Transcription
[Music] Today, we take the privilege of looking at the tremendous psalm, perhaps the most beloved psalm of all 150 Psalms—the beloved Psalm, Psalm 23. I'm going to begin just by reading the psalm in its entirety because it's not very long, and it's beautiful just to read it and to receive it. Ready?
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; he leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. 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 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 runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Now, like many other Psalms, this beloved Psalm bears the simple title, “A Psalm of David.” That's all it says about it. And most people acknowledge, while King David wrote it, it was a psalm of his maturity. In other words, we sense—we can't say for certain, of course—but we sense this is something of an older David giving this Psalm, yet with a vivid remembrance of his youth as a shepherd. Because we remember that David was a shepherd boy, and he wrote this remarkably eloquent and beautiful psalm speaking about the Lord being our shepherd.
There's an old preacher named Henry Ward Beecher, and he's quoted in Charles Spurgeon's Treasury of David about what he had to say about this psalm. Henry Ward Beecher said this about Psalm 23: “It has charmed more griefs to rest than all the philosophy of the world. It has remanded to their dungeon more felon thoughts, more black doubts, more thieving sorrows than there are sands on the seashore. It has comforted the noble hosts of the poor. It has sung courage to the army of the disappointed. It has poured balm and consolation into the heart of the sick, of captives and dungeons, of widows in their pinching griefs, of orphans in their loneliness. Dying soldiers have died easier as it was read to them; ghastly hospitals have been illuminated. It has visited the prisoner and broken his chains, and like Peter's angel led him forth in imagination and sung him back to his home again. It has made the dying Christian slave freer than his master and consoled those whom dying he left behind, mourning not so much that he was gone as because they were left behind and could not go too.” I think that's a beautiful description of the power of the psalm.
Let me add one more thing before certainly taking apart verse by verse. It's from James Montgomery Boyce and his excellent commentary on Psalms. He says this about Psalm 23: “Millions of people have memorized this Psalm, even those who have learned a few other scripture portions. Ministers have used it to comfort people who are going through severe personal trials, suffering illness or dying. For some, the words of this psalm have been the last that they have ever uttered in life.” It's true, isn't it? What a powerful, beautiful Psalm. We read it in its entirety—all six verses; it's only six verses long. Let's take it apart now verse by verse.
Verse one: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” You see, David thought about God, the God of Israel, the Lord Yahweh—that's the name of the Covenant God of Israel—and he thought about his relationship with God. I'm sure David understood that God was a master, and David was a slave; that God was a father, and David was his son; that God was a king, and David was his subject. Maybe even David had the thoughts that God was like a potter, and David was like the clay. We could go on and on with these analogies, but in this particular Psalm, David draws on his memory as a shepherd, and he says, “The Lord is my shepherd.” It's the analogy of a shepherd and his sheep. God was like a shepherd to David, and David was like a sheep to God.
Now, in one sense, this is not unusual. There are other references to this analogy between a deity and his followers in the ancient Middle East. There's also the thought politically that there were times when a king referred himself to being a shepherd over his subjects in the ancient Middle East. But it's also a familiar idea throughout the Bible. Now we find it perhaps most beautifully and poetically stated right here in Psalm 23, but this is something that covers throughout the Old Testament—that this idea that the Lord is a shepherd to his people. The idea begins as early as the book of Genesis, where in Genesis chapter 49, verse 24, Moses called the Lord—and Moses is the author of Genesis—the Lord the shepherd, the stone of Israel. In Psalm 28, verse 9, David invited the Lord to shepherd the people of Israel and to bear them up forever. In Psalm 80, verse 1, it also looks to the Lord as the Shepherd of Israel who would lead Joseph like a flock. Ecclesiastes chapter 12, verse 11, speaks of the word of the wise which are like well-driven nails given by one Shepherd. Isaiah chapter 40, verse 11, tells us that the Lord will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs with his arms. Micah chapter 7, verse 14, invites the Lord to shepherd your people with your staff as in days of old. And Zechariah chapter 13, verse 7, speaks of the Messiah as the shepherd who will be struck, and the sheep will be scattered. By the way, that passage is quoted in Matthew chapter 26 when Jesus was arrested. So throughout the Old Testament, we find this idea that the Lord is the shepherd of God's people; that Yahweh is the Shepherd of Israel. And I think it's remarkable that the Lord would call himself a shepherd—our Shepherd. You see, in the ancient world, a shepherd's work was considered low. If a family needed a shepherd, it was always the youngest son, the one who had the least esteem in the family, who got the unpleasant assignment. You remember in 1st Samuel when the sons of Jesse were invited to a feast by the prophet Samuel because the prophet Samuel had been told by God that the next king of Israel—the king to anoint—the person to anoint as the next king of Israel was among the sons of this man named Jesse who lived in Bethlehem. David didn't even attend the feast; why? Because he was out tending the sheep. He was the youngest and most despised in his family. Yet, as James Montgomery Boyce says, “The great God of the universe has stooped to take just such care of you and me.”
