A sermon on Psalm 23 by Rev Richard Keith on Sunday, 11 January, 2026
Psalm 23 is a very familiar passage of Scripture. For many people it’s their favourite out of all the psalms, and its words are still often read or sung at funerals today. They bring peace and calm in our moments of distress.
Unfortunately, as the old saying goes, familiarity breeds contempt. Our eyes glaze over things we are used to seeing. The stars in the sky. The trees along the road. And it’s hard to notice what we are used to hearing. The sound of traffic on a busy street. The screeching of corellas, all day, every day, from before dawn to after dark. Let us pray that God may speak to us through these familiar words so that we may learn something new.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.” It’s a psalm of David, and when David called the Lord his shepherd, he knew what he was talking about. Because long before he was a general in the army, long, long before he ruled as king over Israel, David was a shepherd boy, looking after the flock on his father’s farm. David grew up knowing what kind of provider and protector a shepherd needed to be, working on farms without fences, leading the sheep to distant pasture, protecting them from predators like bears and lions, armed with nothing but his sling and stones and unshakeable faith in God.
That personal experience shaped the way that David thought about leadership. Because in David’s world, the word shepherd was not just a job description. It was a common way to talk about leaders. Kings were called shepherds. Military commanders were called shepherds. Even false gods were described this way. A shepherd was someone who gathered people together, led them where they needed to go, and took responsibility for their safety and wellbeing. So when David says, “The Lord is my shepherd,” he is speaking the language of power, authority, and rule.
And leaders, of course, are very good at making promises, whether in government, or community groups or in business. They promise security. They promise prosperity. They promise peace. They promise that if we follow them, if we trust them, if we put our future in their hands, everything will turn out well.
David knew this. Not in theory but from personal experience. He’d seen good leaders, and very bad ones. He knew how easily hope can be invested in the wrong shepherd.
And that raises a gentle warning for the church as well. Because ministers are often called pastors, which is really just a fancy word for shepherd. And church leaders, like all leaders, can be tempted to make big promises. Promises about growth. Promises about success. Promises that if you follow this leader, or this vision, or this movement, the future is secure. Without meaning to, the shepherd can begin to take the place that belongs to the Lord alone.
Psalm 23 quietly resists that kind of thinking. David does not say, “The Lord works through my shepherd,” or “The Lord supports my shepherd.” He says, “The Lord is my shepherd.” Human leaders matter. Good pastors are a gift from God. But they are never meant to carry our deepest trust, or bear the weight of our ultimate hope. The church is healthiest when its leaders keep pointing away from themselves, and back to the one who alone can say, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
And that leaves us with a quiet but searching question. Not just for David, not just for leaders but for all of us. Who is your shepherd? Who is the one you look to for security? Who do you trust to lead you, to protect you, to see you through when the valley grows dark?
That’s why David doesn’t say, “The Lord is a shepherd,” one option among many. He says, “The Lord is my shepherd.” Not the army. Not wealth or power. Not his own strength or skill. The Lord alone is David’s provider, David’s protector, David’s guide. And because of that, David can say with confidence, “I shall not be in want.”
When David says this, he is not saying that life will be easy, or that every desire will be satisfied. David’s life tells us otherwise. He knew hunger and danger. He knew betrayal and loss. He spent years on the run, sleeping in caves, with enemies close behind. So this is not the confidence of someone who has never known trouble, but the faith of someone who knows where his security lies. To say “I shall not be in want” is to say, “My life is not at the mercy of chance or fear.” It is a declaration of trust. Because the Lord is my shepherd, what I truly need will not be withheld. Not always what I want. Not always when I want it. But what I need. Strength for today. Courage for tomorrow. Forgiveness when I fall. Hope when the valley grows dark. David is saying that with the Lord as his shepherd, there is no ultimate lack, no final shortage, nothing essential that God will fail to provide.
Because the Lord is my shepherd, I am not left to fend for myself. I do not wander aimlessly, chasing after what I think I need. Instead, he leads me to what truly sustains me. As David said in Psalm 23: “He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul.”
Not just any pasture, but green pastures, places of nourishment, abundance, and life. Places where the sheep can rest, where they can graze without fear, where there is enough for every one of them. David knew what it meant for a shepherd to provide this, to lead the flock to places where danger was far behind and food and rest were plentiful. So when he says this of the Lord, he is saying that God provides us with more than just survival. He provides life in its fullness, the life that renews us and strengthens us for the journey ahead.
He leads me beside quiet waters. Waters that do not rush or roar. Waters that are safe to drink from. Waters that calm and refresh. David’s flock would have known streams that were treacherous, where a misstep could cost a sheep its life. But God leads us beside still, gentle waters. He does not abandon us to stress, chaos, or endless striving. He brings us to rest, to pause, to drink deeply, to find our soul refreshed.
He restores my soul. Not my schedule, not my bank account, not my list of tasks, but my soul. The very core of who I am, my courage, my hope, my sense of life and purpose, is renewed. When the valley grows dark, when fear and anxiety threaten to overwhelm, the Lord restores us. He makes us whole again, giving us the strength to face tomorrow, the peace to endure today, and the hope that we are not abandoned.
