"By the Still Waters"
A meditation on Psalm 23
J. R. Miller
It is worthy of our thought—how much poorer the world
would be if the little Twenty-third Psalm had never been written. Think what
a ministry this psalm has had these three thousand years, as it has gone up
and down the world, singing itself into men's hearts, and breathing its
quiet peace into their spirits. How many sorrows has it comforted! How many
tears has it dried! How many pilgrims has it lighted through life's dark
valleys! Perhaps no other single portion of the Bible—not even the
fourteenth chapter of John's Gospel—is read so often or has so wrought
itself into religious experience.
It is the children's psalm—to many the first words
of Holy Scripture learned at a mother's knee. Then, it is the aged
person's psalm; ofttimes, with quivering voice, it is repeated by aged
saints as the night comes on. Then, all the years between youth and old age,
this psalm is read. It is the psalm of the sick-room; how many
sufferers have been quieted and comforted by its words of assurance and
peace! It is the psalm for the death-bed; scarcely ever does a
Christian die, but these sweet words are said or sung. Thousands of times it
has been repeated by dying Christians themselves, especially the words about
the valley of the shadow of death, as they passed into the valley. It is the
psalm for the funeral service, read countless times beside the coffin
where a Christian sleeps in peace.
I cannot think of anything in all the list of the world's
achievements that I would rather have done, than write the Twenty-third
Psalm. To compose any sweet hymn that lives, and sings itself into people's
hearts, giving cheer, comfort, or hope, making men and women stronger,
truer, and braver, is a noble privilege. It is a great thing to have written
"Rock of Ages, cleft for me," "Jesus, Lover of my soul," or "Nearer, my God,
to You;" but, of all hymns which have been born into this world, I think I
would rather have written David's Shepherd's Psalm. I would rather be the
author of this little song—than be the builder of the pyramids. Earth's
noblest, divinest achievement is to start songs in the world's wintry
air, to sing into its weary hearts something of heaven's music. Not
many of us will be permitted to write a twenty-third psalm to bless men with
its strains of sweet peace; but we may at least make our life a song,
a sweet hymn of peace, whose music shall gladden, comfort, and cheer weary
pilgrims as they pass along life's rough ways.
It is interesting to think of the origin of this
psalm. At first thought, we might say it was written in David's youth, when
he was a shepherd at Bethlehem. It is full of images and pictures of
shepherd life, which might seem to fix its date in the author's early years.
But further thought will show that the psalm does not belong to this period.
It could not have been written by a young man. It tells of struggles and
toils, of pain and sorrow endured, of dark valleys passed through. It is a
psalm of experience—an old man's experience, after being led through many a
trying way and tasting many a bitter cup. It must have been written in
David's old age, but in it he enshrines the memories of his youth.
We learn this lesson: the experiences of the early
years make the remembrances of life's later years. The visions of youth
become the faiths and the songs of ripened manhood. If you would have an old
age made sweet by memory, fill your youth-time with deeds of virtue,
bravery, and beauty, and with dreams of purity and peace. Old age is the
harvest of all the years gone before.
"The Lord is my shepherd."
Rustic name for
God, you would say—Shepherd. There is a story of a great artist who
had been entertained in some old castle, where he received much kindness. As
he was about to go away, he wished to leave behind him some token of his
gratitude. He could find no canvas on which to put a picture; but taking a
common bed-sheet, the only available thing, he painted on it an exquisite
picture, which he left in his room. So on this rustic, commonplace word,
shepherd, did David paint a matchless picture of God, putting into it
all that he had learned of God during his lifetime, and leaving it as a
memorial in the world. No more unpoetic name could have been chosen; and yet
a thousand years later, Jesus Christ, when he would leave with his disciples
a revelation of his love and care for his own, called himself by the same
rustic name, Shepherd—the Good Shepherd; and we all remember what
precious thoughts he fixed upon this name. "He calls his own sheep by name,
and leads them out." "When he has put forth all his own, He goes before
them, and the sheep follow him for they know his voice." "I am the good
shepherd: the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. I am the good
shepherd; and I know my own, and my own know me. My sheep listen to my
voice; I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they
shall never perish; no one can snatch them out of my hand."
