Singing the Psalms has long been a distinguishing mark of biblical faith. It dates from the time of David, the author of half of the Psalms, about 1000 BC. One of the Psalms, number 90, goes back even further, since that one was probably written by Moses four hundred years before David. The divinely inspired collection of the 150 Psalms in the middle of our Bibles was the songbook of Israel throughout the rest of the Old Testament period, and continued into the New Testament era. As a boy and as a man, Jesus sang the Psalms. Growing up in Nazareth, He would have known them all very well, perhaps even by memory.
When we review the history of the Christian church, we find Psalms to be the heart of medieval worship in churches and monasteries as they were sung in monophonic chants (melody only, as in Gregorian plainsong). When Calvin overcame the millennia-long ban on congregational song imposed by the Roman Church in the fifth century, it was to the Psalms that he turned. He provided music and texts for all 150 Psalms for the churches in Reformation Geneva, employing the finest musician and finest poet in France to compose the 1551 Genevan Psalter. In Reformed churches on the continent, in the British Isles, and in the American colonies, believers sang the Psalms exclusively in corporate and family worship. And that is still the practice in the Covenanter denomination, the Reformed Presbyterian Church of North America (RPCNA).
The singing of the inspired Psalms was firmly established in England as a result of Henry VIII’s break with the Roman Catholic Church. His decision was a political and personal one, not based on concerns for doctrinal purity, as was the case with Luther, Zwingli, Calvin, and Knox. Henry’s marriage to Catherine of Aragon, the daughter of the King and Queen of Spain, was an arranged matter of political alliance. She gave birth to a daughter, who would become infamous as “Bloody Mary” in her persecution of Protestants. But Henry’s desire for a male heir did not appear likely, so as his lust for 21 year-old Anne Boleyn grew and the Pope refused to annul the marriage to Catherine, Henry broke from the church. That act not only created a separate church (the Church of England), but also a new liturgical pattern. Later reformation of the 1549 Book of Common Prayer by Archbishop Thomas Cranmer included the singing of Psalms, a practice which was to become part of the singing in all English speaking churches for centuries.
But how times have changed! Today in America, commonly used hymnals set the pattern for congregational singing in which there is virtually no Psalm singing at all. In fact, most evangelical hymnals include, at the most, only two Psalms, numbers 23 and 100. Among some groups, a revival of Psalm singing is underway, and will hopefully increase in the years ahead. But it’s not just a matter of recapturing our heritage. The Psalms have rightly been called “the anatomy of the soul” (that’s how Calvin described them in the preface to his commentary on the Psalms), since they give expression to every experience of the soul in this life. More than that, the Psalms taken as a whole provide us with a grand overview of the majesty of God in His many-faceted attributes of glory. Someone who knows, and sings, the Psalms will live with a greater moment by moment appreciation of and security in and awareness of the greatness of God!
In this study, we’re considering what is unquestionably the best-known Psalm, if not the best-known passage in the entire Bible: Psalm 23. And older generation of Americans remember reciting this Psalm along with the Lord’s Prayer in the opening exercises (along with the pledge of allegiance) at the beginning of school each morning. One of my special memories is the decades-long funeral tradition at the historic First Presbyterian Church (PCA) in Schenectady, NY where I was privileged to serve as senior pastor. When the funeral service concludes, the minister walks slowly in front of the casket, with family and guests following along the sidewalk out the front door of the church, through the centuries-old cemetery between trees lining the walk. As he proceeds, the bell in the steeple is slowly tolling, and the pastor recites Psalm 23.
The psalm was written by David, not the little ruby-cheeked boy with curly hair playing his lyre as he walked beside his grazing sheep. No, it was written by David the king, who had been enthroned to rule over Israel and who led the nation to its “golden age.” This David remembered lessons from his years as a shepherd. But by this time he had experienced many of the joys and challenges of a believer’s life, so that he could write exactly the sorts of things we need as we grow in trusting the Lord. He knew what it was to need soul restoration; he had walked through the valley of the shadow of death; he had faced evil and been attacked by enemies. But he also knew what it was to be secure in the Lord in all experiences; he had seen God set a table before him; and he was able to live with the confidence that he would dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Here’s what Sinclair Ferguson has written.
But David was not staking everything simply on his own experience. He is not the first person in the Bible to say, “The Lord is my shepherd.” He was simply applying to himself something he had learned from Jacob. Genesis 48:15-16 records the moving scene at the end of Jacob’s life when he blesses Joseph and his two sons:
The God before whom my fathers Abraham and Isaac walked,
the God who has been my shepherd all my life long to this day,
the angel who has redeemed me from all evil, bless the boys.Jacob had not been the easiest of sheep. Even after his encounter with the angel at Jabbok, he needed more untwisting. His sad repetition of his parents’ folly of having favorite children led to family dysfunction, jealousy, sin, and sorrow. But now he looked back with clear vision and marveled at the way the Shepherd had pursued and preserved him, hurt him only to protect him, and brought about so much good. His son Joseph had already seen that (45:5–8), and he would later confirm it: what others meant for evil, God meant for good (50:20)—the Old Testament version of Romans 8:28. What Jacob and David saw only dimly, Jesus saw clearly. The Shepherd must suffer for His sheep.
