The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
for his name’s sake.
Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely your goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
forever (Psalm 23).
It’s a road that I often travel on, a shortcut between the valley in which I live and the next one to the west. You could call it a valley, as steep hills tower on either side. Years ago, there was a railway line taking coal and passengers along its few miles, but that disappeared in the 1960s like so many others. Now it’s just drivers who enjoy its scenic delights.
The Lord is my shepherd
As I begin the journey, I often notice the sheep on the hillside, grazing away peacefully. I sometimes wonder how they manage not to fall off the fierce slope of the hill, given that all four of their legs are the same length, but every time I pass, they still seem to be there. They look healthy enough, but I know that’s because a farmer, or a shepherd, is behind them who has met all their needs, brought them to the field for pasture, and kept the fences around them well-maintained so that they are safe. As I see them, I am reminded too that I have a shepherd: ‘The Lord is my shepherd’ (Ps. 23:1). Because of that, I similarly lack nothing. Even better than the sheep that catch my eye, I have been brought into a living relationship with my shepherd because of the finished work of the one who said, ‘I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep’ (John 10:11).
Still waters
A mile or so into the route, I see another sight, especially in wintertime. It is a fast-flowing stream, almost running at the speed of a waterfall, which cascades down the hillside to my left. No sheep are found near here. They prefer the still waters often found nearer their green pastures. But it’s still worth a quick sideways glance through the car window. It reminds me that the same good shepherd said on another occasion, ‘If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. He who believes in me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water’ (John 7:37-38).
I can’t keep my eye on the stream for more than a moment, as I need to have my eyes on the road ahead. Cars and lorries are coming at me in the other direction along the single carriageway. I also need to be aware of the speedometer on my dashboard. I know the speed limit of the road, and have travelled it often enough to know where the permanent speed camera is positioned, and where the mobile vans often choose to hide! As with so many roads, indeed so many places in our modern world, I am aware that I am being watched, and need to act accordingly. Yet, as well as being followed by the authorities, I am aware and glad that there is one whose ‘goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life’ (Ps. 23:6), one who wants nothing but my good, as his glory is outworked in the world.
In the valley
We’re halfway along the link road now, and at this point on either side, the hills seem suddenly to be higher and steeper. Here, the sun often seems to be hidden by them, if not by the clouds. Everything gets darker, and in winter, it’s often at this point that I feel the need to turn my headlights on. When the weather is stormy or misty, I sometimes feel a certain eeriness on that part of the route. Life itself has such moments of darkness, physical and spiritual. But even then, I am reminded of the promise of the shepherd about whom David said, ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and staff, they comfort me’ (Ps. 23:4).
A table prepared
Even so, I am still glad when the road begins to open out again, so much so that on one side there is a patch of grass sufficiently large for vehicles to park up, children to play on, and even for motorcyclists to hold their scrambling events occasionally. Sometimes, when the weather is fine, I see couples and families making use of the odd picnic table provided by the council and enjoying their lunch al fresco. Seeing them reminds me of another table, prepared for me by the Lord who is my shepherd. I think too of the gospel feast that the good shepherd came to earth to invite me to. I am glad that I have been enabled by God’s grace to respond to the invitation, ‘I am the bread of life. He who comes to me shall never hunger, and he who believes in me shall never thirst’ (John 6:35).
The end of the journey
We are almost at the end of the journey now, but there is one more sight to see. This is a sad one. It is a chapel building, one of several that can be seen along the route. All of them are now closed, but this one has more significance for me. It is one where I know the good news of the gospel was preached for many decades, indeed, one from whose pulpit I had the privilege of pointing people to the Good Shepherd on several occasions. I attended funeral services there, and even buried their dead after the last pastor had departed. I sat at the Lord’s table and broke bread with saints who no longer have their Bethel to attend every Lord’s Day. As the building begins to be prepared for another use, I wonder if the good news of Christ will ever be sounded forth in that village again. Again, the psalm that has been my companion through the journey helps me at the end of my route, reminding me that there is a place of worship that will never close, an eternal dwelling place for the saints. When God’s goodness and mercy no longer need to follow me all the days of my life on earth, ‘I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever’ (Ps. 23:6).