In our country we have no shepherds, such as those who
tend the flocks in the East. There the pasture fields are wide, unfenced,
stretching for miles and miles. There will be patches of grass here and
there, and then bald barren tracts glowing in the hot sun, broken by deep
ravines, dark and desolate, where wild beasts have their lairs. In such a
region sheep unshepherded, would soon be lost. But one never sees a flock in
that country without its shepherd.
It was this picture that was in David's mind when he
wrote this Twenty-third Psalm—a mingling of beauty and danger. But as in the
Syrian wilderness the shepherd appeared everywhere with his flock, so in
life's wilderness there is always One whose presence is an assurance
of safety and of blessing.
The Syrian shepherd loves his flock, and lives
with them. He leads them out by day to find the patches of green pasture. By
night he watches them, guarding them against prowling wild beasts and
against robbers. Ofttimes he is wounded in defending them. When one sheep
wanders, he leaves the flock, and seeks the lost one until he finds it. When
one faints by the way, he gathers it in his arms, and carries it in his
bosom. As we study the ways of the Eastern shepherd, we begin to see the
beauty of the picture which the rustic name gives to God, who is our
Shepherd.
"The Lord is my shepherd." Little
words are sometimes very important. Suppose you read it thus, "The Lord is a
shepherd;" would it mean just the same to you? The name shepherd carries in
itself all its wondrous revealing of love, tenderness, care, safety,
providence, as a picture of God. But what comfort is all this to you, so
long as you cannot say, "The Lord is my shepherd"?
Some poor children, passing a beautiful home, with its
wealth and luxury, may admire it, and say, "What a lovely home!" But how
much more it means to the children who dwell inside, who say, as they enjoy
the good things in the house, "This is our home!" It makes a great
difference to me whether a good man is a worthy friend, or is my
friend; whether God is a Father, or is my Father; whether
Jesus is a wonderful Savior, or is my wonderful Savior;
whether the Lord is a Shepherd, or is my Shepherd. The little
pronoun "my" is the golden link which binds all this blessed
revealing to me, and makes it all mine own! The old preachers talked much
about appropriating faith—that is, the faith which makes Christ and all the
blessings of redemption our own. It is a joyous moment when we can say,
"Christ is mine, and I am his." "The Lord is my shepherd."
It was not the exclusive privilege of David to say, "The
Lord is my shepherd." It is our privilege too. True religion is an
individual matter. Each one comes to Christ for himself, and it is a
personal relation which is established between Christ and each believing
soul. Every believer has all of Christ for his own, just as truly as if he
were the only believer. Each one can say, "The Lord is my shepherd.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside the still
waters. He restores my soul." If we can say this little word 'my'
with our heart, as we go over this psalm, claiming all of God for our
own—then have we learned the great lesson which binds us to God and God to
us. This is the faith which saves. It is not only taking Christ and
all the blessings of his redemption for our own; it is also the surrender
of our life, with all its powers and affections, to him. It means
infinite blessing from God; but it means also unquestioning obedience,
implicit following—the losing of our life in Christ.
Wonderful is the first assurance of this psalm:
"I shall not be in want." We need
not try to define or limit this word. We need not say that it includes only
spiritual wants. Do you think our Shepherd would provide for the needs of
our soul, and then pay no heed to our common, daily physical needs? The
assurance means that all our needs will be supplied, the needs of our body
and the needs of our soul. Paul puts the same assurance into very strong
words in one of his epistles: "My God shall fulfill every need of yours
according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus." The same promise is
written over and over again in the Bible. We have it in one glorious
sentence of the Master's, "Seek first the kingdom of God, and his
righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you." We need have
only one care, that we put the first thing first—faithfulness to God. Then
all else we need for both worlds will be supplied.
Yet we must make sure that we do not fail in our part.
God will never fail us; but we forget, sometimes, in our rejoicing over such
an assurance, that we must fulfill our part if we would claim the divine
promise. It will not always be easy. Tomorrow it may mean a distasteful
task, a disagreeable duty, a costly sacrifice for one who does not seem
worthy. Life is full of sore testings of our willingness to follow the Good
Shepherd. We have not the slightest right to claim this assurance, unless we
have taken Christ as the guide of our life.
