I Will Fear No Evil
April 3, 2022
Preached by Benjamin Vrbicek
Scripture Reading
Psalm 23:4
4 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.
Last week Pastor David opened our study in the Psalm 23, preaching the first three verses to us, and it was like a warm bearhug from God to his children or, could we say, from Shepherd to his sheep? This morning I have v. 4; next week Pastor Ben has v. 5; on Easter I’ll preach v. 6. We let everyone know the schedule so you can read ahead. This time I don’t think you’ll struggle to find time to read one verse each week. The struggle will come, if you want to call it a struggle, to get your mind around all the goodness that each verse offers the sheep in the Lord’s flock.
However, a few aspects of the psalm, before they provide comfort, might raise concerns. In v. 2, we read that the Lord our shepherd leads his sheep to green pastures and beside still waters. But if that is so, how could we find ourselves, as we read in v. 4, walking “through the valley of the shadow of death.” What happened to green pastures and still waters? Pastor David mentioned he is the best at dwelling on worst-case scenarios. His mind often goes to the worst things that could happen. And now, in v. 4, they seem to have happened. The sun has now ceased to shine, and dark clouds cast their shadow. And so we should pray as we begin. “Dear heavenly Father . . .”
Introduction: Fear and Triggering
Most of us bring a familiarity with Psalm 23 from two primary sources. First, we come with a general familiarity with Psalm 23 because the psalm is, well, familiar. It’s been so loved and so well-known throughout history, even modern history, that most of us—even those here this morning who are not Christians or very religious—can hear the psalm and think, That sounds familiar. I was recently reading a book on writing. The author didn’t appear to have any clear religious persuasion and was writing to an audience he didn’t assume to have any religious persuasion. In making one of his points he simply said, without explanation, his point was like the kind of writing found in Psalm 23 because he assumed Psalm 23 would be familiar (Jack Hart, Wordcraft).
But more than general familiarity, Psalm 23 is familiar because of the specific context of Christian funerals. And rightly so. If ever a passage was there for a believer’s comfort and hope, it would sound like Psalm 23. In March, there’s the college basketball tournament with its giant bracket of 64 four teams. If we put Psalm 23 in a bracket of “the best passages to preach at a funeral,” I dare say I’d fill out my bracket by putting Psalm 23 in at least the Sweet 16, if not the Final 4, maybe even playing Monday night.
But this specific familiarity presents us with a problem preaching Psalm 23 on an ordinary Sunday—although I don’t believe there is such a thing as an ordinary gathering of the people of God to preach and pray and sing. Still, we might even say, in the word often used today, that Psalm 23 can be “triggering.” To be triggered is to feel a strong, likely disproportionate reaction to something because of past experience, typically bad. The cultural use of triggering can be overdone, as though if you used to attend a church that had the colors orange and blue in the logo, and then you come to our church which has the same colors, then, well, you’re mad at me, as though it’s my fault.
I’m exaggerating just to make the point. The misuse of the word trigger do not invalidate the legitimate use. For someone who has been abused or been through a traumatic encounter, certain sounds like yelling or crying or shouting can be triggering. You might have company over to your house and you serve beer, and the next morning you find yourself emptying a glass of beer down the sink that was only half-drunk, and immediately that action and that smell throw you into a tailspin as you remember being ten years old and the fear of living with an alcoholic mother—triggered. I’ll be vague, but I can remember a few years ago hearing the sound made when a person picked up car keys off a wooden table and then flicked a light switch. Those two simple sounds placed one after the other, caused me to feel suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety as the exact combination of sounds brought me back to a very difficult season of ministry and a personal conflict. The gifted counselors among us could probably describe it in more technical terms than I can, but I can tell you that just those two sounds were triggering.
As pastors preaching Psalm 23, our hope is to give comfort. But to give comfort we first want to acknowledge this psalm may trigger you to the memory of the death of someone you love. This winter, three members of our church died, and several of our members had people close to them die. To preach Psalm 23—indeed to even read it in your Bible reading plan—may trigger hard memories.
