleased the Lord to reveal his Son in me."

And although The Door stands in jeopardy of financial collapse almost every issue, and my body urgently needs a major overhaul, only one metaphor can adequately describe our current circumstances – the one taken from Psalm 23. Our cup runneth over.

I was going to talk about how Joseph, David and Jesus all began their important ministries when they "began to be about 30 years old." But as I write, it seems pretentious. It's about as relevant as the hubbub a few years back when the state of Israel turned 40, and all kinds of prophecies were supposed to be fulfilled. I'm sure there were plenty of biblical characters who screwed up, devised a new heresy or gave up the ghost at age 30. So what?

The mystery of the overflowing cup is a more compelling topic, and more to the point.

When Jews bless the cup of wine on the Sabbath and at other ceremonies, they often fill the cup and let it overflow, spilling a little on the table. This is to recall David's declaration that his cup is overflowing with the abundance and mercy of God.

(Of course, several in our little group spill their wine out of complete clumsiness, but that's another story.)

Knowing that my cup is always overflowing, no matter how it appears to my senses, has sustained me for 30 years. It began soon after my conversion, when my father died. We had been estranged, had not talked, in fact, for 13 years. I found out later that he too had become a believer a few months before he died. When I arrived at his funeral in St. Peter, Minn., I saw uncles, aunts and cousins I hadn't seen since I was child. This was actually one of the few funerals I had ever attended, certainly the first one since I had become a believer.

The Lutheran pastor read the Twenty-third Psalm. It was the first time I had heard it, and it exploded in my brain. Why was this being read at a funeral, I thought? This should be read every day. Psalm 23 was another confirmation of what I had seen at my conversion, and since then I have made it a daily companion.

As Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlaw said, the psalms "must be interpreted about oneself with regard to the war against the inclination towards evil, and its cohorts." In other words, the psalms are the prayers of Christ in us, and the enemies are all internal. Eventually, after studying the Hebrew meanings and the rabbinical commentaries, Psalm 23 has taken the following form for me, a sort of targum, or paraphrased and expanded translation, that captures what I believe to be its true meaning:

     The Lord is my shepherd, and by His grace, I never lack anything, no matter how it appears to my mind.
     He makes me to lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters – everything that a sheep requires, although my senses never see it that way,
     He restoreth my soul by causing me to repent,
     He leadeth me in the paths of his righteousness for his name's sake, not because I deserve it or would ever walk the path even if I could find it myself.
     Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art continually within me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me, by keeping me from straying and by beating back the wolves in my mind that would devour me,
     Thou preparest a table before me – laden with everything I need – in the presence of my enemies, whose voices are tempting me to desire more than I have.
     Thou anointest my head with oil, thereby stilling those voices as I realize my true identity in Christ, the anointed one,
     My cup runneth over with your poured out grace, freeing me to pour out for others.
     Surely goodness and mercy are pursuing me every day, and I will remain in the house of the Lord, the New Jerusalem, and never leave that place which is beyond time and space.

The Twenty-third Psalm isn't a passive recitation, a mantra to simply help us get through a period of grief at someone's death. It is a tool to "practice the presence of Christ" all the time, by reminding us of what's real and what's not.

In the struggle against my mind and emotions, which are daily telling me things should be different, faith says simply, "It is finished." When my thoughts are filled with plans, concern for the future or worry about the next step in my current agenda, faith says, "Take no thought for tomorrow."

When I find myself manipulating people and circumstances to my advantage, adjusting my words slightly to protect myself, trying to subtly change people, faith says, "Take no thought for your life."

When guilt leads me to try to change myself in a sincere effort to finally "get it right" or even to gain more wisdom, understanding, blessings or spiritual gifts, faith says, "By one offering you have been perfected forever."

The psalm is a daily reminder that the government is on His shoulders, not mine. He is the shepherd, not me.

The Old Testament psalm is in perfect harmony with the words of Christ calling us to abandon our propensity to think that any moment should be different than it is.

I shall not lack. My cup runneth over. Right now. Forever.

That's what's really held both The Door and me together for 30 rocky years.

And if you can agree with that psalm, you'd better brace yourself.

Goodness and mercy should be overtaking you any minute now.