We must notice here, too, the grounds of David's
confidence. He was very rich in his old age, when he wrote this psalm but he
does not say, "I have much goods laid up, vast sums of gold, and therefore I
shall not be in want." He was a great king and a mighty conqueror. Nation
after nation had submitted to him, and now the whole Eastern country was at
his feet, with its power and wealth. But he does not say, "I am king of vast
realms; many peoples own my sway; the resources of great countries are at my
disposal, and therefore I shall not be in want." His confidence was in
something securer than money or power. "The Lord is my shepherd—and
therefore I shall not be in want." To have God is better than to have all
the world without God. When we can say, "God is mine," we have all the
wealth of the universe for ours; for "the earth is the Lord's, and the
fullness thereof," and what is God's is ours. "All things are yours, and you
are Christ's." Blessed are all who can say, "The Lord is my shepherd." They
can sing then with confidence, "Therefore I shall not be in want."
"He makes me to lie down in green pastures; he leads me
beside the still waters."
This is a picture of peace.
The flock has been fed; and now in the heat of the day the shepherd leads
his sheep into the shelter, and makes them lie down in the soft, lush grass,
by the edge of the rippling streams, to rest awhile.
This suggests the rest into which our Good
Shepherd leads his flock. Life is not all toil. God gives us many quiet
resting-places in our pilgrim way. Night is one of these, when, after
the day's toil, struggle, and exhaustion, we are led aside, and the curtains
are drawn to shut out the noise, and he gives his beloved sleep—and in
sleep, he gives the wonderful blessings of renewal. The Sabbath is
another of these quiet resting-places. God would have us drop our worldly
tasks, and have a day for the refreshing of both body and soul. It is a sore
loss when for any reason one has to miss his Sabbath rest. Few things in the
life are sadder than the encroachments of the world's bustle, strife, and
care upon Sabbath quiet and peace. Friendship's trysts are also quiet
resting-places, where heart may commune with heart, where Jesus comes, too,
unseen, and gives his blessing. All ordinances of Christian worship—seasons
of prayer and devotion, hours of communion with God—are quiet
resting-places.
Far more than we are apt to realize, do we need these
silent times in our busy life, needing them all the more—the busier the life
may be. Mary sat at Jesus' feet, and found green pastures and still waters
there, and grew into marvelous sweetness of life and spirit. John lived near
the heart of the Master; and abiding in that quiet resting-place, he went
out with shining face, and became a transfigured disciple. We all need more
quiet rest in God's green pastures. We would be better Christians if we had
more such rest as these words suggest.
"He makes me to lie down in green pastures."
Sometimes we are unwilling to rest. The world draws on our hearts, and we
would go on in its ambitions without resting at God's feet. Even some
Christian people are so busy with their work or with their pleasure, that
they do not get time to pray, or even to sit down for a quiet half-hour with
the Scripture. They do not realize, in thus depriving themselves of the
privilege of communion with God, that they are starving their souls,
laboring only for the food which perishes. Then sometimes God makes
them lie down to rest a while, that they may be renewed in spirit. Loving
them too much to encourage their worldly absorption, he compels them
to go aside to get the quiet that they so much need. It may be in a
sick-room. It is not pleasant, not agreeable, and sometimes they chafe and
repine. But they would better accept the Shepherd's guidance, even when it
leads them into the darkened chamber of pain, for there they will find green
pastures. We always may be sure of this. Whenever the Good Shepherd makes
us lie down, there is blessing for us! And if we submit and trust, we
shall be enriched in our spiritual life, and prepared for better service
afterward.
A young Christian who had been for many weeks in a
hospital, undergoing a painful operation and then slowly recovering, wrote
me in the days of her convalescence, "I have found my little white bed here
in the hospital, a bit of God's green pasture." Not only had it proved a
place of rest and peace to her, but also a place of spiritual refreshment.
"He restores my soul."