Here’s what I want to say, though. If we really look at the meaning of Psalm 23, even specifically v. 4, we’ll see that if at first the psalm triggers anxiety and harsh memories, if we keep our attention on what the psalm actually says, God will remind us of why we go to Psalm 23 in the first place: because the Good Shepherd longs to lead us to still waters, to make us to lie down, and to give us no fear. Let me read v. 4 again:
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.
As seasons change, a shepherd in the Middle East needs to move his flock from higher to lower ground—or the reverse—to be either somewhere warmer or cooler, depending on the need in each season. Thus a flock has to pass through valleys and their associated long, dark shadows. A flock has to pass through valleys, places where fierce animals and bandits might hide. Footing becomes more precarious, even as visibility diminishes.
To us, the phrase “valley of the shadow of death” suggests hospice-type situations. It suggests the news of terminal illness and the treatment of palliative care. In the context of a hospital, palliative care means you’re going to have to walk through the illness to the other side of death, and the hospital will be there with the palliative resources—medical, emotional, and, perhaps, spiritual resources—to help. Where does a sheep’s comfort come from in these moments? Where does your comfort come from in these moments? The evil you fear might be actual evil, as in you fear evil people coming to get you, or we the evil we fear might be better called disastrous situations. You might fear children walking away from the Lord. You might fear never finding a spouse. You might fear health reasons will force you to retire for health reasons before you’re ready. Where does your comfort come in these moments?
A very natural response in these moments, a response we might even call human nature, tends toward human reliance. Yet it seems to me, as I read the Bible and as I experience life with God, God has designed problems too big for us to expose our need for the solution that is bigger than us. Or we might say, God has designed valleys too evil for us to expose our need for the Shepherd better than us. Psalm 23:4 invites us to consider two very different approaches to evil. Let’s talk about two approaches to evil.
1. Consider the world’s way of dealing with evil.
First, we’ll consider the world’s way of dealing with evil. The world deals with evil by looking either inward or outward, but not upward. And this inward or outward look, only leads to more fear because we’re offered only solutions inadequate for the task. I’ll say it again. The world’s way of focusing on evil only leads to more fear because we’re only offered solutions inadequate for the task. In other words, we’re buried alive under a dump truck of dirt and given only a teaspoon to dig our way out.
Sometimes, our human nature wants to convince us that our teaspoon is up to the task. This is the inward look. I asked the guys around the office if they remembered the “no fear” t-shirts from the 90s. The shirts had bold claims on the back regarding self-reliance, typically in sports. None of the guys remembered the t-shirts. Maybe you remember them. I had several as a kid. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’ll understand as I read you a few of the best ones. “Life if a contact sport / No fear.” Here’s another: “Bottom of the ninth / down by three / bases loaded / full count, two outs / No fear.” Or, classically, “Second place is the first loser / No fear.” You get the idea. The idea is that machismo and self-reliance can raise above evil. No fear means beating your chest and raising your head and shouting, “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.” And, sure, fine, let’s play sports with passion and confidence. But can we not see the difference between a baseball game and Stage IV cancer? No t-shirt said, “Pancreatic Cancer / No fear.” God has designed valleys too evil for us to expose our need for the Shepherd better than us.
If one solution looks inward, another worldly solution looks outward—but to the wrong places. Where do you get your comfort? How are you mediating the evil around you and within you? Maybe you don’t wear a “no fear” t-shirt but, instead, you’ll eat cheeseburgers and pizza and ice cream until the pain is gone. Or maybe you’ll exercise until you’re thin enough that someone will love you? Or maybe ordering another cardboard box from Amazon is how you tell yourself the world will be okay. Maybe you medicate with a case of beer or a bottle of bourbon or binge-watch the latest show. Maybe you come to church every time we open the doors, not to be with the Shepherd and his sheep, but because you think you have a bargain with God that if you do enough, he’ll never let you suffer. Maybe you look outward to draw strength from what I’ll call a “guru,” a hero leader who tells you the real problems and the real solutions. Here I have in mind a leader who tells you what’s wrong with the world but does so with the result that only cultivates more fear. This is the approach of many, although not all, news outlets. Whether in print, online, or on cable television, the result of so much news that you consume describes evil and fear in such a way as to produce more fear.
