Life is littered with passages. These are the milestones and the ordeals that transition us from one stage to another. Waiting at the DMV for your driver’s test, sitting for the Bar, getting married, becoming a parent, retirement—these are just a few of the various rites of passage. Despite their variety, though, we experience such passages in rather similar ways. While facing the ordeal, the anxiety registers as dry and harsh, like you are climbing rough terrain, sun-scorching, rocks and scorpions to watch for—palms sweaty, mom’s spaghetti. But then you pass the liminal trial, and the grass turns green, cool is the shade, and celebration perfumes the air. We pass through the treacherous valley to arrive on the verdant mountain. It is into this common experience that this psalm taps, making the twenty-third psalm one of the most quoted and beloved parts of Scripture, which is a crown that is well deserved.
The Lord is my shepherd. What a dear and precious truth for the soul; yet, such a cherished thought comes as a bit of a surprise. For one, we are attracted to it despite our large ignorance of sheep or shepherds. Other than what we know from cartoons and kid’s books, most of us have close to no familiarity with shepherding. As Americans, cowboys dominate our heritage, and cowboying is not the same as ancient shepherds.
Second, even in olden days, shepherds did not exactly qualify as prestigious. Within Israel, shepherding was a normal and respectable vocation, but the actual work was done by your kids or servants. The patriarch Jesse did not follow the lambs—the runt David did. Rachel was the shepherdess, not her father, Laban. Then, outside of Israel, the Egyptians reckoned shepherds to be an abomination. Such a resume for a vocation does not bode well as title for God. The Lord is a shepherd, the work of the lowly, detested by the Egyptians? It is a bit like saying the Lord is my janitor—it smacks as a touch disrespectful.
Across the ancient world, however, shepherd was a standing metaphor for the king. From Babylon to Cush, kings took the title of shepherd of his people. The great Hammurabi boasted of being the shepherd. In the Old Testament, shepherd is used to refer to kings just as much as to actual sheep herders. Therefore, this title glows with royal dignity and regal imagery. The associations evoked by this title, then, are not merely agricultural, but they are equally, if not more so kingly, stately and noble. In fact, it is misleading to think only of the pastoral here, as the majestic hues of royalty are pronounced and pervasive in this title.
Why did rulers adorn themselves as shepherds? Two attributes stand at the front of the line: power and benevolence. The regal shepherd was mighty and kind, massive biceps with a tender touch. Thus, shepherd is a long-standing honorific for God. Jacob praised the Lord as being his shepherd his whole life long—the Mighty One, the Rock, the Shepherd (Gen 48:15; 49:24). Psalm 80 titles the Lord’s exodus redemption as him being the Shepherd of Israel. And Isaiah foretold of the second exodus as God the Shepherd gathering his lambs from the nations (Isa 40:11). The Exodus-King, the Loving Redeemer, this is the prime connotation behind the Lord is my shepherd.
And this is not the only echo of the Exodus. “I shall not want” (v. 1); I do not lack. With God as the psalmist’s shepherd, he has everything he needs—his pantry is stocked, wardrobe full, and bank account robust. He professes that he is free from all want and need. What are the exact contours of him having no needs, however? Is this the lavish luxury of a billionaire, surrounded by finer things? Or is it the frugal contentment of simple living? That is, he may not be rich, but he is fully satisfied with his basic needs being met.
Well, this line actually echoes an earlier passage about the wilderness wanderings. David borrows a line from Moses, where in Deuteronomy 2, he summarized how Yahweh was with Israel in the desert. He provided them with manna and water, and Israel did not lack a thing. David understands his contentment through the history of the forty years in the desert. That wasteland between Egypt and the promised land was hardly the pampered red-carpet of a superstar. Rather, that howling waste boasted of barren rocks, sunstroke, poisonous reptiles, and prowling bandits. The Sinai desert can slay a man in a matter of days, but not under the shepherding of the Lord. God showered them with the bread of heaven; he stopped the scorpion from stinging, and he provided shade to cool their sweaty brows. Likewise, David’s life had no shortage of dangers and afflictions, but amid it all God was his steadfast provision and protection. He may not have feasted on steak very often, but the bread and water from the Lord satisfied his stomach and soul. This line covers equally the physical and the spiritual. His bodily needs were well met, and his soul gained the great benefit of contentment.