In several ways
does the shepherd restore his sheep. If one wanders away, he goes out
after it, and seeks it until he finds it, restoring it to the shelter of the
fold. If one faints and grows sick by the way, in the hard journey or the
burning heat—the shepherd does not leave it to die, but takes it up in his
arms, and carries it home, restoring it to the fold. If a sheep is hurt,
torn by a wild beast or injured by accident—the shepherd tends its wounds
until they are healed.
All this suggests how our Good Shepherd restores our
souls. Sometimes we wander away. It is very easy to drift off from
Christ. The drifting is often unconscious—we do not know that we are losing
our first love, our interest in prayer, our conscientiousness in obedience
and service—and little by little, we are far off. Sometimes it is a
cherished sin which eats out our heart-life. Sometimes it is a
worldly companionship which draws us away, loosening the bonds which
bound us to Christ. Sometimes it is an absorbing business which
leaves no room for God. Or it may be the cares of this world which
choke the Word and quench the Spirit. We need often to have our soul
restored, quickened, revived—or we would never get safely home through this
evil world.
Then, what soul is not sometimes hurt, wounded,
torn—perhaps by sorrow, perhaps by the wild beasts of temptation?
We all know how the Good Shepherd restores the hurt life. He is a most
skillful physician. He binds up the broken spirit. Sin's wounds—he heals. We
remember how David's own soul was restored after he had fallen. The terrible
hurts were so healed—that he was a better man afterward than he had been
before. Sin is a fearful thing. It wounds the soul, and no hand but Christ's
can restore it. But if we put our hurt life into his hand, he will give
healing. What millions of sin's woundings—has our Good Shepherd
cured!
Then, when sorrow has left the heart broken, it is
only the Good Shepherd who can restore it. We may put all sorrow's wounds
into his hand. He is most gentle, and his hand is infinitely skillful. He is
a wonderful comforter. No human hand can heal a heart that is bruised, but
the hand of Jesus has infinite delicacy and skill.
"He restores my soul." The end of all Christ's restorings
will be the putting back of the defaced divine image on the life of every
one who trusts in him and follows him. "It does not yet appear what we shall
be." God's work in us is not yet finished while we stay in this world. "But
we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him!"
"He leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name's
sake."
The Eastern shepherd does not drive his
sheep—he leads them; he goes before them, and they follow him. He
always has a purpose in his leading. He knows where the bits of green
pasture are, and he would lead his flock to these. The way may be rough, but
it is the right way to the pasture. "Paths of righteousness" may not
be straight paths; but they are paths that lead somewhere—to the right
place. Many desert paths are illusive. They start out clear and
plain, but soon they are lost in the sands. They go nowhere. But the paths
of righteousness have a goal to which they unerringly lead.
It is one of the sweetest revealings of Christian life,
that the Good Shepherd always leads his own. He does not drive them. We are
not his sheep if we do not follow him. He puts forth the sheep, and goes
before them. He calls his own sheep by name, and leads them out. In many
ways does he lead. The mother gives the first divine guidance to the little
child who looks up into her face with love and trust. Then, along the years,
other hands are reached out to guide. We do not know how much of God's
goodness comes to us in human hearts and lives. Sometimes it is a
friend's wise counsel that you find just the word which makes the way
plain for you.
Sometimes the guidance comes in a sermon or in a
book. Or it may be in some simple experience of every-day
life. A young man in great perplexity picked up a scrap of an old newspaper
which he found on the street, and on it read words that made his way clear
to him. Or the leading comes in a gentle friendship, with its quiet
influence; or in a providence which makes duty very plain. In some
way, at least, our Shepherd will always lead us, if we are willing to be
led. The trouble too often is, not in trying to learn the way we should
take, but in unwillingness to go as our Good Shepherd would lead us. We
chafe and resist, and refuse to follow. We must be willing and obedient if
we would have the divine guidance. We must trust God's wisdom rather than
our own. We must commit our way to him with absolute confidence and
unquestioning faith, following his guidance cheerfully, sweetly, wherever he
may take us.
"Yes, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil—for you are with me; your rod and your staff they
comfort me."
