(Fourth in the sermon series on Psalm 23 for Lent 2025)

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Through the Valley: You Are Not Alone

The Valley Is Real

Life inevitably leads us through valleys—places darkened by shadows of fear, grief, and loss. Psalm 23:4 describes these moments vividly: "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." (ESV). Notice the psalm doesn’t say "if," but "even though." Valleys aren't optional detours; they're unavoidable parts of our human journey. We all find ourselves in these narrow, shadowy passages, where visibility is limited and hope can seem scarce.

Maybe your valley isn't physical death but the shadow cast by loss. Every kind of loss—be it relational breakdowns, the quiet erosion of dreams, or grief over something precious slipping away—feels like a little death. Your valley might be public and communal, or it might be deeply private—a personal struggle with anxiety, depression, addiction, or the slow, quiet realization that you might never become who you always hoped you'd be.

You Are Not Alone

Yet, in this valley, the psalmist boldly declares, "I will fear no evil, for you are with me" (Psalm 23:4b, ESV). This simple declaration of faith is transformative. Notice the source of confidence isn’t our strength, wisdom, or resilience, but purely and beautifully the presence of God. Picture a person trapped in a burning building—choking smoke obscuring their vision and stealing their breath. Then imagine the relief when a firefighter’s hand firmly grips their arm. The rescuer knows the way out; their presence changes everything. This is what it means when we say our Shepherd walks with us. God does not guide us from afar; He steps directly into the life’s valleys with us.

Isaiah captures this profound truth eloquently: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you... when you walk through fire you shall not be burned” (Isaiah 43:1–2, ESV). We may not see the way out. In some cases, like approaching physical death, there is no way out (in the earthly sense). The fire still burns, the water still rises, but we are not alone. Our comfort comes not from the absence of danger but from the companionship of the divine Shepherd.

Comfort in the Shepherd's Tools

Psalm 23 also reminds us, "Your rod and your staff, they comfort me" (23:4c, ESV). King David, who knew shepherding intimately, speaks from experience. A shepherd’s rod protects. It’s a weapon against predators threatening the flock. The staff guides, rescues, and comforts, gently correcting sheep when they wander into danger or become trapped. Sheep are prone not just to external threats but internal confusion and panic. So are we. But even then, our Shepherd remains near, vigilant to defend, correct, and comfort us.

Jesus: The Shepherd Who Has Been There

The richest fulfillment of Psalm 23 lies in Jesus Christ—the Good Shepherd who walked every shadowy valley before us. Jesus intimately knew valleys. He wept openly at Lazarus' tomb, grieved rejection in His hometown, felt the sting of betrayal and abandonment by His closest friends, and experienced profound anguish in the garden of Gethsemane. Ultimately, He entered the darkest valley of all, trusting His Father even to death on the cross.

In Jesus, we find not only a guide but a companion who understands our suffering completely. As Hebrews reassures us, we have a high priest who sympathizes with our weaknesses, “tempted as we are, yet without sin” (Hebrews 4:15–16, ESV). With Jesus beside us, we’re invited to approach God's throne confidently, to find mercy and grace exactly when we need it most.

Honest Community in the Valley

We also find comfort in each other. Being accompanied by the Shepherd means we never walk alone—but it also means we're called into genuine community with fellow travelers. We are the body of Christ with others. Paul beautifully expresses this in 2 Corinthians: God comforts us “so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction” (2 Corinthians 1:3–4, ESV). Our valleys are never meant to be traversed silently or privately. We find healing and strength in vulnerability, in sharing our struggles honestly and compassionately.

This is why our church aims to be a safe place to admit our valleys openly, without pretending they aren't real or minimizing their impact. We acknowledge our valleys because there’s freedom and power in naming them, in knowing others walk alongside us, and in realizing we're all shepherded by Christ.

The Table in the Midst of Shadows

Remarkably, the psalm doesn't depict a Shepherd who leads us out of the valley to feed us. Instead, Psalm 23:5 says, “You prepare a table before me” right in the valley. Jesus invites us to His table, the Lord’s Supper, precisely in the midst of life's hardest moments. At His table, He feeds us with His very presence, offering tangible reminders of His sacrifice—His body given, His blood shed. Here, in the valley, He whispers reassurance, "I see you. I've been here. I understand your pain. You are not alone."

Wherever You Walk Today

Today, if you’re trudging through grief, tiptoeing through fear, or fumbling through the fog of uncertainty, you don’t need to rush or pretend. You don’t have to act stronger or braver than you feel. Your Shepherd has already walked this road. He knows your path intimately, sees your struggle clearly, and promises He will never abandon you. You can move forward slowly, honestly, and even quietly. Not because you're powerful, not because you’ve overcome every obstacle—but because Jesus, your Good Shepherd, walks every step with you. He always has, and He always will.