This wilderness background for not lacking provides the context for the next few verses. The Divine Shepherd makes David’s bed upon soft grass, he guides by waters of repose, and he leads in the right paths. Again, though, the pastoral setting allows two patterns of understanding. First, the green fields snaked by a calm stream could posit his pervasive living space. David has been spoiled by living in an ideal garden. Secondly, this could present the regular shepherding practice of the occasional oasis. That is, shepherds drive their flocks through harsh terrain to reach green havens. In an arid land, they hopscotch from one watering hole to the next. And with the wilderness period as the backdrop, this slipper seems to fit the best.
These righteous paths include both morality and safe travel. The Lord teaches the psalmist godliness, and he navigates him on the correct paths so he does not get lost, for if you lose the trail between oases, you will wander and perish in the way. The Shepherd Lord has a perfect sense of direction; he knows the landscape like the back of his hand. He steers the psalmist flawlessly from refuge to refuge. At times, as backseat drivers, we feel lost and sense that God does not know where he is going. We think we can navigate better. Yet, we arrive at the cool waters, and we realize that the Lord’s guidance was ideal. The Lord belongs in the driver’s seat and we in the passenger’s.
This clarity expresses itself robustly in the next verse. “When I walk through the dark valley, I fear not for you are with me” (v. 4). The road between havens descends into gloomy canyons, treacherous ravines, where the shadows are long and the caves many. Bandits and predators have the advantage to ambush and plunder. No experienced guide would lead their group through the death vale; it is too dangerous. It may take ten days to go around, but it is safer. The Lord, though, shepherds his lamb right down the middle of mugger alley and the psalmist fears not. The cruel beasts may be strong, but Yahweh is stronger yet. His staff defends his flock. God’s club beats down lion and bear, brigand and marauder, demon and monster. In ancient times, it was held that the wasteland was haunted with evil spirits. Devils prowled hungrily in gloomy gorges. Thus, the Lord’s baton defends against both spiritual and physical dangers—it drives away every last fear that creeps up within us.
The Lord does not work remotely; he does not subcontract out his shepherding duties. He himself is present amid the flock. Likewise, the terms for staff and rod here also refer to the king’s scepter and ornate mace. God comforts the soul of the psalmist with his sovereign authority and regal power. The weapons of the shepherd are emblems of his kingship. And this royal adornment of the Lord explains the shift in imagery from shepherd to chef.
Commentators regularly remark how this is an improper mixing of metaphors. Shepherd and host do not match. Yet, they make this misstep because they miss the base layer of the royal. Kings shepherd and host; in fact, they shepherd by hosting. And there is no better table in the land than the king’s table. To receive a seat at the king’s buffet is a grand honor and abundant delight. Within the palace cafeteria, scented oil therapy relaxes and sooths; the wine goblets are bottomless with a pure vino that buzzes with no hangover, a holy inebriation.
In fact, for the Royal Shepherd to seat a lamb at his table is a vindication, an approbation. So, this kingly feast is before the enemies, meaning they look on to their shame. Amid the dangerous valley, the foes bragged that the sheep deserved butchering and that the Shepherd could not fight off their fangs. But now, these enemies watch in defeat. Being vanquished by the Shepherd, they gawk at the lamb elevated to the king’s lavish table. Moreover, the Shepherd does not just give hospitality for a single feast, but he offers a permanent residence. The beautiful love of God follows the psalmist each and every day of his life. The Lord made a room for him in his palace to stay indefinitely.
Now, this pair of goodness and mercy is an idiom for covenant blessing. All the blessings of the covenant pursue the psalmist. The word for “follow” literally means to chase, to hound and hunt. This word is used nearly exclusively in a negative manner. Hateful foes pursue to slaughter. In Deuteronomy 28, the personified curse chases the wicked. This typical language, though, is flipped. The blessings will hunt down David; bountiful grace overtakes him from sunrise to sunset. And with heavenly benefits cushioning his every step, he enjoys the home of the Lord without end. He is a ward of heaven, a dependent of the temple, the roommate of the Almighty God of the cosmos.