Now, as we said, David knew this metaphor in a unique and powerful way because he had been a shepherd himself. And so this is a remarkably wonderful metaphor. Derek Kidner, in his commentary on the Psalms, points out that you have the more distant king or deliverer used as a metaphor—impersonal words like rock or shield—but Shepherd. A shepherd lives with his flock and is everything to it. The shepherd is the guide to the flock, the physician to the flock, the protector of the flock, the feeder of the flock—everything. And that's what the Lord is to his people.
Now, if you look at that first line in verse 1, it says, “The Lord is my shepherd.” You see, David knew that in a personal sense he could say, “My shepherd.” It was not just that the Lord was a shepherd for others in a theoretical sense; no, he was a real, personal Shepherd for David himself. I like what Charles Spurgeon said about that point. He said this: “The sweetest word of the whole is that monosyllable ‘my.’ He does not say, ‘The Lord is the Shepherd of the world at large and leadeth forth the multitude as a flock,’ but he says, ‘The Lord is my shepherd,’ and if he were a shepherd to no one else, he is a shepherd to me; he cares for me, watches over me, and preserves me.” Now, of course, David doesn't mean that to the exclusion of other people, nor would we, but it's a wonderful thing to take it deep in your soul: He is my shepherd. And overwhelmingly, the idea behind God's role as Shepherd is a loving care and concern. David found comfort; he found security in the thought that God cared for him like a shepherd cares for his sheep. And of course, we know David knew how a shepherd cares for a sheep; David lived it; he experienced it himself; he had the heart of a shepherd for his own flock. And now he takes such delight in the thought that God cares for him that way.
The David also felt that he needed a shepherd. You see, the very heart of this Psalm doesn't connect with someone who is self-sufficient, but those people who truly sense their need—those people who are the poor in spirit that Jesus described in the Sermon on the Mount—they find great comfort in the idea that God can be a shepherd to them in a personal sense. You see, Spurgeon said that before a man can truly say, “The Lord is my shepherd,” he must first feel himself to be a sheep by nature. I mean, you can't know that God is your shepherd unless you know that you have the nature of a sheep. And sheep can sometimes be foolish; sheep are always dependent; and sheep have somewhat of a warped will. That's what you got to see yourself as if you're going to say, “The Lord is my shepherd.”
Now, “The Lord is my shepherd,” the next line of verse one: “I shall not want.” You see, David, for him, the fact of God's shepherd-like care was the end of any need that could not be satisfied. He said, “I shall not want.” And I believe that statement, “I shall not want,” it was both a declaration, but it was also a decision. What, what do I mean by that? Well, “I shall not want” means that all my needs are supplied by the Lord, my shepherd. He supplies everything. “I shall not want”—I'm okay, I'm good, I'm set. The Lord is my shepherd, but “I shall not want” is also sort of a declaration that says, “I decide to not desire anything more than what the Lord, my shepherd, gives.” Whatever he gives me, it's enough, and I decide that. Now that's the first verse. Let's take a look at the second verse.
How the shepherd sustains the sheep. He says this: “He makes me to lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside the still waters.” Now, what does the Shepherd do? He makes me to lie down. The Lord, as a shepherd, knew how to make David rest when he needed it, just as a literal shepherd would care for a sheep. The implication is that the sheep doesn't always know what it needs, and it doesn't always know what's best for itself, and so it needs the help that the Shepherd brings. Now this is a beautiful, a lovely image. Can't you just picture it in your mind? Can't you just picture the beautiful, calm morning, and the morning sun is beginning to shine over the beautiful green pasture, and there's the Shepherd in the field with the sheep, and there's the green pasture, and the sheep are lying down—there's the sheep, I don't know how many there are—there's 20, there's 30, there's 40 sheep, and they're all lying down there, and the Shepherd is standing taking this wonderful shepherd-like air over them. Isn't that a beautiful picture? That if there's a little creek running by—can't you see the creek? You can hear it; it's quiet; it's beautiful. He says, “He makes me to lie down in those green pastures.” Now it's the green pastures because the Shepherd also knew the good places to make his sheep rest, so he faithfully guided the sheep to green pastures.
