Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me;
your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Psalm 23.4 Biblegateway.com (NRSVA)
It is providential perhaps that last Sunday's psalm was one of the most famous in the Bible, and this is its most famous verse.
None of us wants to walk through 'the darkest valley'. That is where fear and anxiety lie in wait, threatening to overwhelm us and separate us from our faith.
We would all much prefer not to be wanting for anything, including toilet roll and crisps. We would prefer to lie down in green pastures on a sunny day. (Perhaps that's why so many people flocked to the park at the first sign of Spring.) We would prefer a stroll beside 'still waters', or to sit on the banks and dangle our tired feet in what a different translation of the Hebrew says are ' the waters of rest'. But 'the darkest valley' sends a shiver down the spine. We would surely much prefer to take a long detour around it.
Have you had that heart-sinking experience where your Satnav suddenly warns you that there's trouble ahead - congestion adding two hours to your journey because of an accident on the motorway? Suddenly a manageable journey becomes a nightmare. You search in vain for a detour but you have just passed the last exit! That's how it is sometimes - we know 'the darkest valley' is up ahead, but there's no way round it.
Another translation of the same phrase is 'the valley of the shadow of death'. Arguably it's a better translation, but it's also a more uncomfortable one. Modern translators have detoured around it. 'Darkness', 'death', what's the difference? Isn't it all pretty nasty?
Yet the Psalmist wants us to know that even in darkness there is light, even in death there is hope. 'You are with me,' he asserts. The rod and staff are symbols of authority, given to the king or queen at their coronation. They're both elaborate sticks. The rod is for smiting wrongdoers and backsliders. The Staff is for supporting the weak; they can reach out at clutch it when they're sinking, and the shepherd king can pull them to safety, or they can lean on it when their strength is failing.
The Psalmist doesn't say 'your rod and your staff, they chastise and comfort me'. In the valley of darkness it's appropriate to spare even backsliders from the rod; it won't spoil them, but it might just encourage them. And anyway, the rod can still be used to ward off evil. God is with us in the darkness only to offer comfort and support.
Perhaps for Christians there's a better image. If it's Jesus who is with us, taking our hand as we fearfully grope our way through the shadows and the gathering gloom, surely it's his cross which holds out comfort to us? In lockdown certainly, but even in the intensive care unit, he will be with us. Alluding to this verse, the hymnwriter wrote, when 'the darkness deepens, Lord with me abide'.
It is providential perhaps that last Sunday's psalm was one of the most famous in the Bible, and this is its most famous verse.
None of us wants to walk through 'the darkest valley'. That is where fear and anxiety lie in wait, threatening to overwhelm us and separate us from our faith.
We would all much prefer not to be wanting for anything, including toilet roll and crisps. We would prefer to lie down in green pastures on a sunny day. (Perhaps that's why so many people flocked to the park at the first sign of Spring.) We would prefer a stroll beside 'still waters', or to sit on the banks and dangle our tired feet in what a different translation of the Hebrew says are ' the waters of rest'. But 'the darkest valley' sends a shiver down the spine. We would surely much prefer to take a long detour around it.
Have you had that heart-sinking experience where your Satnav suddenly warns you that there's trouble ahead - congestion adding two hours to your journey because of an accident on the motorway? Suddenly a manageable journey becomes a nightmare. You search in vain for a detour but you have just passed the last exit! That's how it is sometimes - we know 'the darkest valley' is up ahead, but there's no way round it.
Another translation of the same phrase is 'the valley of the shadow of death'. Arguably it's a better translation, but it's also a more uncomfortable one. Modern translators have detoured around it. 'Darkness', 'death', what's the difference? Isn't it all pretty nasty?
Yet the Psalmist wants us to know that even in darkness there is light, even in death there is hope. 'You are with me,' he asserts. The rod and staff are symbols of authority, given to the king or queen at their coronation. They're both elaborate sticks. The rod is for smiting wrongdoers and backsliders. The Staff is for supporting the weak; they can reach out at clutch it when they're sinking, and the shepherd king can pull them to safety, or they can lean on it when their strength is failing.
The Psalmist doesn't say 'your rod and your staff, they chastise and comfort me'. In the valley of darkness it's appropriate to spare even backsliders from the rod; it won't spoil them, but it might just encourage them. And anyway, the rod can still be used to ward off evil. God is with us in the darkness only to offer comfort and support.
Perhaps for Christians there's a better image. If it's Jesus who is with us, taking our hand as we fearfully grope our way through the shadows and the gathering gloom, surely it's his cross which holds out comfort to us? In lockdown certainly, but even in the intensive care unit, he will be with us. Alluding to this verse, the hymnwriter wrote, when 'the darkness deepens, Lord with me abide'.
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