I’m so thankful in America that we have the freedom of the press to a degree not experienced in many parts of the world. I’m thankful to God for journalists who write and speak about the evils that they feel plague our country. What an honorable calling. I do also wonder if there is not a danger we should be concerned about. If you are a conservative talk show host with an hour program every weeknight, and you have to fill the whole hour, what will fill that show to get the most viewers? Better television ratings drive more lucrative sponsors, which then feeds better ratings and more money and so on. A cult can form where we feel like this or that person is the one who will tell me the truth—the real truth—about the terrible evils happening in America. It’s not just newscasters; the same could be said about the way some pastors shepherd their church—undershepherds fashioning themselves as the Good Shepherd. And whether on Sunday mornings at 10am or every weeknight at 7pm, the world’s way of dealing with evil often does nothing more than cultivate fear. It’s like taking a plant, or better a weed, and putting it in direct sunlight and giving it water and adding Miracle Grow. Not surprisingly, fear grows. And not surprisingly, I hope, Psalm 23 offers you a better way.
2. Consider the God’s way of dealing with evil.
In Psalm 23 we see that the Bible’s way of focusing on evil leads to no fear because we’re offered theShepherd God who defeats evil. I’ll read v. 4 again.
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.
Again, the Bible’s way of focusing on evil leads to comfort and no fear because we’re offered the strong, Shepherd God who defeats evil as he carries us home, even though we must first walk through the valley of the shadow of death.
You’ll notice, won’t you, that in vv. 2–3, we read of God described as “he.” “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.” How am I so well-fed? How am I so restored? How is my sin and depravity so lavishly addressed with grace? Oh, it’s him, that shepherd over there. He makes me lie down in green pastures. Heleads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness. Notice now, in v. 4, we are no longer talking about him, the shepherd over there, but “you.” “You are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” In the valley of the shadow of death, we do not talk about the Good Shepherd, we talk to the Good Shepherd—you, your—because he’s with us. We don’t point at a shepherd off in the distance, but rather, like a young child crossing the street at Times Square, you reach up our hand, and he grabs your hand, and you walk together. To the other side. Home. The true and greatest palliative care. Don’t look inward or outward, but upward.
A rod is for defense and a staff for direction. A rod and staff in my hand may not be so comforting to you. But in the hands of the one who redeemed Israel out of the hand of Pharaoh, they bring comfort. We call Jesus Immanuel, which means God with us, because he is with us. We should not reduce Christianity to mere experience. But neither should we reduce it to mere doctrine. Paul writes to the church in Rome, “For the kingdom of God is . . . a matter of . . . righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit” (Rom. 14:7). Psalm 23 offers you not just the truth of a Good Shepherd in the valley of the shadow of death but the experience of the Good Shepherd.
And there’s more to the presence of Jesus with you than experience. We read, “I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” Biblically speaking, God being with us is a loaded phrase. The presence of God is not only there for the experience of comfort but also for empowerment. In Exodus, God comes to Moses in a fiery bush that doesn’t burn and says, “I will be with you” (Ex. 3:12). God immediately goes on to tell Moses that God’s presence is, yes, for the experience of peace but also for the empowerment to lead the people of Israel out of Egypt. In the book of Joshua, after Moses has died, God tells Joshua this: “Just as I was with Moses, so I will be with you. . . Be strong and courageous, for you shall cause this people to inherit the land . . . . Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go” (Jos. 1:5–6, 9). God’s presence is for peace but also for empowerment. Perhaps closer to our context, consider the words of our savior at the end of Matthew’s gospel. After Jesus rose from the dead, defeating evil, Jesus tells his followers,
All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matt. 28:18–20)
Now, let’s come back to Psalm 23. King David wrote Psalm 23, but he wrote it to be collected and sung and cherished by all of God’s people. He wrote it for a hymnbook, which makes the psalm not merely for him, but for us. What is God telling you that he is there with you to empower you through? Are you walking through a challenging business situation? A family problem? A health challenge that feels like the valley of the shadow of death? That’s okay. Fear no evil. Because Jesus lived and died and rose and loves you and is with you always even to the end of the age.