Now there's a wonderful book on Psalm 23. I dug out my old copy of it; it's by a man named Philip Keller, and it's called *A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23*. And in this classic work on the 23rd Psalm, Philip Keller writes that sheep do not lie down easily. Let me—I should just explain—Philip Keller was a shepherd; he was a professional shepherd, and he wrote a book, and the title of the book was *A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23*. So in it, he explains that sheep do not lie down easily, and they will not lie down unless four conditions are met. What are the four conditions? Well, first of all, because sheep are timid, they will not lie down if they're afraid. Secondly, because they are social animals, they will not lie down if there is friction among the sheep. Number three, if there are flies or parasites that are troubling them, they will not lie down. And number four, finally, if sheep are anxious about food—if they are hungry—they will not lie down. So, as Philip Keller explained, rest comes when the shepherd has dealt with fear, friction, flies, and famine. And that's what the Lord does for us; he wants to deal with our fears and say, “Lie down in green pastures.” He wants to deal with the friction that we have with other people, and especially with other believers, and he says, “Let me bring peace to that situation.” He wants to knock away and drive away the flies or the parasites that would trouble us. And finally, he wants to feed us; he doesn't want us to lie down hungry; he wants us to be full in our souls of what he alone can provide. So, “He makes me lie down in green pastures,” and “He leads me beside the still waters.” The Shepherd knows when the sheep needs green pastures, and he knows when the sheep needs the still waters. Again, these images are so rich with a sense of comfort, care, and rest. It's not the rushing rapids; it's the still waters. There's calm, there's peace, there's grace. There's all the food in the green pastures that the sheep could want; there's all the water in the still waters that the sheep could need to drink. And then he continues on how the Lord leads along the way.
Verse 3: “He restores my soul; he leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” Now it's interesting, the tender care of the shepherd described in the previous verse had the intended effect. But by caring for the sheep, but by making him lie down in green pastures, but by bringing him beside the still waters, that the soul of the sheep was restored; that the Shepherd's work had its intended effect. David's soul was restored by the figurative green pastures and the figurative still waters that the shepherd brought him. Now there's something to think about here—that word “restores,” at least in the translation of the New King James Version, which I'm teaching from, that said there, “He restores my soul,” that may very well picture the rescue of a lost sheep. James Takamore Boyce said, and Derek Kidner agrees, he says in Hebrew the words “restores my soul” can mean “brings me to repentance or to conversion.” So, “He restores my soul; he leads me in the paths of righteousness.” You see, the shepherd is also a guide. Think about this: The sheep didn't need to know where the green pastures were, where the still waters were. Sheep didn't need to know; all the sheep needed to know is where the Shepherd was, because the Shepherd would guide the sheep to whatever he needed. When you need the green pastures, follow the Shepherd; the Shepherd will take you there. When you need the still waters, follow the shepherd; the shepherd will take you there. And, “He leads me in the paths of righteousness.” You see, the leadership of the shepherd did not only comfort and restore the sheep; it also guided him into righteousness. God's guidance of David had a moral aspect; they were paths, but they were paths of righteousness. And he did it all—notice that last line of verse three—“for his name’s sake.” The Shepherd guides the sheep with an overarching view to the credit and the glory of the Shepherd's own name.
Now take a look at the gift of the Shepherd's presence here in verse four: “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 your staff, they comfort me.” Here the shepherd is still at work. And we could say that even though the shepherd is still at work, this is the first dark note that we have sounded in this beautiful Psalm. You see, previously David is talking about green pastures and still waters and paths of righteousness, and it looked pretty good, didn't we? We had that picture in our mind, and it was beautiful. Yet, when following the Lord as a shepherd, you may still have to walk through the valley of the shadow of death. And David used this very powerful phrase to speak of some kind of dark, fearful experience. You know, it's kind of interesting; we don't know exactly what the phrase means; it's a little imprecise—“walk through the valley of the shadow of death.” It's one of these interesting phrases that you can't say exactly what it means, but poetically speaking, it makes perfect sense. It's a dangerous place; it's the valley of the shadow of death. You see, it's a valley; it's not a mountaintop or a broad meadow. A valley suggests it's being hedged in and surrounded; it's not everywhere; it's one locale. And it's the valley of the shadow of death—facing what seemed to David as the ultimate defeat and evil. What could be worse—death? But notice, please, it is the valley of the shadow of death; it's not facing the substance of death, but the shadow of death; it's casting its dark, fearful outline across David's path, but it's just a shadow.
