The Shepherd Who Meets Us in the Valley

 The Shepherd Who Meets Us in the Valley

      Change.  That one simple word can cause a plethora of different responses from people.  Some of us embrace change, we almost look forward to it.  We might even treat it like a great adventure.  Others fear change, we dread it and it can cause such anxiety and unrest in our lives.  Change for those people can be the bain of their existence. Let's be honest, change can be a good thing.  I am personally grateful that we don't drive Model T Fords, we have air conditioning, indoor plumbing, and wifi versus dial up.  Those changes have advanced our world, but grieving people have an aversion to change.  The reason why we have an aversion to it is because grief, by definition it forces change on our life.  I call it forced change because we didn't vote for it.  We were asked if we wanted it. The death of our person demanded that we face a new, scary world that is filled with landmines of change.  Some we see coming, others catch us off guard.  Some changes that I've experienced these past two years have been moving, leaving a job, starting a brand new ministry geared toward widowers, becoming a solo parent, changing hobbies, dating, getting remarried, preparing to purchase a home in another country, and more.  Those changes have created a deep anxiety in my life, so deep that I've had to see a therapist and take medication.  Grief and change, while they go hand in hand, are heavy bed-fellows.

      One other thing that grief changes is our understanding of Scripture.  Now, before you grab your pitchforks and light your torches, let me explain.  I'm not saying that it changes your doctrine or theology, though I will openly admit that loss has brought many men closer to the truth, and for others it seemed to push them further away.  My doctrine, what I believed, didn't change during Tiff's cancer journey or passing.  If anything my faith became deeper, more genuine, and less artificial.  Now, I do have to admit that certain secondary positions don't carry the weight that they once did, or frankly, don't matter at all.  What I'm talking about is how I view and apply certain passages of Scripture. 

      There are some passages of Scripture that seem to take on an entirely different meaning after you've experienced loss.  Some of those passages are ones that we are familiar with, some of them extremely 'common' passages.  By common I mean that a majority of people could quote it or have heard countless sermons on it.  Psalm 23 is one of them.  For years, I knew these words.  I remember memorizing it in children's church.  I'm pretty confident that we sang songs about it. I heard it read at funerals. I had recited these words in church. I knew the comforting phrases almost by heart.  I even wrote a devotional series on it in 2020.  This was a passage that I thought I had 'mined' all the truths out of.  But grief has a way of taking those familiar words and making me hear them differently.  Today is the first of a three part series that puts the 23rd Psalm under the microscope of grief.

      When you've lost someone you love, you don't read “The LORD is my shepherd” the same way.  A matter of fact you don't read Scripture through the same lens at all.  Passages that were previously silent jump off the page, almost as if the Holy Spirit is pulling you in.  After loss you read the Lord is my shepherd and you see it through the eyes of someone whose hurting.  You read it with an empty place beside you, a world that feels like it's been scorched to the ground.  You read it knowing that there are moments when you desperately want God to explain why He allowed the valley to come in the first place.

      But this just might be the part of what makes Psalm 23 so beautiful.  It doesn't pretend there are no valleys.  Yes the first three passages are so picturesque.  If someone were to paint a picture based off those first few words you would find a peaceful, quiet, serene world.  One that almost seems unmolested by the woes of the world.  But then verse four comes slapping us with its honesty.  The change is dramatic.  It almost gives us whiplash by how quickly it happens.  The Bible doesn't just say the valley might happen, it assumes they exist.  But it doesn't matter if it's the mountain high of the valley low, the Lord is STILL my shepherd.  

      One of the most profound things about the passage is that David begins with a relationship.  Notice he says MY shepherd.  Not only the Shepherd of Israel, or the Shepherd of the world...but a personal shepherd.  David says the Lord is my Shepherd, but notice what he doesn't write.  Not, The LORD will make my life easy.  Not, The LORD will keep me from suffering.  Not, The LORD will give me everything I want.  Instead he declares, the Lord is my shepherd.

      One beautiful lesson about a shepherd is that a shepherd is present with his sheep.  He knows where they are. He leads them. He protects them. He cares for them.  He feeds them.  He tends to their needs.  And when they wander, he goes after them.  I've always looked at those who wandered as people who were rebellious, went wayward into unrepentant sin, but I think the application is much broader.  That matters when you're grieving.  Because one of the frightening things about grief is how alone it can make you feel.  Even when surrounded by people, there can be an isolation that is difficult to explain to someone who hasn't experienced significant loss.  People go back to their normal lives.  The phone calls become less frequent.  The meals stop coming.  The sympathy cards stop arriving.  Everyone else seems to move forward while you're still trying to figure out how to get through the day.  But the Shepherd hasn't moved on.  Please take a moment and read that again.  Mediate on that beautiful truth.  He is still there.