Conclusion: Why we gather?
So, how shall we end the sermon. This week, I want to end by giving something of a brief explanation and defense for why we do what we do on Sunday mornings and, to some degree, why we don’t do what we don’t do on Sundays. I hope as you come week after week, you get a good sense of what we are doing on Sunday mornings. But it might be helpful to state it outright. The main aim of Sunday morning is to keep our attention riveted on our Good Shepherd. If we expose evil, whether out there or in here, it’s to expose our need for the Shepherd. The late pastor and author Eugene Peterson wrote several books about Christian ministry. In one place he writes,
The biblical fact is that there are no successful churches. There are, instead, communities of sinners, gathered before God week after week in towns and villages all over the world. . . . In these communities of sinners, one of the sinners is called pastor and given a designated responsibility in the community. The pastor’s responsibility is to keep the community attentive to God. It is this responsibility that is being abandoned in spades. (Peterson, Working the Angles, 2)
I know most weeks we don’t say anything about the dozens of issues that feel so electric in the news. This week I’m not talking about how Will Smith slapped Chris Rock at the Oscars except to mention that I’m not talking about it. I’m not saying much about Russia and Putin and Ukraine, even though it concerns me. I don’t often say much about transgender ideology. I haven’t said anything about Lia Thompson, a biological male who recently won the 500y women’s freestyle swimming race at the NCAA Division I National Championships. I have not said anything about Lia despite the connection to a Pennsylvania school. And speaking of Pennsylvania, I’ve never said anything about our former secretary of the Department of Health, Dr. Rachel Levine. I’ve never talked about the demonic evil it is when I’m told to say it’s a good thing that a biological male would transition so that he can fight women in mixed martial arts. I’ve never said that. Now, if you wonder at your deepest level if you might be the wrong gender, I’m not saying you’re evil any more than all of us are evil. We are all weak, wounded, and wayward in so many varied ways. We just don’t say much about all this on Sundays because I fear most commentary about evil cultivates more fear. I don’t really know a way to talk about evil that doesn’t produce more fear . . . Except I do.
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 life and death and promise of the second coming of Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd, enables us to talk about evil, when we need to, and to name the evil out there in the world and the evil in our hearts, because the Good Shepherd is the solution to our fear. Your comfort will not come from a slogan on a t-shirt, or a cheeseburger, or a faster marathon or a case of beer or a career advancement, but from Christ.
It’s this reminder above all else—the reminder of the endurance of the word of God; the weakness, woundedness, and waywardness of man; the transcendence of God; the assurance of a final judgment to right all wrongs; and the amazing grace of Jesus—that we want as pastors to give you, our people, each Sunday. We believe that those who gather on Sundays for that, who gather mainly to rivet our attention upward on the Good Shepherd, will be most empowered to live for the Good Shepherd in the face of fear and evil and through the valley of the shadow of death. Let’s pray . . .
Family Discussion Questions
Sometimes it can be fun to talk about what silly fears you have, maybe of heights or flying insects. Name some of these. But what, also, is a serious fear you have?
How can those around you help you as you walk through that fear?
How does knowing the good news about Jesus—his life, death, resurrection, and second coming—help us as we suffer? Consider reading and discussing Romans 8:32–39 to see the way Paul believes these truths apply to Christians.
