The Shepherd in the Valley: The Witness Our Neighbors Can See

The parking lot already knows how to say shepherd. Yahweh is my shepherd sits on a card in the welcome desk, on vinyl that photographs well from the street, and on the last sentence of a hospital visit that never occupied air a stoop could still hear. Tuesday still sends each household home with a private valley the block is not allowed to keep.

A neighbor two stoops down already received the public version of this church. The public version can say we pray. The public version can leave a casserole. The public version still treats a named valley as indoor furniture nobody on the sidewalk is allowed to keep. If you preach Psalm 23 as a map of anyone's private fear, you will lie. If you preach it as a poster for a missions quarter that never lets a valley occupy air the block can still hear, you will lie in a different direction. Preach it as shepherd poetry that names a God who stays present in the valley.

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Hear Psalm 23, from the World English Bible: "Yahweh is my shepherd; I shall lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He guides me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

Even 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 loving kindness shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in Yahweh’s house forever." (Psalm 23:1-6, WEB) This is shepherd poetry. It is not a diagram of your unfinished grief. Application comes after that fact, from the God who is present in the valley.