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

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Picture this: a young boy out in the wilds of ancient Israel. David, the youngest of eight brothers, is sent out to do the boring work. He’s a shepherd, tasked with the gritty, unglamorous job of keeping a flock of sheep alive. Day after day, he’s out there—finding grazing spots, searching for water, watching for wolves or lions that might snatch one of his charges. He’s alone for stretches, maybe weeks, with nothing but the bleating of sheep and the strum of his lyre to keep him company. Those sheep? They’re utterly dependent on him. If he slacks off, they’re toast.

Now shift the lens to you and me. We’re not herding sheep (though, at times, it seems like we’re herding cats!), but we’ve got our own flocks—responsibilities that weigh on us. Jobs to do, bills to pay, people to care for. We’re out there trying to provide, protect, keep it all together. And sometimes? It feels like we’re alone in the countryside of our lives, the weight of it pressing down. Ever feel that? I know I have.

Into this scene steps Psalm 23, one of those Bible passages you’ve probably heard a million times—maybe at a funeral, maybe on a coffee mug. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” Six verses that pack a lifetime of truth. David, the shepherd-boy-turned-king, flips the script here. He’s not the shepherd anymore—he’s the sheep. And God? God’s the one leading, providing, protecting. It’s a picture that hits home because it’s our picture. We need rest. We walk through dark valleys. Enemies—spiritual ones, sure, but sometimes flesh-and-blood ones too—lurk around us. Yet God’s goodness chases us down, and His house is our forever home. Life, summed up in six lines.

This Lent, I’m inviting you to walk through Psalm 23 with me. Over six weeks, we’ll unpack how God shepherds us through it all—valleys, tables, eternity. But it starts here, with verse 1: “The Lord is my shepherd.” Let’s dig in.

David: The Shepherd Who Knew His Shepherd

David wasn’t just some random guy with a sling and a harp. He was a kid shaped by solitude and sheep. Growing up, he’d have heard the epic tales—Abraham’s altars, Moses’ Red Sea split, Joshua’s Jericho walls. But his days weren’t epic. Like a police officer on a stakeout, it was hours of tedium punctuated by occasional moments of excitement. Hours of watching, waiting, guarding. Then a lion roars or a thief tries to sneak a sheep. He’s on it. Out there, with his flock and his music, David came to realize the similarities between his relationship with the sheep and God’s relationship with him.

Scholars debate when he wrote Psalm 23. Was it as a scrappy teen under the stars? Or later, on the run from Saul, dodging spears and betrayal? Either way, it’s drenched in trust. David knew what a shepherd does—guides, protects, provides—and he saw God doing that for him. That’s the heartbeat of this psalm.

My Shepherd, Not Just A Shepherd

Here’s one thing that hits me: David doesn’t say, “The Lord is a shepherd” or even “our shepherd.” He says “my shepherd.” That’s personal. Imagine you’re a kid, lost in a crowd. Finding a parent might help, but what you want is your mom or dad—the one who knows you, who calls your name. That’s what David’s claiming here. God isn’t some distant overseer; He’s mine. Jesus echoes this in John 10:3, saying the shepherd “calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.” Later, in verse 11, He doubles down: “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” This isn’t abstract theology—it’s an intimate relationship.

A shepherd’s job hasn’t changed much since David’s day. Guide the flock. Fight off predators. Find water and pasture. Isaiah 40:11 paints God this way: “He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms.” Ezekiel 34 says He’ll search for His sheep Himself. That’s security. The sheep don’t fret about the path because they trust the one leading them.

So here’s the Lent question: Do we trust God like that? Do I live like the Lord is my shepherd? Do my racing thoughts—about money, kids, tomorrow—reflect that? Matthew 10:30 says He knows the hairs on my head. Psalm 56:8 says He bottles my tears. He knows me—better than I know myself. This Lent, I’m challenging myself (and you) to lean into that. To build an awareness that we’re not alone, even when we feel like it. 

To be compared to a sheep is no compliment. While I haven’t raised any sheep, I have been told they are both dumb and stubborn. (People in my congregation who have raised sheep nodded their heads when I said this.) But this is a great comfort. If the Lord is my shepherd, he’s not shocked when I’m dumb or stubborn. He still actively guides, provides, and protects.

“I Shall Not Want”: Contentment Over Control

That second half of verse 1—“I shall not want”—trips people up. Does it mean we never want anything? Nah. The NIV says, “I lack nothing.” The NLT: “I have all that I need.” It’s not about killing desire; it’s about trusting God’s got us covered. It’s faith saying, “I’m good,” even when the bank account isn’t.

Paul nails this in Philippians 4:11-12. He’s been broke, he’s been flush, and he’s learned to be content either way because Christ is enough. Jesus says it in Matthew 6:25—don’t sweat food or clothes; God feeds the birds, and you’re worth more than they are. “I shall not want” is an eternal perspective. Earth’s a temp gig; forever’s coming.

But here’s the rub: Sheep don’t call the shots. They follow. Sheep without a shepherd are lion lunch. The shepherd builds trust—and surely prefers that style of shepherding—but if the sheep get resistant, he’s got a staff to nudge (or whack) them along. Imagine the flock needs to head north for grass. They can go willingly, grateful for the lead, or they can dig in their hooves and get prodded. We’re not so different. I hate surrendering control—I want to map my own way. But peace? That comes when I let go and trust His provision.

Where do you struggle with this? Money? Relationships? Health? This week, try something. Fast from a worry. Pray daily. Hand that worry to God. See what shifts.

The Road Ahead

Psalm 23:1 is our Lent launchpad. Because the Lord is our Shepherd, we can face green pastures, dark valleys, enemy turf—all of it—knowing He’s leading. Over the next few weeks, we’ll walk this psalm together. Verse 2’s rest, verse 4’s shadows, verse 6’s forever—they’re all coming.

So here’s my ask: Memorize verse 1 this week. Pray it. Chew on it. Ask God where He’s leading you, where you’re resisting. Lent is a journey of reflection, repentance, and trust. Let’s lean into this Lenten journey with our Good Shepherd.