Now, notably, David recognized that under the shepherd's leading he might walk through the valley of the shadow of death. It wasn't his destination or his dwelling place; it was a place to walk through. And like the preacher in Ecclesiastes, David might—ladies might say that all of life is lived under the shadow of death, and it is the conscious presence of the Lord as Shepherd that makes it bearable. I'm not trying to depress you, but I just want you to think for a moment: Is it not true that all of life is lived under the shadow of death? That when a baby is born and is healthy and as strong as it may seem, there's something in the heart of every person that holds or looks at that baby and says, “I hope they make it.” It's a dangerous time—the first few weeks of life. We think of our children, and we love our children, but we realize that some tragedy could take them away in an instant. When we get older, we recognize the same thing. And when we come to old age, we recognize that all of our lives are fragile. You could say that all of humanity lives under the shadow of death, but it is just a shadow.
Now this is especially suggestive when we read this Psalm with an eye towards Jesus, who, of course, is the great Shepherd. A shadow is not tangible, but it is cast by something that is. Okay, this book, if it was held in the right light, could cast a shadow. If the lights back here, the book is in the way, the shadow is cast before it. So the shadow itself is not real, so to speak; it has no substance, but it is caused by something that is real. Well, death is real; the shadow it casts over life doesn't have to be real. Jesus took the full reality of death in our place so that we would not have to fear the shadow of death. And that's why David can say, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.” That line from the psalm, as well as the psalm as a whole, but that line in particular has proven itself precious to many dying people of God throughout the ages. They have been comforted; they have been strengthened; they have been warmed by the thought that the Lord would shepherd them through the valley of the shadow of death. I wonder—I wonder how many precious believers on their deathbed have thought or have said or have had spoken to them, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” and those words have been on their lips as they passed from this life to the next.
Now, when the saint comes near death, they still can calmly walk. I like that—we don't sprint through the valley of the shadow of death; we don't have to jog or run; we can walk calmly. We don't have to run or quicken our pace in alarm or panic. No, near death, the saint does not walk in the valley, but through the valley. Again, if I could read another quote from Spurgeon—you can imagine Spurgeon preached a lot of sermons on this Psalm, and they're beautiful sermons—he says in one place, quote: “Death in its substance has been removed, and only the shadow of it remains.” Someone has said, “Is that when there is a shadow, there must be a light somewhere,” and so there is. Let us then rejoice that there is a light beyond. Nobody is afraid of a shadow, for a shadow cannot stop a man's pathway even for a moment. The shadow of a dog cannot bite; the shadow of a sword cannot kill; the shadow of death cannot destroy us. This is wonderful. This has application not only to the person who is close to death, but it is for every—I want you to know something—in the verb tense of this phrase, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” it's not talking about the future tense, although it includes the future tense, but really it's right here, right now. It's—it doesn't have to be reserved for a distant moment. God can give you that assurance now. So in the midst of it, David can say, “I will fear no evil.” Despite every dark association with the idea—the valley of the shadow of death—under the care of the Lord who is his Shepherd, David could resolutely say this: “I will fear no evil,” even in a fearful place—a place where you might say fear was merited. Note David says instead, “I will look to the presence of the Shepherd.” His pregnant presence sends away all the fear of evil. You could even say this: That the Shepherd's presence did not eliminate the presence of evil, but it eliminated the fear of evil. And why? “For you are with me.” This emphasizes that it is the presence of the Shepherd that eliminates the fear of evil. Don't miss that line in verse 4: “For you are with me.” As long as the Shepherd is with the sheep, the sheep are going to be okay, no matter what the present environment was. David could look to the fact that God's shepherd-like presence was with him, and he said, “You're with me,” and “If you're with me, I will fear no evil.”
