جارٍ تحميل الأرشيف الحي.
Good Shepherd Series - Week 1
واصِل الاستكشاف
مرتبطة بالمقطع الكتابي أو بموضوعات مشتركة.
لم تُترجم هذه الصفحة بالكامل بعد. يظهر بعض النص أدناه أو كله بلغة English، وهي لغته الأصلية.
When we move to a new place, we rely on our phones to guide us through unfamiliar roads. But over time, something shifts. We become familiar with the area—we know the landmarks, the routes, the rhythms. One day we realize we don't need the phone anymore. Familiarity brings comfort, but it also brings a hidden danger: we can miss the beauty of what's familiar.
Think of the mountains in Colorado. Visitors are breathtaken, but residents often take them for granted. The same happens with sunsets, or even with smells—there's a psychological phenomenon called being "nose blind," where our brains stop noticing familiar scents. This is true for so much of life.
And here's the challenge: the more familiar something is, the easier it is to stop letting it teach us.
We're beginning a sermon series on Psalm 23—possibly the most famous passage in all of Scripture. It's beautiful, comforting, and deeply familiar. But that familiarity is also dangerous. How many of us truly remember learning Psalm 23 for the first time? Most of us have known it our whole lives.
Consider what scholars have said about this passage:
"The 23rd Psalm is the greatest poem ever penned in any language." — Dr. Robert McQuilkin
"The world could afford to spare many magnificent libraries better than it could dispense with this little Psalm of six verses." — William Evans
"There is depth of meaning in every sentence, a rich variety of experience in every verse, and a fullness of joy from its commencement to its conclusion, which comprehends all that is needed in life and in death, in time, and throughout eternity." — John Stevenson
Most of us don't have that view of Psalm 23 because it's so familiar. We've heard it a thousand times—even in pop culture, rap songs, and cultural moments.
My challenge to you: Let's look at Psalm 23 with fresh eyes over the next four weeks. Approach it with open hands and pray, "God, reveal to me the truth of this passage and help it come alive in my heart and in my life."
The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in 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.
In English, Psalm 23 contains between 100 and 117 words depending on the translation. But in Hebrew, it's only about 55 words—much simpler and more concise.
When we think about the main point of Psalm 23, most of us focus on the opening: "The Lord is my shepherd." But if we look at the literary structure, ancient Hebrew literature often uses a chiastic structure—it builds toward the middle, and the most important message sits right at the center.
Psalm 23 contains 26 Hebrew words on the front side and 26 on the back side. In the very center are three Hebrew words: "You are with me."
That's the point. Not just that God is our shepherd, but that God is with us. That's the central truth of this entire psalm.
If you take nothing else from this sermon series on Psalm 23, know this: God wants us to understand that He is with us. Our God is a personal God. He's always been a personal God. He wants a personal relationship with you and with me.
Robert McQuilkin wrote something that cuts to the heart of our problem:
"The 23rd Psalm is the best known chapter in the Bible and the least understood. It is the best loved chapter in the Bible and the least believed."
We say it, we recite it, we memorize it—but do we actually believe it? Do we live it out?
When Psalm 23 begins with "The Lord is my shepherd," the original Hebrew uses a specific word: Yahweh—God's personal name. In English Bibles, whenever you see "LORD" in all capitals, that represents Yahweh.
Yahweh comes from Exodus 3:14, when God revealed His name to Moses at the burning bush:
"I am who I am."
This isn't a name like "Chris" or "David." It's a revelation of God's character and nature. It means God is eternal, self-existent, omnipresent, and omniscient. He has no beginning and no end.
Here's what this promises us: Before my crisis, He is. After my crisis, He is. Before my diagnosis, He is. After my diagnosis, He is. In my grief, He is. Beyond my grief, He is.
He is so much bigger and greater than I could ever comprehend or understand.
When Psalm 23 says Yahweh is my shepherd, it's saying that the eternal Creator of the universe—bigger than I can fathom—is personally my shepherd.