And such is the powerful benevolence of the Shepherd-King. This is the royal tenderness of your Ruler and Herdsman. As this psalm sets the table of God’s delicious dishes, the consistent flavor profile is that of the gospel. This psalm is an ode to what God’s food does for you, and with Christ being our Good Shepherd, these gifts of the Father are handed to us by Jesus. Christ is the prime actor. He lays down, leads, restores, guides, comforts, and pleasures with overflowing goodness. This psalm is the poetic footnote to the salvation that is by grace alone, by the Lord alone. Hence, the only actions of the psalmist are responsive and grateful. Christ shepherds wonderfully, and so he lacks nothing. Jesus is present; thus, he fears not. The Lord seats him in the palace banquet, and he dwells without end. As the Lord of the Exodus, our Messianic Shepherd delivers us from the prison of depravity and ushers us into the kingdom of God. Why, therefore, is Psalm 23 the queen poem of all of Scripture? Because it is more Pauline than Paul. It is pure, free gospel of grace. Jesus, as your Shepherd, saves you and protects you your whole life long.
Although there are features of the poetry here that do rest comfortably on the earth, the colors are too bright for this realm under the sun. The idealistic keeps elbowing itself to the front of the line. Thus, “pastures” regularly refer to the promised land with its utopic topography. In Exodus 15, in the Song of the Sea, God promises to lead his people into his holy pasture. The word for “still” waters is a term for Sabbath rest. It is even employed for the spot of the Lord’s throne of the Ark. Yahweh’s throne in the temple is his resting place; it is his still oasis of repose. To restore the soul is to revitalize, to grant life in the place of death. Likewise, the luxuries of the king’s table, a sacred intoxication, are signals of the celestial; these are delights that extend earthly limits and propriety. So, the house of the Lord is his temple, and to live in the temple permanently was outlawed in the Old Testament. The law forced you out of the temple during times of nature’s impurity. Perpetual temple dwelling foreshadows something far superior to which the Old Testament was only a sample.
In fact, within Jerusalem, the pastoral and urban merge into one. Here, the bucolic features of a gentle stream crowned by green grass seems to progress towards the metropolitan squares of temple and palace. But, in God’s royal capital, these are the same location. This is the garden city, the temple paradise. Peaceful waters bubble up from the Lord’s sanctuary; lush lawns pave the way between sanctum and royal residence. In the temple, the royal dining couch was the altar table.
Therefore, in Psalm 23, all the verbs are ambiguous with regard to timing. That is, the verbs can legitimately be rendered in the present or the future. In the present, this psalm sings of Lord’s present care of us through the world wilderness. In the future, they prophesy of the glories of new creation. Indeed, Sabbath waters, sacred pastures, and endless residence in the sanctuary cannot be contained by this earthly plane.
And as the paradise blessings lift our eyes to the world above, so we can read verse 4 with the full weight of its darkness. As the classic translation renders it, this is “the valley of the shadow of death.” The word here can figuratively mean deep gloom or pitch darkness, but literally, it means death shade. And death darkness is truly found in one place alone—Sheol! The land of the dead is where death shade pervades all. To pass through the ravine of death shade is worse than brushes with death or near-death experiences; it is to die. Verse 4 here can be correctly rendered, “When I die, I will fear no evil.” Life has many passages of anxiety and dread, but the scariest rite of passage is the grave.
So, ultimately Psalm 23 speaks of a single trial, of one desert crossing, our own deaths. And this singular ordeal is surrounded by celestial utopia, the blissful garden (vv. 2–3) and the luxurious temple-palace (vv. 5–6). Within both Jewish and Christian traditions, one of the most common uses of Psalm 23 is at funerals. Modern scholars claim that funeral use is wrong, but here is a place where the moderns miss the mark and the elders are right. Psalm 23 is the hospice bed confession of faith.