      The next thing David writes is that “He restores my soul.”  Again, I want you to notice what David doesn't write.  He doesn't say, “He restores my circumstances.”  He says: “He restores my soul.”  That's important because sometimes God doesn't immediately change the circumstances that broke our hearts.  The person we lost doesn't come back.  No matter how loudly we bang on heaven's door our person won't be coming back to earth.  The empty chair remains empty.  The memories remain.  The future we imagined may no longer look anything like the future we're actually living.  But God can begin doing something inside the wounded places of our soul.

      And let me share a testimony with you, restoration doesn't mean forgetting.  It doesn't mean that the person you lost becomes less important or that you love them less.  It doesn't mean you stop missing them.  It's been nearly two years and I still miss Tiff.  It doesn't mean that one day you wake up and discover that you no longer hurt.  Restoration means that God begins to sustain the part of you that feels like it has been shattered.  Sometimes restoration looks like getting out of bed when you didn't think you could.  Sometimes it looks like making dinner.  Sometimes it looks like laughing at something and then not feeling guilty because you laughed.  Sometimes it looks like worshiping again.  Sometimes it looks like making it through an anniversary, a birthday, a holiday, or an ordinary Tuesday that suddenly isn't ordinary anymore.  And sometimes restoration simply looks like surviving another day.  The Shepherd knows the condition of your soul.

      David continues by writing “Yea, though I walk through the valley…”  Again, let's notice what David doesn't say.  He doesn't say, “Though I avoid the valley.”  He doesn't say, “Though God keeps me from ever entering the valley.”  He says: “Though I walk through the valley.”  The valley is part of the journey of following Jesus.  For the grieving person, the valley can feel endless, looming, scary.....lifeless and hopeless.  There are days when you wonder if you're ever going to feel normal again or if the sun will ever shine again.  There are days when the grief seems to come out of nowhere. A song. A smell. A photograph. A familiar place. A holiday. A memory.  And suddenly you're yanked back in the valley.  But there is an important word in this verse, through.  You're walking through it.  The valley is not your permanent home, though at times it will be like you will never leave this purgatory of a place.  You may not know how long the journey will take.  You may not know what life will look like on the other side.  But the Shepherd is leading you through.

      Next David writes “I will fear no evil: for you are with me.”  This may be the most important sentence in Psalm 23 for someone who is grieving.  Again, let's look at what David isn't writing.  He does not write "I will fear no evil because I understand" nor "I will fear no evil because everything make sense" nor "I will fear no evil because I know exactly what God is doing.  But instead David says I will fear no evil because you are with me.  We often think that comfort will come by having all the answers or understanding the 'why' these tragic events happened.  But instead David doesn't focus on the why we are in the valley, but instead WHO is with us in the valley.  The Good Shepherd.  There may be questions you never get answered on this side of eternity.  That's hard to come to terms with.  There may also be aspects of your loss that you will never understand.  You may still have moments when you cry out, “Why, Lord?” And faith doesn't require you to pretend otherwise.  But even in the questions, He is with you.  Even in the loneliness, He is with you.  Even when you don't feel His presence, He is with you.  Even when you don't know how you're going to make it through tomorrow, He is with you.

      The Shepherd doesn't stand at the edge of the valley and tell you to find your own way through.  He walks with you.  He doesn't leave you or abandon you when life is changing at a rapid pace around you, instead He is endless in His faithfulness.  And perhaps that's the greatest comfort Psalm 23 gives to the grieving heart.  The promise isn't that you will never walk through the valley, because, well, by evidence, you are already there.  The promise is that you will never walk through it alone.  If you're grieving today, you don't have to have everything figured out.  You don't have to know how long this will hurt.  You don't have to know what tomorrow looks like.  You don't even have to feel strong.  You can simply take the next step.  And listen for the voice of your Shepherd.  He is still leading.  He is still caring.  He is still restoring.  And He is still with you.  The valley is real.  The grief is real.  The pain is real.  But so is the Shepherd.  And you are not walking through this valley alone.