Now, significantly, it is at the dangerous moment pictured in this Psalm, in verse 4, that the “he” of the first three verses changes to “you” in verse 4. Don't you like that? Okay, all the way up until the third line of verse 4, it's been “he, he, he.” Now it is, “For you are with me: your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” It instantly comes now in the first person—Lord, I'm speaking to you directly. It's no longer “he”; it's “you.” And it's “your rod and your staff that comfort me.” The rod and the staff were instruments used by a shepherd. The idea was of a very sturdy walking stick used to gently, as possible, guide the sheep and to protect them from potential predators. Now there's some debate among commentators as to if David had in his mind the idea of two separate instruments—the rod and the staff. Does that describe one instrument, or does it describe two instruments? The Hebrew word for a rod—it's something like “say bet” here—it seems to imply just a stick that could have a variety of applications. The Hebrew word for staff seems to speak of a support—something that would be something of a walking stick. They could refer to the same thing, just repeated twice, or it could be that David had in mind two separate things. I can't really say for sure which David had in mind, but that instrument or the instruments—the rod and the staff, whether they were one thing or two things—those instruments of guidance were a comfort to David. They helped him, even in the valley of the shadow of death, to know that God guided him, even when God guided him through correction, because sometimes the Shepherd needs to correct the sheep with the rod or the staff. And it's a great comfort to know that God will correct us when it's needed.
Now we're going to pause just for a moment here at the end of verse 4, because what many people don't really think about when it comes to Psalm 23 is it presents us with two great images of God. The first great image is
Of course, as the Lord is our Shepherd, we saw that through the first four verses. But in the last two verses of Psalm 23, there's a shift; there's a different image introduced. Now, starting at verse 5 and comprising verses 5 & 6, we have the Lord not as a shepherd, but as a host—someone who invites us into the hospitality of his home. Ready? Here, verse 5: “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup runs over.” You see, without departing from the previous picture of the valley of the shadow of death, David now envisions the provision and goodness of God given as a host. It’s inviting David to a rich table prepared for him. It’s almost like, okay, here we are—as far as you know, we’re still in the valley of the shadow of death—and what does God do? He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies. What a beautiful picture!
First of all, a table suggests bounty. I don’t want to seem flippant with this, but it’s not “He prepares a box lunch for me in the presence of me.” It’s a table; there’s so much food, so much provision that there’s bounty there; it needs a table. “You prepare a table,” and, by the way, “prepare” suggests for us foresight and care. This wasn’t something hurriedly thrown together; no, it’s been prepared. And “before me”—so just the very personal connection here for you. David, here is a table prepared, full of God’s bounty for you, and it is prepared. If you notice that line there, the first line of verse 5, “in the presence of my enemies”—what a striking phrase! You see, the goodness and the care suggested by the prepared table is set right in the midst of the presence of my enemies. So the host has great care and concern for his guests—who is David in the situation, and us—but it doesn’t eliminate the presence of my enemies, but it enables the experience of God’s goodness and bounty even in their midst. Do you understand this? That it’s not like, well, He shows us goodness by chasing all my enemies away. That day will come, but in the meantime, God says, even in the presence of your enemies, I’m gonna take care of you; there’s gonna be a table set in the presence of your enemies.
I can’t resist reading another quote from Charles Spurgeon here. He says this quote: “When a soldier is in the presence of his enemies, if he eats at all, he snatches a hasty meal, and then he hurries off to the fight. But observe, ‘You prepare a table’—just as a servant does when she unfolds the beautiful cloth and displays the ornaments of the feast on an ordinary, peaceful occasion. Nothing is hurried; there’s no confusion, no disturbance. The enemy is at the door, and yet God prepares a table, and the Christian sits down and eats as if everything were in perfect peace.” That’s how it is. And then, when you come to the table, do you see the host has very good manners? “You anoint my head with oil; my cup runs over.” There am I—I’m sitting at God’s table in the presence of my enemies, and what does God do? He says, “Hey, let me take care of your head now.” It was common in those days when a host received his guests or her guests into the home, they would anoint the head with oil. It felt cooling; it felt good; it smelled good. They’d pour a little oil on the head. And then David’s cup—well, David’s cup, it’s running over. There’s never a time Stephen’s cup and he’s never thirsty because the cup is full; there’s always bounty at the table of God. So you see, despite the dangers about, in the presence of enemies, David enjoyed the richness of his host’s goodness. He was refreshed by a head anointed with oil, and his cup was overfilled.
And brings us to the last line of the psalm, verse 6: “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” I love that line, don’t you? “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” The host’s care brought the goodness and mercy of God to David, and he lived in the faithful expectation of it continuing—how long? All the days of his life. Now, when it says “goodness and mercy,” that word “mercy” is the great Hebrew word that’s sometimes translated “loving-kindness” in some other translations; it’s translated “steadfast love” or “covenant love” or “loyal love.” That’s that great Hebrew word, “hesed,” and it’s one of the great words of the Psalms and the Old Testament. It talks about God’s loyal love, his covenant love, his loving-kindness. And God’s goodness and mercy will follow us; you can count on it. Matter of fact, I want you to think of this: if goodness and mercy follow you all the days of your life, don’t you have a couple of bodyguards following you all the time? You’ve got an entourage; you’ve got a posse of people following you; you’ve got God’s goodness and mercy following you, staying close. They are very close to the child of God. And then the final beautiful expression of the host—are you ready?—“I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” You know, you think about that; you think of the guest being invited into a home; that’s the idea there in verses five and six. How long can he live in that home? “I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” The psalm ends with the calm assurance that he will enjoy the presence of the Lord forever, both in his days on this earth and beyond.