Why does the psalmist not fear evil as he enters the death vale? Because the Good Shepherd is with him, and the Lord is present, because Jesus died for us. As our shepherd, Christ died, but he is alive forever more. In the hands of our Shepherd-King are the keys of Hades. And keys open doors; they unlock the gates of dungeons, of confined places. No prison is more locked up than Sheol. Yet, the keys of Jesus unlock them all for you. For Christ to be with you in death means you do not stay dead. In Christ, death is not a destination, but another passage into the paradise of heaven.
How, then, does our Shepherd minster to us in death? His royal scepter comforts us. The most potent expression of our King’s power is his tender comfort. Christ shows his strength by his gentle bedside manner. As the catechism asks, “What is your only comfort in life and in death?” (Heidelberg Catechism 1). Its answer is a paraphrase of Psalm 23: “We belong body and soul, in life and in death, to our Savior who died and rose for us” (HC 1).
Therefore, how can the psalmist want for nothing? He claims this within the world wilderness, where want and need encroach upon our weakness constantly. Well, he enjoys this contentment in a land of lack because he beholds his treasures in heaven. Frugal may be our present existence; yet this scantness is nothing compared to the waters of repose and the overflowing cup of the New Jerusalem. Thrifty in life and rich in Christ—this is a gracious recipe for the great gain of contentment.
Additionally, the heavenly mindedness of this psalm is supported by Scripture. With little debate, Psalm 23 is the best known and most used passage in all of Scripture. From the synagogue to the church, from Luther to Bach, from Newton to Eastwood and Coolio, artists have drawn inspiration from this Psalm. By popular usage, you could argue that Psalm 23 is the best poem in human history. Despite all its fame in history, however, this Psalm is not cited in the New Testament. Psalms 110, 118, and 22 are quoted and alluded to dozens of times by our Lord and the apostles. A few echoes of this psalm could be argued for, like in John 10, but these are only possible and general. Psalm 23 is not clearly referred to in the New Testament, save in one place.
And where is this? In Revelation 7:17. There, it replaces the name Lord with the Lamb. “The Lamb is our Shepherd.” And when is the hymn of Revelation 7 sung? It is in the glory of the resurrection, in the bliss of celestial paradise. By the power of the most profound mixed metaphor, the Lamb is our Shepherd. Jesus who was sacrificed for our sins is our benevolent Shepherd, through life and especially in death, to guide us to the peaceful pastures and holy waters of the resurrection. The covenant blessings earned by Christ hound us all our lives to bring us into the eternal life of the heavenly temple.
Psalm 23 is the most gorgeous gospel poem because its grace shepherds us from the curse of sin and death to the reward of Christ’s righteousness, new life by the waters of life and rest in the soft grasses of Zion. By grace alone, by faith alone, and by Christ alone, all of these glow within the colors and textures of this psalm. Likewise, as the Lamb shepherds us by his Word, Sola Scriptura is the light of God’s guidance. Additionally, the fifth sola will not be excluded. Why does the Lamb shepherd through the vicissitudes of life and the vale of death? Why does he carry us along the paths of righteousness? “For his own name’s sake” (v. 3). For the magnifying of God’s glory and excellence, Christ is our Shepherd. The Almighty shepherds us with salvation for his own honor and praise. And when God acts for his name, he never fails or stops half-way. The majesty of the Lord’s steadfast love always finishes what he starts.
The gospel grace that Jesus began in you, he will bring to completion. The Lamb’s husbandry of you is strong and benevolent; it always succeeds in you. As he conquered death, so he is with you in amid this land of death. By his loving guidance, you cannot be lost. In his righteousness, death cannot hold you as it has no power over him.
Therefore, in line with the wisdom of our spiritual mothers and fathers, let us sing this psalm. May the gospel poem of Psalm 23 be in our hearts; may it lift up our faith to heaven, where Christ is seated. And may this poetry of grace continually overflow our cups and hearts, so that we might praise and love our Shepherd-King, now and forever more.
Amen.
©Zach Keele. All Rights Reserved.
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Zach Keele
Rev. Zachary Keele grew up on a ranch in a small town named Crawford, Colorado. He attended Geneva College in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania and received his Master of Divinity from Westminster Seminary California. He has served as the pastor of Escondido OPC since 2006.
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