David makes this deeply personal: "Yahweh is my shepherd." He's doing two things here:
First, he's asserting a personal relationship with God. He's not just acknowledging God's existence—he's claiming God as his own shepherd.
Second, he's identifying himself as a sheep. David was a shepherd, so he knew sheep well. He knew that sheep wander, panic, get stuck, and are vulnerable. They need guidance and protection.
By calling himself a sheep, David isn't making himself look strong—he's making himself dependent. He's saying: I wander. I panic. I get stuck. I'm vulnerable. I need guidance. I need protection. And Yahweh is my shepherd.
This is countercultural. Our culture says: You are enough. Be yourself. Trust yourself.
But Psalm 23 says: You and I are not enough. But our Shepherd is.
Consider this: A 2019 MIT study found that 32% of people believe they could safely land a commercial aircraft in an emergency. Thirty-two percent! Without years of training, without any actual experience—just based on the idea that "how hard can it be?" or "I've played video games."
The truth is: We don't always know what's best for us. We don't know what lies ahead.
Yet David says, in essence: I'm willingly, intentionally submitting myself to Yahweh being my shepherd. That requires humility and trust.
The next two Hebrew words in Psalm 23 are often translated as "I shall not want." But this phrase is tricky. Many of us think it means: If the Lord is my shepherd, I will have everything I want in life.
But that can't be right. Look at the rest of Psalm 23—there's still a valley, still enemies, still evil, still the shadow of death. So the psalm itself proves that life won't always be easy.
"I shall not want" actually means: I will not be abandoned. I will not be deficient. I will not come up short.
It means: When I walk through painful things, I will not be alone. If I get that first part right—that Yahweh is my shepherd, guiding and transforming my thoughts, words, and actions—then whatever I face, I will not face it alone.
This shepherd and sheep image runs throughout Scripture. In Ezekiel 34, God speaks to scattered, disobedient Israel:
"For thus says the Lord God, behold, I myself will search for my sheep and will seek them out. As a shepherd seeks out his flock when he is among his sheep that have been scattered, so will I seek out my sheep and I will rescue them from all places where they have been scattered." (Ezekiel 34:11-12)
Then Jesus declared in John 10:11:
"I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep."
Jesus also said, "I and the Father are one" (John 10:30). When Jesus calls Himself the shepherd, He's claiming to be Yahweh—God Himself.
So when we say "The Lord is my shepherd" as Christians, we're saying: Jesus is my shepherd. And Jesus tells us that as the shepherd, He lays down His life for the sheep.
The Gospel shows us that we weren't enough on our own. We couldn't get there by ourselves. Jesus came, died on the cross for our sins, and rose again. When we make Him the Lord of our lives—our shepherd—we're saying we will live differently, not conformed by the pressures of the world, but transformed by His character, nature, and identity.
If you want to know who is actually shepherding you, ask yourself these questions:
1. Where do I run when I'm afraid?
When something bad happens and fear grips you, what's your first instinct? Do you turn to prayer, Scripture, spiritual mentors, and the church? Or do you turn elsewhere? Sheep run to the shepherd when they're afraid. Where do you run?
2. Whose voice carries the most weight in my life?
For a sheep to survive, they must know and obey the shepherd's voice. But our culture is full of loud voices competing for our attention.
Even the best spouse, parent, or friend can't be the ultimate shepherd of your life. They're human. Only God can carry that weight. Making anyone else ultimate is idolatry.
3. What do I keep trusting even after it fails me?
For many, it's money. We think: If I just get this thing, I'll be happy. If I buy this, achieve this, earn this, then life will be great.
It might work for a week, a month, even a year. But eventually, it disappoints. We see this with children who believe a birthday gift will transform their life, only to lose interest days later. As adults, the dollar amounts get bigger, but the pattern doesn't change.
Some turn to addiction—a habit that keeps failing but keeps drawing us back.
Psalm 23 challenges us: Even with all the other voices in this world, will you choose to identify the voice of your Shepherd, Jesus, and make Him the transforming voice in your life?
It's simple, and yet it's so challenging to live out truthfully and faithfully.
