10. THE GREEN PASTURES
AND STILL WATERS WHERE THE FLOCK ARE FED
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes
me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my
soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake." Psalm 23:
1-2
In the preceding chapter we considered the opening verse, what may be called
the key-note of David's beautiful pastoral song. There he had given utterance
to the negative, now he proceeds, under the same Shepherd-symbol, to speak of
the positive blessings belonging to all God's people. The picture here
presented is that which is often witnessed in our own Highland valleys—a flock
of sheep, on a summer evening, reposing by the verdant banks of some limpid
stream—having around them, in abundance, the two main requirements of the
fold, grass and water.
The Eastern or Arabian shepherd is known to wander for days together along the
trackless waste, until he find these requisite supplies. The greenest grass
would be insufficient without the stream, and the purest water would be
unavailing if its course lay through barren moorlands, or among rank weeds and
naked rocks. In these two expressive emblems of this psalm, we have brought
before us the provision which the Great Shepherd has made for the comfort and
nourishment of His flock. In other words, the ample supply of grace afforded
to the believer in the new covenant, to meet all his spiritual needs. "He
makes me to lie down in green pastures" [margin, in the pastures of tender
grass]. "He leads me beside the still waters" [or, "the waters of quietness"].
Taking the words in a more general sense, we may gather from each of the
clauses one or two simple thoughts for meditation.
"He makes me to lie down in green pastures." The first idea suggested is that
of REST and SECURITY. The flock 'LIE down.' The posture is indicative of
perfect repose. So timid often are sheep, that to pass by them in a meadow is
the signal for scattering the whole flock. But here every cause or fear of
danger seems removed. No bleat is heard in all the valley. They are moored,
like vessels in a quiet sheltered haven, around the feet of the shepherd.
The life of man, as we were led more specially to notice in a former chapter,
is a constant striving after rest, repose, satisfaction. Many, indeed, are
seeking it in base counterfeits; yet even in the counterfeit-search we detect
the aspiration after a nobler reality. In the very chasing of the shadow we
discern the longing after the substance. The miser seeks it in his gold; the
ambitious man seeks it as he climbs his giddy eminences; the pleasure-hunter
seeks it in artificial excitements; the student seeks it in the loftier
aspirations and achievements of his intellectual nature. But true rest can be
found in God alone. "This is the rest with which you may cause the weary to
rest; and this is the refreshing." "When HE gives quietness, who then can make
trouble?" "HE gives His beloved sleep" (rest).
It is only when we have secured possession of the Divine Shepherd's favor and
love, pardon and reconciliation through the atoning work and merits of Jesus,
that we can "lie down." Short of this, there will be a feverish roaming after
something other, something apparently better, but a something which, even when
attained, does not and cannot satisfy. Having Him for our portion, we need no
other. With every longing of our moral natures answered, we can say, "This is
my rest forever."
A second idea which the figure of "green pastures" suggests is that of
ABUNDANT PROVISION. Observe, it is not one piece of pasture-ground that is
here spoken of, but "pastures." There is no scant supply, but, on the
contrary, an ample variety, to suit the circumstances of each member of the
flock. The sheep may roam from field to field, yet still there is enough and
to spare. Moreover, the provision is the best of its kind—not bitter or
fading, but young and tender grass, as if eternal spring or summer brooded
over these meadows. What diversity there is in God's spiritual provision for
His people!
Grace for all times, and every time. Each tender blade has its dew-drop of
comfort—each pool in "the still waters" has its reflection of love. Countless
multitudes have been nourished by these pastures in every age, and still they
are green—evergreen; and the song of the flock is this day what it has been
for three thousand years—"The Lord is my Shepherd, I lack nothing."
How specially is this true of the pastures of God's Holy Word! What variety
have we here; doctrine, precept, promise, comfort, consolation, yes,
"everlasting consolation." At no time are these pastures greener to us than in
seasons of sorrow; when the world's pastures are burned up, and its choicest
nooks and valleys—those that were used to be carpeted with flowers and bathed
in sunshine—can offer no refreshment or repose. "The grass withers, the flower
fades, but the Word of our God shall stand forever."
Let us pass to the second part of the verse—"He leads me beside the still
waters!" "Still waters!" These words appear to convey, under another figure
and symbol, a description just of the same calm and hallowed repose, secured
to the believer, which the psalmist had in his mind in the preceding
clause—the soul kept in perfect peace which is stayed on God. The wicked are
compared to the "troubled sea." But this is an inland river—a quiet, gentle
stream, protected from the boisterous winds which fret the ocean to madness.
Strange, indeed, often is the history of the soul before it attains that
divine repose; fierce are its struggles before there ensues the calm of
victory and rest. Like the patriarch at Jabbok before he secured the change of
name and the divine blessing, it has often times been a long night of
wrestling before the dawning of the day.
You may have witnessed such a peaceful meadow as that described by the
psalmist of Israel, with its quiet, lake-like stream; so still, that not a
ripple bedims its surface; every rock, and plant, and spear of grass, which
fringe its banks, beautifully mirrored in the surface. Yet follow that same
river up these mountain ravines, and you see it fretting and foaming over
rugged rocks, hurrying impetuously down to where it now sleeps so calmly in
the lower valley! That is a picture of the often long unrest of the soul
before it has found the peace which passes understanding; its struggles with
inward corruption and outward temptation; the fierce eddying currents and
impetuous cataracts of passion and sin, before it secure its glorious repose
in God. Not until it reaches these quiet meadows, with their green pastures,
which we have been now describing, can it say—"Return unto your rest, O my
soul!"
