Beside Still Waters: The Imperative of Restoration

Preached at Blue Ocean Faith Columbus on August 10, 2025

A sermon on Psalm 23 NKJV (with modifications)

Note - Remember, the video and the text may differ a bit. I rarely stick 100% to my written material when I preach.

Friends, we live in a world that never sleeps. A world where the news cycle spins faster than our hearts can process. A world where the demands for justice echo in our ears, where the cries of the oppressed reach our very souls, where the call to action seems to sound every moment of every day.

But still in this ancient song of David, we find something our weary spirits desperately need to hear.

The Lord is my shepherd.

Now, I want us to pause right here at the beginning, because in these five simple words, we find the foundation for everything that follows. When David declares “The Lord is my shepherd,” he’s not just making a statement about God’s care, he’s declaring something about his own identity.

Think about it with me. What is a sheep without a shepherd? Lost. Vulnerable. Anxious. Constantly looking over its shoulder. But what is a sheep with a shepherd? Friends, that sheep can rest.

I shall not want.

Not “I shall not lack,” but “I shall not want.” There’s a difference. The Hebrew word used here speaks not just to material need but to that deep, gnawing anxiety that keeps us awake at 3 AM, scrolling through news feeds, wondering if we’re doing enough, being enough, fighting hard enough for what matters.

“I shall not want” means “I shall not be consumed by anxious longing.”

You make me to lie down in green pastures.

Now listen carefully to that verb: “You make me.” In Hebrew, it’s rabats, a word that means to cause to rest by spreading out, to make lie down. This isn’t a gentle suggestion, friends. This is the divine intervening with us.

You see, sheep won’t lie down if they’re hungry. They won’t lie down if they’re thirsty. They won't lie down if they're afraid. They won’t lie down if there’s tension in the flock. But when all their needs are met, when they feel safe, when peace reigns, then, and only then, will they rest.

And sometimes, the shepherd has to make them lie down.

How many of you have ever been so caught up in the work, so driven by the cause, so consumed by the calling, that God had to make you rest? Maybe through illness, maybe through exhaustion, maybe through circumstances beyond your control?

That’s not punishment, friends, that’s shepherding. That’s love.

You lead me beside the still waters.

The Hebrew here is beautiful—mayim menuchot—waters of rest, waters of quietness. Neither rushing rivers where we might be swept away nor turbulent seas where we might drown, but still waters. Peaceful waters. Waters that reflect the sky.

You know what sheep need to drink? Still water. Running water frightens them. They need peace to be refreshed.

And friends, sometimes our souls are just like those sheep. Sometimes we need the Shepherd to lead us away from the turbulent waters of constant crisis, constant action, constant engagement, to a place where we can drink deeply and be refreshed.

You restore my soul.

Now we’re getting to the heart of it. The Hebrew word shuv means to turn back, to return, to bring back to a former state. When David speaks of soul restoration, he's talking about returning to wholeness, returning to that place of complete dependence on the Shepherd.

Our souls get scattered. They get fragmented by the demands of this world. We give a piece of ourselves to this cause, a piece to that crisis, a piece to this injustice, a piece to that need. And that’s on top of the damage injustice does to our souls as well. After a while, we don’t know where we end and the world’s pain begins.

But the Shepherd gathers up all those scattered pieces and puts us back together again. God restores our souls.

And listen to this: He doesn't restore us so that we can do the work. He restores us because we are beloved. The restoration itself is the gift, not a means to an end.

You lead me in the paths of righteousness for Your name’s sake.

After rest comes direction. After restoration comes purpose. But notice the order: first comes the lying down in green pastures. First comes the drinking beside still waters. First comes the restoration of the soul. Then comes the walking in righteous paths.

This is not righteousness driven by anxiety or guilt or the fear that we’re not doing enough. This isn’t righteous that we seek for our own sake. This is righteousness that flows from rest, from restoration, and from the deep knowledge that we are beloved children of God and that we are cared for as God’s co-creators.

The Hebrew word for righteousness here includes justice, it includes right action, and it includes care for the vulnerable. But it’s righteousness rooted in relationship with the Divine, not righteousness driven by human striving.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

The Hebrew tsalmawet is darker than our English captures. It’s a deep shadow, a death-shadow, the place where light is unable to penetrate. We know this valley, don’t we? Some of else have walked in that valley for longer and some of us are forced to spend more time there each week than others, but we all know that valley drenched in the shadow of death. We know what it feels like to walk through seasons where hope seems thin, where the path forward is unclear, and where the darkness presses in from every side.

But notice, the psalmist doesn't say “if I walk through the valley.” He says, “though I walk through the valley.” He expects this valley, because this valley is part of the journey.