Darica Kidner says this: “In the Old Testament world, to eat and drink at someone’s table created a bond of mutual loyalty, and it could be the culminated token of a covenant.” So to be God’s guest is to be more than an acquaintance invited for a day; it is to live with him, and if I could say it, it’s to live with him forever. And we’ve been making our way through the Psalms; we’ve stopped at the end of each psalm and asked the question, “How does this particular Psalm point to Jesus?” So it’s almost funny to bring it up at the end of this, isn’t it? How does Psalm 23 point to Jesus? Does anybody have an idea? Of course, Jesus is the great Shepherd. In John chapter 10, verse 11, and in John chapter 10, verse 14, Jesus clearly spoke of himself as the Good Shepherd who gives his life for the sheep, and who can say, “I know my sheep, and I am known by my own.” Jesus consciously identified himself as the shepherd of his people. He said, “My sheep hear my voice; my sheep know me; I take care of my sheep.” Hebrews chapter 13, verse 20, speaks of Jesus as the great Shepherd of the sheep. 1st Peter chapter 2, verse 25, calls Jesus the Shepherd and overseer of your souls, and 1st Peter chapter 5, verse 4, calls Jesus the chief Shepherd.
Dear child of God, you can go back before this Psalm, through it, and just look at all the ways that Jesus is to you—your Shepherd. Jesus has that shepherdly love, care, concern, and guidance for you. He is the great Shepherd. And be very careful about putting your trust in any other Shepherd. And you know, I—I call myself, and not that I take the title unto myself, but that title has been given to me—of a pastor. Pastor David Guzik. I don’t demand that people call me pastor; it would seem very strange to me for that, but if somebody does want to give me a title, it’s normally pastor because I have been a pastor. That’s that is, but pastor simply in its original meaning just means shepherd. Now, I’m grateful for the calling that God has put in my life and the opportunity that He’s given me to serve as a shepherd among God’s people. I think that what I do with Bible teaching—even if it’s teaching right here, you know, through the Psalms—I think that what God is giving me to do in Bible teaching, that’s a way that I, as a shepherd, I contribute to the feeding of the sheep. I’m feeding them God’s Word, but I am never the great Shepherd; I am never the chief Shepherd; I am never the Shepherd that could ever, in a thousand years, replace the place of Jesus in your life. You have a Shepherd, and God may have—what sometimes we’re called as pastors—under Shepherds, look, or maybe more properly sheepdogs, I don’t know, whatever you want to say, anything that would distinction. We have a role in caring for the sheep, but it’s definitely below the role, in the authority, in the care, and the love of the great Shepherd, the chief Shepherd, Jesus Christ.
Jesus is all over this psalm. Now, one last thought, though: Jesus is not only in this psalm as the great Shepherd—we do see that—but also as the great host. Remember that in verses five and six, this Psalm presents to us not only the Lord as our Shepherd, but the Lord as our host. And I want you to think about this: Jesus is the great host. Did you know that Jesus went to heaven to prepare a place for you? He did. If you’re his child, if you’re born again by God’s Spirit, if you’re part of his New Covenant, if you’ve repented of your sins and put your faith in Jesus Christ—all of that belongs to you—then Jesus went to heaven to prepare a place for you, just like a good host would. Now, He cares for us very well until we get there. He doesn’t start taking care of us as a host when we get to heaven; He takes good care of us here; He takes good care of us now, but there’s an ultimate heaven for us to go into where we will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Let me pray and thank God for this beautiful Psalm. Lord God in heaven, we thank you that you are our Shepherd; we thank you that you are our host, and we are so pleased to receive your shepherdly care; we are so pleased to benefit from your hospitality. We love you, God; we thank you for the warm-hearted care and concern you displayed to us through wonderful Psalms like this. We pray that this Psalm would continue to meet the deep needs of soul for us and for others, and we thank you, Jesus, for being our great Shepherd, our great host. We love you, Lord, and praise you in Jesus’ name. Amen. [Music]