Here, too, as in the former figure, we have the abundance of God's mercies set
forth; not only varied pastures but varied waters. The blessings of grace are
not like the Nile, one solitary river which receives no tributary all the nine
hundred miles it traverses. They are rather like the Jordan, fed by a hundred
rills, as it hurries through its rocky gorges. Many streams only flow in
winter or spring. When summer comes (the time they are most needed) their
channels are dry. But these "still waters" are full even in drought, for they
are fed from the everlasting hills. When the world's streams are emptiest, the
streams of grace are deepest and most ample. "The Lord," says the prophet,
"shall guide you continually, and satisfy your soul in drought, and make fat
your bones; and you shall be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water
whose waters fail not."
We have streams of peace, of purity, of pardon, of sanctification—all
exceedingly great and precious. Look at the exuberance of God's mercies in the
natural creation. Go to some sequestered nook of tangled loveliness, by brook,
or waterfall, or sequestered glade. Study for an hour that one page in the
volume of nature, taking the microscope with you to help you in the task. How
wondrous the tints! How symmetrical the forms! How lavish the garniture of the
tiny worlds of animated being which the lens discloses! It is a feeble type of
the exceeding riches of His grace, in His kindness toward us through Christ
Jesus. "Oh! how great is Your goodness which You have laid up for those who
fear You, which You have wrought for those who trust in You, before the sons
of men!"
We may conclude with the reflection suggested by both clauses, that true
Religion is happiness. The loveliest emblems in nature, "green pastures" and
"still waters," are here combined to symbolize the experiences, and depict the
reality, of the believer's life. The world has its pleasures too, and we do
not affirm that they are devoid of attractiveness. Had this been the case,
they would not be so fondly and eagerly clung to as they are. But this we can
affirm, that while they are certain, sooner or later, to perish, they are
fitful and capricious even while they last. They are sand-built, not
rock-built. They are, at best, but the passing gleam of the meteor; not like
the Christian's happiness, the steady luster of the true constellation. The
joys of the true believer outlive all others.
True Religion is like a castle on a mountain summit, catching the earliest
sunbeam, and gilded by the last evening ray. When low down in the world's
valleys, the shadows are falling, and the lights are already in the windows,
the radiance still tarries on these lofty peaks of gladness. That castle,
moreover, is full of all manner of good things. God has furnished it with
every attractive blessing that can invite the weary wanderer in. He has
crowded it with love-tokens, with which He may welcome back His long-absent
children; just as a mother decks out her room for her absent boy; as every
available nook is made gay with flowers and embroidery, crowded with souvenirs
of affection, so God has filled that castle with love-pledges. Its walls are
tapestried with proofs and promises of His grace and love in Jesus.
Go, wandering one, enter within these gates! Test for yourself the reality of
the divine assurance—"The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous
runs into it and is safe." Go, wandering sheep! make proof of the truthfulness
as well as beauty of the symbol under which the spiritual existence is here,
presented—as a reclining on green pastures, and by still waters. Go take your
rest in those meadows of peace.
Not, however, a rest of inglorious sloth. It is rest in God; rest in the
blessed assurance of His favor. But it is not rest from the activities of a
holy life. It is not rest or respite from a perpetual battle with sin.
Christianity, we have previously seen, is no condition of selfish inaction.
The believer is a steward, a servant, a worker, a member of that royal
priesthood who have each their special ministry of duty and love in the
spiritual temple. Reader, let this rest be yours, the pure rest which follows
the consciousness of doing good—of discharging some lowly unostentatious
offices of love to the Shepherd of souls.
We value most the rest of the body when it is the recompense of hard work and
toil. He sleeps most sweetly who has worked through the day most bravely. Have
you ever felt the sweets of this rest? The pleasurableness experienced after
some act of kindness, and compassion, and generous self-sacrifice, by which
your fellows have been made the better and the happier, and in the doing of
which you have been enabled, in some feeble degree, to imitate the example of
Him whose life was a combination of duty and love? If these deeds are
performed quietly and unostentatiously, so much more is it in accordance with
the spirit of Christianity, and with the spirit of the emblem we have been now
considering—the still waters, fringed with green, flowing gently, noiselessly,
unobtrusively along, manifesting their presence only by the fertility they
spread around them. Beautiful picture of the true Christian! The silent flow
of life's everyday current, carrying blessings in its course, fertilizing as
it flows; leaving behind, and on either side, the green border of faith and
love, kindness and benignity, charity and unselfishness.
Still waters indicate depth. It is the shallow stream that makes the
ostentatious hollow noise, gurgling and fretting along its pebbly channel.
True religion is too real to be noisy. Its characteristic is deep principle,
not fitful ecstasies. It is in grace as in nature—the gentle dew distills on
the tender grass—the gentle rain feeds the mountain streams, and these
imperceptibly feed the still waters in the lower meadows. Blessed resort, this
sheltered valley of Christ's reposeful love! Hear Him calling you, as He
utters the invitation, "Come unto me, and I will give you rest."
Having found the Shepherd of these green pastures and still waters, dread
everything that would lead you away from Him, and forfeit the possession of
His favor and regard. It is the short but touching epitaph frequently seen in
the catacombs at Rome—"In Christ, in peace." Realize the constant presence of
the Shepherd of Peace. "HE makes me to lie down!" "HE leads me!"
Be ever near these waters of quietness. Let the current of your daily walk and
business run side by side with the heavenly stream. In the world you may and
must be. "In the world," says He, "you shall have tribulation, but in Me you
shall have peace." And when you come to die, others may speak of the surges of
death, and the swellings of Jordan, but to you it will only be, under the
guidance of the great Forerunner, a transit through the border stream, to the
better meadows and better Canaan beyond. "When you pass through the waters I
will be with you." You will be borne through them in the arms of the Shepherd,
to rest evermore in the celestial pastures, and to drink evermore of the
rivers of His pleasure.