I vaguely remember a commercial slogan that came out years ago: “Orange juice – it’s not just for breakfast anymore.” Obviously, orange growers were trying to sell more orange juice by convincing us to drink it throughout the day. I don’t know whether their slogan was successful or not; I don’t drink much orange juice, but when I do, it’s at breakfast. Some things become so associated with one event or time in our lives that we can’t imagine them any other way.
Psalm 23 suffers from the same fate as orange juice. It has become associated with funerals and limited to times of death. But there’s so much more to this most-famous psalm. The truth is, Psalm 23 is so familiar, we can miss how radical it is.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
David didn’t write Psalm 23 from a hammock on vacation. He wrote it from the middle of life’s battlefield and at a time in his life when he knew hunger, betrayal, and danger better than most. This wasn’t a sentimental sheep story; it was a declaration of trust in God when everything around him screamed uncertainty.
“The Lord is my shepherd.” That’s a bold claim for a man who held the title of king. Instead of making claims about his own greatness, David says, “I’m the sheep here.” Sheep depend on the shepherd for everything. The shepherd finds food. The shepherd finds them a safe place at night. The shepherd looks for lost sheep that have wandered away from the flock. The shepherd tends their wounds. The shepherd never consults with the sheep about what they want; he makes all the decisions. In these opening words to Psalm 23. David chooses dependence, not control.
That’s hard for us modern David’s — we prefer to be our own shepherds, managing every detail, scheduling every moment. But sheep don’t schedule the shepherd. They just follow.
Even more surprising is where David’s shepherd leads: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” Notice the wording — the shepherd leads his sheep through the valley, not around it. The valley represents trouble and possible danger. But God doesn’t airlift us out of trouble; He walks with us through it.
That’s not always the news we want, but it’s the promise we need. God’s presence doesn’t always change the terrain, but it always changes how we travel through it.
And then, in what might be the most comforting image in the psalm, David says, “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.”
Enemies don’t disappear — the battle isn’t over — but right there in the thick of it, God sets out dinner. He turns a war zone into a dining room. What kind of shepherd does that? The kind who knows that peace doesn’t mean the absence of struggle; it means fellowship in the middle of it.
Maybe today you’re walking through a valley — shadows long, heart weary, troubles surrounding you. Psalm 23 doesn’t promise a quick escape. It promises something better: a steady hand, a guiding presence, and a table of grace that says, “You’re not alone.”
David didn’t trust God because life was easy. He trusted because God was faithful — in green pastures and in dark valleys.
And, finally, we get to the best part: “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” The Hebrew verb for “follow” actually means to pursue and to chase down. God’s goodness isn’t just tagging along behind us — it’s actively running after us, like a shepherd going after a sheep about to walk over a cliff or into some other danger.
Faith doesn’t end the battle. But it changes how we fight — not from fear, but from faith.
Prayer: Shepherd of my soul, thank you for walking with me through every valley and standing with me in every battle. When I’m weary, remind me that your goodness is still chasing after me. Teach me to rest at your table even when enemies surround me, and to trust that you are always by my side, protecting me. Amen.