No doubt these words have lighted more souls
into the valley of death, than any other one verse in the whole Bible. I
shall attempt no explanation of them; they need none. Exposition only mars
their beauty.
Probably the valley of the shadow of death is, more
correctly, the valley of deep darkness. One who is familiar with the country
in which the Psalms were written, readily understands the picture which was
in the writer's mind. Some of the valleys or gorges are so deep as to be
almost utterly dark. It is necessary ofttimes to lead the sheep through
these gorges to get them to some bit of sweet pasture which lies beyond. Not
only was there dreary gloom in these narrow valleys, but often in their dark
caves, wild beasts had their lairs. Thus they would become indeed valleys of
the shadow of death for the sheep, were it not for the presence of the
shepherd. These gorges fitly represent every dreary and perilous way through
which God's children may have to pass—most fitly of all, the way of death,
through which every believer must go to reach heaven's blessed pasture lands
which lie beyond.
The presence of the shepherd took away all fear from the
sheep. He carried both rod and staff—the rod, a heavy club to defend
the sheep against enemies; and the staff, a stick to lean upon, and
to use also in lifting up any of his sheep or lambs which might fall into
peril. These instruments of defense and help, comforted the sheep by
assuring them that their shepherd would fight their battles, and bring them
safely through.
Sometimes God's sheep, in their experience in this world,
must pass through just such deep, dark valleys; and yet they need not be
afraid, the Shepherd is with them. Not only is he with them, but he
is able and willing to defend them against all enemies, as well as to
guide and help them through. This assurance comforts them. The
presence of the Shepherd takes away all fear.
Life is full of illustrations. A child cries out in the
night in terror. It is afraid in the darkness. The mother speaks, thus
revealing her presence; and the child is comforted, and in a moment sleeps
in peace. A timid one is afraid to go through some gloomy way. One brave and
strong and unafraid, says, "I will go with you;" and all fear vanishes, and
the timid heart becomes bold. "I will fear no evil—for you are with me."
We know how the presence of a strong, tried, trusted
friend comforts us in any place of loneliness or danger. Were you ever in a
strange city, where, amid all the throngs on the streets you saw no face you
had ever seen before, none in which you perceived any token of recognition?
You were oppressed by a dreadful sense of loneliness. Then suddenly you met
a friend, one you had known long, and in whom you had confidence. What a
sense of comfort this friend's presence gave you! Instantly your feeling of
loneliness vanished. You were no longer afraid. This is the comfort which is
described in the wonderful words of this psalm: "I will fear no evil—for you
are with me."
An old Scotch shepherd found much comfort, when dying, in
the words of his pastor, who said, "Don't you know that sometimes, when you
were driving the sheep through the valleys, there would be shadows all about
you, while there was bright sunshine on the hills above? You are in the
shadows now, but there's sunshine on beyond." "Oh! that is good," said the
shepherd. "I never saw it that way before. 'Though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil—for you are with me.' Over
yonder on the heavenly hilltops the sun is shining."
Shadows here, but sunshine beyond. That is the meaning of
the valley. Only for a moment shadow, mystery, strangeness, and we are
walking through it—and then light, glory, home, Christ's face—forever
with the Lord. Let no believer ever be afraid. Even in the darkness, or what
seems from this side, as we enter, to be darkness, we shall find our great
Companion.
"You are with me, with rod and staff, and I shall be
comforted." We need not be afraid in the valley; for Jesus will be with us,
and he has all power and all grace. He has overcome the world; and in his
hands are the nail-prints, reminding us both of his victory in
fighting our battles, and his love in giving himself for us.
"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my
enemies."
The shepherd's tent in the wilderness was a little
sanctuary, where the hunted man was sure of shelter, where every wanderer,
whatever his character or his past might be, was received and furnished with
food.
We need more than shepherd care; we need also mercy
and grace. Sin and its curse drive us into the wilderness. Our
past is full of enemies which haunt us—the sins we have committed. Our own
heart contains relentless foes of God, who give us no rest. Satan watches
ever to destroy us.
