23:4: - Even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death I fear no evil . . .

David's thoughts have so far been idyllic; green pastures, quiet waters, paths of righteousness. David knows, of course, that life is never always smooth sailing all the way. One thing about the psalmists is that, however lofty they may soar with their words, they are realists who never allow their songs to sweep their hard knocks under the mat. He now evisages the worst possible of situations, having to walk through "the valley of the shadow of death." What then?

A ravine in the Judean wilderness. ©Low C. H.

First, this verse does not envisage a mere possibility of such a trial. The sentence opens in the Hebrew with two conjunctive particles, gam ki-, making it emphatic; he is certain that he will walk through such a valley some time! It is not a question of "if I walk through such a valley" but a matter of "when I do walk . . . even then . . ."

Now, many commentators have attempted to unpack what the expression tsalmawet, literally, "shadow of death," might mean. The most common idea is that of "deep darkness." But the genius of a poet is to let his words conjure in his listeners their own - personalized - imaginations of the expression's wonder or horror as the case may be. The "valley of the shadow of death" lends itself perfectly for accomplishing this; we should leave it alone and let it do its work unhindered. There is the father just receiving the news of the landslide in the village to which his wife has gone for an appointment; his valley of the shadow of death. There is the single mother wringing her heart out alone in her house; it is midnight, her daughter is still not home and has not called while a serial rapist is loose in the community; her journey through the valley of the shadow of death. There is the man anxious in the waiting room, his son in surgery after an accident; his valley of the shadow of death.

What then?

"I fear no evil." Why? "For you are with me."

Notice the sudden switch in the pronoun. Since the psalm began, David has been speaking of God as "he," "his." From now on, however, he speaks of "you," "your." "For you are with me" is addressed to someone with whom we are engaged, when "he is with me" is, at best, an honest acknowledgement of a dogma, of a fact taught. With "you are with me" the heart is already deep drinking from the sweet font of a relationship when "he is with me" merely affirms the potential of openness to such possibilities. Here, if we like, is that moment when religion becomes faith, when doctrine becomes conviction, awareness morphs into passion, and liturgy transforms into worship, that moment when our heart becomes strangely warmed and it sinks in that God is "abba."

With "you are with me" the heart is already deep drinking from the sweet font of a relationship.

When "he is with me" merely affirms the potential of openness to such possibilities.

The difference between David and us in our experience of this transforming conviction is, of course, the fact that we have been introduced to God by Jesus as "abba," while David was still thinking of Him as "my shepherd." And so he continues, "your rod and your staff, they comfort me."

It is puzzling that David should speak of "your rod and your staff" when shepherds normally carry only a single staff. The most probable explanation is that David has made the single staff do double duty. Shebet, "rod" or "sceptre," usually appears in the OT as an instrument of discipline and chastisement. Mish'enet, "staff" or "support," paints, on the other hand, a picture of the shepherd leaning on his staff in quiet concentration as he watches out for dangers and threats to the flock; it is an instrument of protection. One instrument, dual uses. The first is needed for keeping the watched sheep from straying (and, therefore, from themselves — and, O! how we need to be protected from ourselves!), the other for keeping them from all that would otherwise endanger them. There, in the valley of the shadow of death, the Lord's rod and the staff are sheer comfort.

As Christians, however, we enjoy a measure assurance far exceeding David's experience walking through the valley of the shadow of death. In one of his sermons, the late John Stott reminded us that though we may have to walk through a tunnel once in a while, we do not look for the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, for Jesus who is our shepherd is with us and he is light.