A Sovereign Shepherd

Today's topic is about sheep ... partially because I discovered this picture from my Ireland excursion and couldn't resist sharing such cute little lambs ... and partially because I've been studying Psalm 23. It goes like this:

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside … 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 will dwell in the house of the Lord [forever]” (Ps 23:1-6, NKJV)

There. That's it. Six measly verses, but a plethora of insights to unpack.

First off, being a shepherd is kinda an insult. It’s gross, unpleasant work with long hours, exposure to harsh elements, and predators that must be fended off. Plus, sheep are notoriously stupid. They dumbly wander away, are so dependent upon their shepherd that they can’t even discern where dangers lie, and their witlessness means that they’re utterly defenseless.

Signing up to be a shepherd virtually condemns you to a life spent out on the field, given that your flock needs constant protection and supervision. And these sheep are your prized property—typically bought with a great price—so you really have no choice but to stick by their side and risk your life to ensure theirs.

Guys, David makes it pretty obvious, as does Christ Himself later on, that we are these dumb sheep who are desperately in need of the Good Shepherd (John 10:11-18, NIV).

We see this play out in Jesus’ earthly ministry—the same God Who descends from Heaven to enter the world in a stinky, lowly stable also lowers Himself to be our dirty, sheepy Caregiver; is committed to living with His flock just as He dwells with us; and pays the great price our sins require by dying on the cross in our place—and this shepherding reality is exactly why we “shall not want” (Ps 23:1, NKJV).

With the Lord offsetting our stupidity with His sovereignty, we can rest easy regardless of where He leads us. And ya know what’s particularly fascinating about sheep? Apparently, they are just as fearful and rest-resistant as we tend to be.

They cannot “lie down” and relax if there’s social distress amongst their flock, they’re being attacked by insects, are worried about having enough food, or just feel anxious in general (Ps 23:2, NKJV). Like us, sheep are ‘on edge’ a lot, hence why their caregiver needs to be capable of dispelling rivalries, pestilence, famine, and fear. 

Sound like Anyone we know?

If God can remedy decade-long rivalries between Jacob and Esau, Joseph and his brothers; command gnats and flies to congregate and disperse over Egypt; invoke and repel famine and drought through Elijah; and say do not be afraid for I am with you more times than we can count … then He’s proven Himself to be the best Shepherd around. Which, like I said, is why we “shall not want,” for we lack nothing in both the green pastures and shadowed valleys alike (Ps 23:2, NKJV).

Being dumb sheep with no true understanding of where we’re going or what we need, we must trust in our Shepherd, Who, spoiler alert, has made death but a shadow for us to encounter. Now, truth be told, I’ve never thought much about the phrase “valley of the shadow of death” (Ps 23:4, NKJV). I mean, I just attributed it to death and funerals, where this psalm is so often recited. But come to find out, we get yet another hint of our Messiah through this shadowy sentence:

Simply put, because of Jesus’ sacrifice, death can’t hurt us anymore. Its power’s been revoked, so only a glimpse of its shadow is what we see. And as Charles Spurgeon notes, “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.”

Thanks to our Savior of a Shepherd, we can be confident as He leads us through dark, trialsome valleys, fearing no evil, because He is going before us, propelling us onward, and has ensured that evil cannot destroy us. Ultimately, our valley moments draw us closer to Him, to the point where we can eat the triumphant meal He’s prepared for us, even “in the presence of our enemies” (VERSE). Despite the threats and what ifs and temptations from the Adversary, we can dine with the King Who’s anointed us as treasured members of His feast and  blessed us with His abundant, overflowing Presence (Ps 23:5, NKJV).

And you know what’s really neat? Although these Shepherd/Dinner Host metaphors seem to clash with each other (I mean, one’s covered in dirt and the other in jewels), they both correlate to one profound reality:

In this time period, the host of a party wouldn’t just invite anyone to his house, nor would he honor them with anointing oils. No, that custom symbolizes family, of not just being invited to dine, but invited to dwell permanently (you see where I’m going with this yet?).

Just as the Good Shepherd lays down His life for His sheep in order to dwell with us forever, so does the Celebratory King beckons us to dwell in Him forever. It’s a reciprocal relationship at its core—He dwells with us so we can dwell with Him—and that, my friends, is the beauty of the Gospel.

We are dumb sheep, invited to dwell with—be cared for, provided for, guided and protected by—our Loving, Shepherding King. For all eternity.

What a blessing it is to be His.