But there is a place of refuge from all these pursuing
foes. The shepherd's tent is a picture of the cross, a place of shelter for
the sinner hunted by his sins. We must not forget that it was the Shepherd
himself who died on the cross for us. "The good shepherd lays down his life
for the sheep." We have in the cross not only a place of refuge within which
no enemies can pursue us, but under its shadow we have also divine
hospitality. "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies."
A man fleeing from a storm ran under a great tree. There
he found shelter. But he found also fruits which the storm had brought down
from the tree—food for his hunger, and a spring of sweet, pure water, at
which he quenched his thirst. So in the shadow of the cross, the
friend of Christ finds not only refuge from all enemies, but also provision
for all his needs.
Not from our sins only, but from all danger
of whatever kind, do we have shelter in Christ. The picture of the table
spread in the wilderness in the presence of enemies, is true of the believer
in every sense. As the guest of God he is safe from every foe. Paul puts it
in very strong words in the eighth chapter of Romans: "If God is for us, who
is against us? He did not even spare His own Son, but offered Him up for us
all; how will He not also with Him grant us everything? Who can bring an
accusation against God’s elect? God is the One who justifies. Who is the one
who condemns? Christ Jesus is the One who died, but even more, has been
raised; He also is at the right hand of God and intercedes for us. Who can
separate us from the love of Christ? Can affliction or anguish or
persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? No, in all these
things we are more than victorious through Him who loved us!"
"You anoint my head with oil."
Anointing
the head was one of the tokens of hospitality in the East. Jesus reminded
Simon that he had failed as host in the honors shown to him as guest: "You
didn't anoint My head with oil." Such anointing was the highest mark of
respect that could be paid. Only the most distinguished guests were thus
honored. When David uses these words here he means that he had been
treated by the Lord as a most highly honored guest.
It seems strange to human reason, that the God of heaven
should so lavish his love and kindness upon sinners of a mortal race. We are
apt to regard such words as exaggerations. But the Bible abounds in
expressions of the same character. When the prodigal was about to return to
his father, he said that he would ask for a servant's place because
he was not worthy to be called a son. Yet when he reached home he was
received, not as a servant, but as a son. Jesus said, "I call you not
servants, . . . I have called you friends." The beloved disciple
exclaimed, "Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed upon us, that
we should be called children of God: and such we are!" No words can
describe the honor and the blessedness of him who has become God's child by
receiving Jesus Christ. The best things of divine grace and glory are his.
Being a child of God, he is also an heir, an heir of God, a joint heir with
Christ. It is past comprehension, that this God of wonderful
loving-kindness, takes us in all our unworthiness, brings us into closest
divine fellowship, and puts upon us the highest honors of the universe!
We may think of anointing also as an emblem of spiritual
blessing. Oil was a symbol of the grace of God. Jesus was anointed at his
baptism, and went forth full of grace and truth. If we yield ourselves to
God, we, too, shall receive a heavenly anointing. Then we shall be filled
with God. The beauty of the Lord our God shall be upon us. Our faces shall
shine with the shining of holy peace. Our words shall have in them
divine sweetness and grace. Anointed for God, our life shall be a
blessing to everyone it touches. Our shadow, as we pass along the streets,
shall bless those on whom it falls. We shall be God's saving health in this
world, diffusing the influences of heaven amid human sorrow and sin!
"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days
of my life—and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
This reads like a line out of an angel's life in heaven. Can that mean
here—in this world? What! in the life of toil, disappointment, loss,
sorrow, and tears—which we must all live on earth? Surely this must be only
a poet's dream of life. No! it is the life of faith and trust, in
this world. Toil, trouble, trial, belong to life as men see it, but in
faith's realm this is the picture always— "Goodness and mercy all the days."
Even in sorrow and loss there is goodness, always there is mercy. Thus it is
unto the end, and then—"I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
The ending of the story of this life of blessedness, is
not in this world; it is in heaven. We know that the believer shall indeed
dwell in the house of the Lord forever. We have the finishing of the picture
in the book of Revelation. "They are before the throne of God and serve him
day and night in his temple; and he who sits on the throne will spread his
tent over them. Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst.
The sun will not beat upon them, nor any scorching heat. For the Lamb at the
center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them
to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their
eyes!" Revelation 7:15-17