“Shepherded Through the Valley”

A meditation shared by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, November 7, 2021, observation of All Saints Sunday. “Prepare the Table with Justice and Joy” series. 

  Texts: Psalm 23:1-4, John 11:32-44

I don’t know how old I was the summer my Nana decided to give me a penny for every verse of the 23rd Psalm I could recite from memory. Each day of my visit, I was asked to add another verse. And the version of the Psalm I was given to memorize was the King James version: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” As a little one, I was uncertain why I’d say “yay” about walking through a place that sounded scary and sad. And I had no clue what it meant to say that God’s rod and staff comfort me. I didn’t know then that the King James translation likely mistook the Hebrew word tzalamut which means “deep darkness” for the two words tzal mavet meaning “the shadow of death.” But there is something in the poetry of the King James that captures something so profound, so true that I believe its deepest meaning got through to my child’s heart anyway. In fact, it is in this verse that we really get to heart of this Psalm. 

The poetic phrase “the valley of the shadow of death” paints a picture of deep valleys where the light of the sun is blocked by the mountains all around, leaving nothing but shadows. In that shadowy place the Psalmist says “I fear no evil”—not that there is no evil, but there is no need to fear. Why? “Thou art with me.” 

In the places of our lives that are overshadowed with fear, uncertainty, confusion, pain, and grief that brings us to our knees, our God is with us. Perhaps amid a life-threatening diagnosis for yourself someone has shown up so that you weren’t alone. Or maybe when a loved one is awaiting test results, is critically ill, or has died, you’ve experienced a person just being there with you in whatever state you’re in, tacitly giving permission for you to be however you needed to be…available to do something or nothing, to talk or to be silent. In my experience, the “being there” is the most important thing. The Psalmist experienced God in just that kind of way. In this verse, the writer shifts from talking about God the shepherd, to conversing with the Shepherd who is with them and who will guide them through the valley. 

In such deep darkness, finding our way over the mountains or through the valley can feel impossible. We can’t imagine ever feeling the proverbial warmth of the sun again. In that space, there are sometimes persons in our lives who know just how and when to gently remind us that the shadows need not be our dwelling place forever, those with the sensitivity to understand how to nudge us to shift, to take a step. The Lord, our shepherd, is present with us in the deepest darkness, God’s rod and staff—assurance of God’s justice and God’s compassion—comfort and help us in that place. And God is like that sensitive friend who nudges us a the right time. The Good Shepherd doesn’t desire that we remain in the places of suffering, pain, and grief. 

Of course, it is part of being human to travel those paths—at least if we have any love within us. We will find ourselves in the valley of the shadow of death at one point or another because human life is fragile and precious and it hurts when we come to our end or when those we love die an earthly death and are no longer part of our experience here. Jesus wept at the pain of death and at the suffering that death caused for those he loved. For those grieving the loss of a child, a partner, spouse, parent, sibling, dear friend, it can feel like we are shut up in the grave with the one we love. I know some persons who really struggle to not allow their whole lives—their own identity—to be defined by the loss they have suffered. For many others, to contemplate moving out of the shadows of grief f