For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

That rod and staff are tools of the shepherd’s trade: the rod to fight off predators and the staff to guide and rescue. Because symbols of the shepherd and Jesus as the Good Shepherd has been appropriated by structures of earthly power in Christianity and because 19^th and 21^st century “muscular Christianity” proponents have linked the “rod and staff” of Psalm 23:4 with the “rod” of Proverbs 13:24, most people now associate these tools with keeping the sheep in line. However, the shepherd’s rod and staff are meant to guard and protect the sheep.

In our darkest valleys, we don’t need more advice. We don’t need someone telling us to try harder. We don’t need people saying “I told you so” or “See what happens when you rock the boat?” What we need is to know that we’re protected, that we’re guided, that we’re not alone.

Turn to someone and say, “We’re not alone.”

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

Right there, in the middle of opposition, in the middle of struggle, in the middle of those who would devour us, there God spreads a table. This is rest in the midst of struggle, beloved. This is restoration in the middle of resistance. This is the radical act of receiving nourishment even when the battle is not yet won.

You anoint my head with oil; My cup runs over.

The oil of blessing, the cup of abundance. Not scarcity thinking, not survival mode, but overflow. Even in the valley of the shadow of death. Even in the presence of our enemies. Even when we are opposed in every way, there is more than enough.

But how do we reconcile this with the brokenness of our world? How do we feast when others are hungry? How do we rest when we know justice delayed is justice denied?

Friends, there is no one right way to rest in any crisis. There is no formula for finding peace in the midst of struggle. In some seasons we rest by stepping back. During other seasons we rest by stepping deeper into trust. While in still other seasons our rest looks like stillness. And, yes, there are times when our rest looks like surrender in the middle of action.

A shepherd who cannot rest cannot tend the flock. A soul that is not restored cannot restore others. A cup that is not filled cannot pour out.

The psalmist doesn’t end with the feast, though. There’s more to come.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

That word Hebrew word used here for “to follow” means to pursue, to chase after, to hunt down. The same word used for enemies pursuing in battle. But here, it’s goodness and mercy that pursue us. Love chasing us down. Grace hunting us like a relentless hunter.

We don’t have to chase after goodness. We don’t have to earn mercy. They’re chasing after us! All our days, goodness and mercy are in hot pursuit of our lives.

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Not visit. Not drop by when convenient. Dwell. Take up residence. Make our home in the presence of the Divine.

This isn’t the rest that comes after all the work is done, because in this broken world, the work is never done. This is the rest that comes from knowing where our true home is. This is the rest that comes from understanding that our ultimate security doesn’t depend on our ability to fix everything, to save everyone, or to bear the weight of the world on our shoulders.

We dwell—present tense—in the house of the Lord. Right now, in the middle of whatever valley we’re walking through, in the presence of whatever enemies surround us, at whatever table of abundance or scarcity we find ourselves. Right now, we dwell in the house of the Lord.

And in that house there is room to rest. There is permission to be still. There is invitation to let our souls be restored.

Now, I want to be clear about something. This is not an invitation to spiritual bypassing. This is not a call to ignore the world’s pain or to abandon the work of justice. The same Shepherd who makes us lie down in green pastures also leads us in paths of righteousness. The same God who prepares a table of abundance calls us to feed the hungry. The same Divine presence that offers us rest also sends us out as restore, transform, and heal the world.

But friends we can’t give what we do not have. We can’t restore the soul of our nation unless we are first restored. We can’t lead others to still waters if we ourselves are dying of thirst.

This is why rest isn’t selfish. This is why restoration is not abandonment. This is why drinking from still waters is not a betrayal of those who still thirst.

The Shepherd makes us lie down not to remove us from the work but to prepare us for it. The Shepherd leads us beside still waters not to isolate us from the struggle but to restore our capacity for it.

You are not responsible for saving the world. You are not called to carry every burden, fix every injustice, heal every wound. You are called to be a beloved sheep in the care of a loving Shepherd.

And when you rest in that belovedness: when you drink from those still waters, when you lie down in those green pastures, when you let your soul be restored, then and only then can you truly serve from a place of abundance rather than depletion, from a place of love rather than duty, from a place of trust rather than anxiety.

Friends, I want you to carry with you no guilt about resting when the world is burning, but permission to rest because the world is burning. Carry with you no shame about needing restoration when others are broken, but recognition that your restoration is part of the healing this world needs.

Rest in the assurance of Divine care. Drink from the well of still waters. Let your soul be restored. And from that place of restoration, step onto whatever path of righteousness God sets before you.

The Lord is your shepherd. You shall not want.

Amen.