And yet, the shepherd does not simply feed us and shelter us, and then leave us to wander aimlessly. No. He guides us. “He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” Paths that are just and right and good. Paths where our choices matter, paths where we participate in the life he has given. Rest and refreshment are not the end; they are the preparation. The Lord restores us so that we can live rightly, so that our steps reflect his goodness, so that the life we have received is lived for his glory.
It’s like a ship in a harbour. It receives all it needs: provisions, repairs, supplies. It could stay there safely forever, but that is not what it was made for. The harbour is preparation, not the destination. The ship must sail, it must carry its cargo, it must face wind and waves, steering with care. So too with us. God restores us, strengthens us, nourishes us, and then calls us into the world he has made. We are equipped to act, to choose rightly, to walk in justice and truth, to participate fully in the life he has given us.
Because sometimes those paths where the Lord guides us take us to places we would not choose for ourselves. But even there we are not abandoned. David wrote in Psalm 23, “Even 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.”
The valley of the shadow of death is the place where death comes close. When we are reminded of our mortality. When we are brought to the limit of our own resources.
And yet, even here, the shepherd does not abandon the flock. His rod and staff are with us, measures of guidance, protection, and care that keep us safe even in the darkest valleys.
The rod and staff are tools of a shepherd, ordinary yet powerful. The rod protects, drives away the predators, keeps the sheep from danger. The staff guides, turns the sheep from cliffs and pitfalls, pulls back the one who has strayed. Together, they are not just instruments of control, but instruments of care. David says they comfort him. Not because he never faces danger, but because he knows he is not facing it alone. Even in the shadowed valley, he is held, guided, corrected, protected. The Lord’s presence surrounds him. Every step he takes is not at the mercy of chance or fear, but under the watchful eye of a shepherd who will not fail, who will not abandon him, who will restore and sustain him even in the darkness.
Jesus, our Lord, is the good shepherd. He is our guide on every path of life, because he has taken them himself. He does not stand at a distance calling out instructions from safe ground. He walks ahead of us. He knows what it is to be weary and afraid, to feel the weight of suffering, to walk a road that leads through loss and grief. He has entered the valley himself. He has faced betrayal, pain, and death, and he has gone through it and come out the other side.
And that is why, when we find ourselves in the valley of the shadow of death, we are not walking alone. The valley is still dark. The shadows are still real. But the presence of the good shepherd changes everything. Because Jesus is with us, the valley is no longer the end of the story. It becomes a place of trust, a place where fear does not have the final word, a place where we learn that even here, even now, nothing can separate us from the care, the guidance, and the steadfast love of the one who walks with us every step of the way. For we are called to walk in paths of righteousness and sometimes we find ourselves in dark valleys. But the good shepherd can lead us through. And he can lead us out.
But Psalm 23 would be no one’s favourite if it were all dark valleys. It also speaks of triumph, of life restored, of hope that cannot be shaken. David wrote, “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.”
David speaks directly to the Lord. You, Lord, you prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. He describes a feast of triumph, a celebration of life and victory. The Lord has given him victory over his opponents who plotted his downfall. But with the Lord’s help they have failed. What they threatened cannot prevail. They are powerless to stop the future the Lord is bringing, a future shaped not by fear, but by goodness, mercy, and life in the presence of God.
We may think we have no enemies. No one plotting our downfall behind our backs. But the Scriptures remind us that the forces of sin and death, of fear and despair, are real, even if unseen. They prowl like wolves, seeking to devour the sheep, to catch us unawares, to drag us away from the shepherd’s care. Yet we are not abandoned. The Lord Jesus, the good shepherd, laid down his life for the sheep. He did not wait for us to fend for ourselves. He stepped into the danger, bearing the threat, so that we may live and walk in victory. Through the sacrifice of his life on the cross, the enemies that would overwhelm us have been disarmed, their power broken, and the bright future God has promised is secure.
And so the table is prepared. We are invited to feast, not because the threats have vanished, not because the valleys are gone, but because Christ has overcome them all. And so our heads are anointed for service in the Lord’s kingdom and our cup is neither half empty nor half full, but filled to the brim and overflowing with life, mercy and hope.
In the last verse, David turns to the final blessing of the psalm. “Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
Notice where the focus is. It is not on possessions, or power, or long life, or even on the absence of difficulty. The great blessing of salvation, the ultimate good, is God himself. To dwell in the house of the Lord forever is to live in his presence, to rest in his care, to be known and loved by the one who is faithful beyond measure.
And it is not only God’s presence, but God’s goodness and love that follow us, every day, in every circumstance. It is the end of wandering, the end of uncertainty, the end of fear. In God’s presence, nothing is lacking, nothing is missing, nothing essential can ever be taken away.
And this is the promise for us, too. The Shepherd who restores our soul, who guides us through dark valleys, who prepares a table and anoints our heads, this same Shepherd invites us into his presence for all eternity. Life’s trials may continue; the valleys may not vanish immediately, the enemies may still prowl, but the gift of God himself is unshakable, unending, and overflowing. To know him, to dwell with him, to trust in him fully, is to have every need met in the deepest and truest sense.
And so, having walked with the Shepherd through every shadow, having been strengthened, restored, and led, we are invited to step forward into the fullness of life he offers. Our cup is overflowing. Our heads are anointed. And our hearts can rest in the knowledge that the Lord who has shepherded us to this day will never leave us, never forsake us, and will lead us home to dwell with him forever.