"I Shall Not Want"
"The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing."
Psalm 23 is the beloved passage of scripture. Many generations have memorized it, mostly in the King James Version. I sometimes wonder if much of the struggle with the acceptance of new Bible translations of a generation ago had to do with tinkering with the wording of Psalm 23. I have to admit that as much as I favor newer translations and think they help us a great deal, when it comes to Psalm 23, the KJV is hard-wired in my mind.
I hope it remains in the center of faith for many generations, and that children will continue to memorize it, in whatever translation. It speaks to our hearts.
Why does this Psalm have such staying power? Why does it wear well, like your favorite jacket or pair of shoes? I think we are drawn to its simplicity, to its image of shepherd and sheep that speaks both to our experience with God and also to a relationship we long for. This close, protective, guiding relationship of love is what Jesus spoke about when he introduced people to the Father.
But there is also a texture and a complexity to this Psalm that keeps our interest. It begins with observation and moves to direct address. James Limburg says, "He switches from talking about the Lord to talking to the Lord":
"The Lord is my shepherd."
"You are with me."
The Psalm also moves from a focus on sheep to a focus on people. It begins by inviting us to think of ourselves as sheep following a shepherd and ends by inviting us to think of ourselves as guests at a special banquet. The effect is to draw us close to God.
The Psalm expresses confidence in the provision of God, especially in the simple and good things of life: green grass, fresh water, guidance along the right path. Many paths in the wilderness can lead nowhere, even to death. The Shepherd knows which path will lead to water and pasture. This carries a moral meaning. The paths of righteousness lead to life. The world's paths can put us in desperate situations.
So the opening lines of the Psalm teach us to be content with that which is simple and good, and comes from the hand of God. Fresh water and green grass. We have been living in a time of increasing consumerism, of deep discontent unless we are experiencing ever more goods, more excitement, and more pleasure. Our country is now coming to terms with that life of demanding bigger, better, richer. We are learning to consume less and save more. So, in our spiritual lives, we are moving away from demanding more and more of God, asking him to make us happy, powerful, blessed, and prosperous; instead we are learning to sing much more simply, "It is well with my soul."
In verse 4 the Psalm moves to the darkest valley, or the "valley of the shadow of death." Wilson explains this is a combination word, "shadow-death," and can either be read as a superlative ("the darkest valley") or more literally as the shadow of death. It refers to canyons cut deep by torrential winter rains. The sheep had to pass through these to get to their next stop and it can become very hot in them and very difficult to come up out of them. They are also dangerous places, with many hiding spots for thieves or wild animals along the narrow trail. So we now discover that this Psalm is not about the leisured observation of a pastoral scene. Rather, this Psalm is written in a time of danger: "I walk through the darkest valley."
It is at this very point that we encounter the "you" language. In the middle of this poetic image of danger, something comes alive in the Psalmist. It is now not enough to describe God the Shepherd, but now he addresses the Shepherd, he cries out from the heart, "You are with me." He turns and faces God his shepherd and seems to say, "Lord, I am in danger, I am pursued by evil, I am afraid, but 'You are with me,' so I am not afraid." James Limburg points out that this is the exact center of the Psalm. If you read it in Hebrew, there are 26 words on each side of the phrase, "For you are with me."
What does it mean to say to God, "You are with me?"
First, he says, I find comfort from your rod and staff. That may sound odd to us. The rod was a club used to fend off wild animals, and the staff was walking stick used to tap the sheep to keep them in line. The rod and staff are both protection and correction. For the Psalmist they are the comfort of God.
When do we experience the correction of God, the discipline of God, as comfort? I think when we are coming out of habitual sin, out of hiding, living a double life. When we lack integrity or truth in our lives we fall into danger. So when we come to new life, a time of renewal and repentance, we need protection, help and correction. We need guidance and support. When we are willing to face the issues of the valley in our lives with Christ, then the Shepherd leads us to life, and his rod and staff are comfort to us.
In verse 5 there is a shift in image. Now the Psalmist describes himself as an honored guest at table. Wilson writes, "In the ancient world, to accept a person as a guest at your table was to set aside all enmity and to assume responsibility for his safety." So he is invited to the table where he finds peace. He is anointed with oil which brings renewal to him and a deep sense of welcome. He is accepted at the table. His cup is described as overflowing.
What might that mean? I think we in our culture of consumerism always focus on scarcity. We are conditioned to always believe we need more. We focus on what we lack. The commercials on TV show us what we do not have. We see what our neighbor has, and we try to keep up. We feel unsatisfied. But at the Lord's Table, we find provision for our salvation. There is no room for more in the cup the Lord provides, and there is no possibility that we might be able to fill the cup ourselves. Indeed, in our communion with the Lord, there is nothing I must provide for myself. It is all of grace. "Lord, you are with me."
When we are able to confess, "The Lord is with me," then we can see that we are pursued by goodness and love throughout our lives. We live on this journey with mercy in the rear-view mirror and the house of God on the road ahead.
We move through our lives restless, always moving. We go from quiet streams and lush fields, to dusty trails and into deep valleys. We are always moving in life; we never seem to remain still. We travel as pilgrims, until one day we reach our destination, a dwelling place, which is the house of the Lord, our home forever.
Amen.