We should never read or sing the Psalm without thinking of Jesus, who said in John 10, “I am the Good Shepherd.” What must it have been like for Jesus to learn the psalm as a boy, and then as a man understand that it was written about Him, the Good Shepherd who would lay down His life for His sheep. He would take the place of His sheep and be led to the slaughter. For them He would be smitten (Isaiah 53) as He would give everything of Himself to provide everything for His sheep. It’s because He was not spared but was delivered up for us all (Romans 8:32) that we can be sure He will give us everything we need. With Him as our Shepherd, we can surely say, “I shall not want.”
There have been many metrical settings of the words of the psalm over the years, seeking to fit them into a rhythmic pattern suitable for singing. The one with which we are most familiar comes from the 1650 Scottish Psalter. It follows very closely the King James Version of the text. It is often attributed to Francis Rouse. In addition to other works, he as a versifier of the Psalms. This text was adopted by Parliament and the Church of Scotland for use in public worship and he revised it for the 1646 edition, shortly before the meeting of England’s Puritan Westminster Assembly.
According to stanza 1, the Lord is our Shepherd. As weak and foolish and vulnerable sheep, we are totally dependent on our Shepherd for nourishment and safety. The green pastures of His Word feed our souls, and the quiet waters remind us that He gives living water for the thirsty. Perhaps the best part of this first stanza comes from the opening statement. The Lord is MY Shepherd. He has claimed me and I am His precious possession.
The Lord’s my Shepherd, I’ll not want. He makes me down to lie
In pastures green; He leadeth me The quiet waters by.
According to stanza 2, He restores our souls as we return to Him. The pressures of this life are
constantly wearing us down, both from within and from without. By the end of a day of demands at work, frustrations at home, and sadness from the evening news on television, our souls are exhausted. We need the restoration only He can bring. And having restored us again and again, He leads us to walk in “paths of righteousness” “for his own names’ sake,” for His pleasure.
My soul He doth restore again; And me to walk doth make
Within the paths of righteousness, E’en for His own name’s sake.
According to stanza 3, He guides us through death’s dark vale. David had known those times, threatened by Goliath, by wild animals, by King Saul, and by rivals for the throne. But he had learned the secret of freedom from fear because of the protective presence of His Shepherd. We have no promise that the Lord will keep us from danger, but we do have His promise that He will be near us in that valley, comforting us as He protects and guides us to our final destination.
Yea, though I walk in death’s dark vale, Yet will I fear none ill;
For Thou art with me; and Thy rod And staff my comfort still.
According to stanza 4, He protects us from our enemies. It’s not just that our Shepherd protects and preserves us in those times of critical, life-threatening danger. He actually does some of His best work on our souls in the midst of those times. This almost sounds like a banquet table which He sets for us, even when bullets and missiles are flying. More than that, He anoints our head with oil, commissioning us to official service to Him, so that our blessings overflow our cups.
My table Thou hast furnished In presence of my foes;
My head Thou dost with oil anoint, And my cup overflows.
According to stanza 5, He will lead us to dwell in God’s house forevermore. This is one of the clearest statements in the Old Testament of life beyond the grave. It doesn’t end at the cemetery. We see it most clearly at Calvary, as Jesus promised the repentant, believing criminal that he would be with Him in paradise that very day! His promise to us is that “goodness and mercy” will be His gift to us all the way to the end, and then … seeing Him face to face!
Goodness and mercy all my life Shall surely follow me;
And in God’s house forevermore My dwelling place shall be.
While there have been several tunes associated with this metrical text, the best-known is named CRIMOND. It was written by Jessie Seymore Irvine (1836-1887), the daughter of a minister who served several small parishes in northeast Scotland. One of those little parishes was called Crimond. Today it has a population of about 800. While in an organ class as a teenager, she wrote out this melody as an exercise for the class. She forwarded the tune to David Grant, who harmonized it and set it to this text. It has been sung in some of the great funerals of late, including that of Lady Diana.
Miss Irvine’s tune was not, at first, associated with “The Lord’s My Shepherd.” It was just another of many melodies known and used in the late nineteenth century church. But composer and master choral conductor, Sir Hugh Roberton, brought the two together. In 1906, he took the leadership of a choir founded five years before. For nearly half a century to follow, until his retirement, he made the Glasgow Orpheus Choir the most famous singing group in the world, and one of the best. Roberton was a perfectionist, and the recordings made by the choir show it. Many directors later copied his techniques.
It was Roberton who combined the version of Psalm 23 found in the Scottish Psalter with the tune CRIMOND, and the choir sang it frequently on radio programs broadcast across Britain. But it was two particular events that sealed the fame of the pairing: the wedding of Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip, in 1947, and the Silver Anniversary celebration, a year later, of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth. The song was sung on both occasions and has been much used ever since.
Here is a link to the singing of this wonderful Psalm setting.