Help In Crisis—When Life Takes What Matters Excerpts

Psalm 23
The Song of a Passionate Heart
© 1994 by David Roper, Discovery House Publishers

In the middle of the meadow the path plunges down into the valley of the shadow of death. The words awaken primal memories and stir up ominous images. In all of Scripture there’s no place more familiar than this and none more evocative.

I remember the impression I had as a child when I first heard the words, the valley of the shadow of death. I conjured up a mental picture of a storm-shrouded landscape, a yawning abyss at my feet, broken crags, precipitous cliffs, and a narrow, twisting footpath along narrow ledges, leading inexorably into thickening gloom below. The picture is locked in my mind.

The phrase shadow of death is one word in Hebrew, meaning "deep darkness." It’s a dreary word, used elsewhere in the Bible to describe the impenetrable darkness before creation (Amos 5:8), the thick darkness of a mine shaft (Job 28:3), and the black hole that is the abode of the dead (Job 10:21; 38:17). It’s a word associated with anxiety and unfocused dread.

In The Pilgrim’s Progress John Bunyan captures something of the terror of the place when he describes it as "dark as pitch," inhabited by "hobgoblins, satyrs, dragons of the pit and fiends." A way "set full of pits, pitfalls, deep holes and shelvings." In the midst of the valley was "the mouth of hell."

As Bunyan’s pilgrim and his companion ventured into the valley they saw that "there was on the right hand a very deep ditch. . . . Again, behold on the left hand, there was a very dangerous quag, into which, if even a good man falls, he can find no bottom for his foot to stand on. Into that quag King David did fall, and had no doubt therein been smothered, had not He that is able, plucked him out."

The valley of the shadow of death is usually associated with the end of life, but Bunyan places it in the middle, where it rightly belongs. In fact there is not one valley; there are many, falling between the pastures where we find intermittent rest. There’s no way around them. "We must go through many hardships to enter the kingdom of God," Paul insists (Acts 14:22). The desolate places are an inevitable and necessary part of the journey.

The valleys bring to mind the day an employer said "clean out your desk"; when a doctor said "your baby will never be normal"; when you found the stash in your son’s closet; when your teenage daughter told you she was pregnant; when the doctor said you had cancer; when your spouse said he or she had no energy left to put into the relationship.

Those are the dark days when we lose all perspective, when we say in despair, "It’s no use; I can’t go on."

The valleys are emblematic of periods of prolonged failure when we’re shamed and broken by the full weight of the darkness within us; when we experience the isolation of despair, the exhausted aftermath of self-gratification and spent vice; when we feel unalterably defiled and wonder if we will ever regain our sense of worth.

The valleys symbolize those dreary days of deep loneliness when we say with David, "No one is concerned for me. I have no refuge; no one cares for my life" (Psalm 142:4); when no one seeks us; no one asks about us; there are no cards or letters; the phone doesn’t ring; no one seems to care. Even God seems aloof and remote; there’s an unaccountable chill in the air. We cry out with David, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer" (Psalm 22:1–2).

I used to think that life was mostly green pasture with an occasional dark valley along the way, but now I realize it’s the other way around. There are days of surprising joy, but much of life is a vale of tears.

Life is difficult. "The world is painful in any case; but it is quite unbearable if anybody gives us the idea that we are meant to be liking it," Charles Williams said.

When people tell me that life is hard, I reply, "Of course it is." I find that answer more satisfying than anything else I can say. Every year confirms my belief that life is indeed difficult and demanding. Any other view of life is escapist.

The path by which God takes us often seems to lead away from our good, causing us to believe we’ve missed a turn and taken the wrong road. That’s because most of us have been taught to believe that if we’re on the right track God’s goodness will always translate into earthly good: that He’ll heal, deliver, and exempt us from disease and pain; that we’ll have money in the bank, kids who turn out well, nice clothes, a comfortable living, and a leisurely retirement. In that version of life everyone turns out to be a winner, nobody loses a business, fails in marriage, or lives in poverty.

But that’s a pipe dream far removed from the biblical perspective that God’s love often leads us down roads where earthly comforts fail us so He can give us eternal consolation (2 Thessalonians 2:16). "Suffering ripens our souls," said Alexander Solzhenitsyn.
God doesn’t cushion the journey; He lets life jolt us. We should keep that idea in mind when the way seems difficult and long. As F. B. Meyer said, if we’ve been told that we’re supposed to be on a bumpy track, every jolt along the way simply confirms the fact that we’re still on the right road.

When we come to the end of all valleys we’ll understand that every path has been selected, out of all possible options, for our ultimate good. God, in fact, could not have taken us by any other way. No other route would have been as safe and as certain as the one by which we came. And if only we could see the path as God has always seen it, we would select it as well.

He chose this path for me,
Though well he knew that thorns would pierce my feet,
Knew how the brambles would obstruct the way,
Knew all the hidden dangers I would meet,
Knew how my faith would falter day by day;
And still my whisper echoes, "Yes I see
This path is best for me."

He chose this path for me;
Why need I more: this better truth to know,
That all along these strange bewildering ways,
O’er rocky steeps where dark rivers flow,
His mighty arm will bear me all my days
A few steps more, and I shall see
This path is best for me.
—J. R. Miller

When Bunyan’s pilgrim plunged into the valley he heard the voice of a man going before him, saying, "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me." He gathered that others were in the valley as well, and that God was with them. "Why not with me?" he gathered, "though by reason of the impediment that attends this place, I cannot perceive it."

That was David’s conclusion: "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." His Shepherd was by his side, armed to the teeth, warding off his enemies and keeping him from wandering off the trail. God was with him in the midst of his fears.

The grammar of this poem shifts significantly at this point. David moves from speaking of God in the third person, he, to the second person, you. He had been speaking about God; in the valley he turns and speaks to Him. That’s a small detail in the text, but it makes a big difference to our hearts to know that God is with us in the valley. His presence was David’s comfort.

What God said to Moses is true for all times: "My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest" (Exodus 33:14). He said to Jacob: "I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go" (Genesis 28:15). He said to Joshua: "As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you" (Joshua 1:5). He said to Israel: "Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. . . . When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze" (Isaiah 41:10; 43:2). He says to us: "Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age" (Matthew 28:20).

God is with us, walking everywhere incognito, as C. S. Lewis said. "And the incognito is not always hard to penetrate. The real labor is to remember, to attend. In fact, to come awake. Still more, to remain awake." The main thing to remember is to make ourselves think about His presence; to acknowledge that He is with us, as real as He was in the days of His flesh when He walked with His disciples amid the sorrows and haunts of this world.

Friends fail us, spouses walk out on us, parents disappoint us, therapists refuse to return our calls, but God is with us every moment of every day. When we ford the deep waters, when we pass through the fire, when we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, He is there.

Difficulty and drudgery make us think of ourselves as being all alone, but He has said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." Of Him alone it can be said, He will never say good-bye.

"God becomes a reality," Richard Foster says, "when he becomes a necessity." The dark valleys make God more real to us than ever before. How many times have I heard from those who have endured intense suffering that the experience of their pain has cured them of the idolatries that once robbed them of joy. The father who abandons us, the spouse who leaves us, the financial catastrophe that ruins us, the rude interruption of our plans, the revelation of a horrifying illness, the painful, prolonged delay—all escalate our love for God. All are His ways of prying our fingers from things that are false and that will not satisfy. They pull us away from lesser loves and enlarge our intimacy with our Shepherd, which is what brings us peace and unimaginable joy.

"One sees the truth more clearly when one is unhappy," wrote Fyodor Dostoevsky from Siberia. Then he continued:

We’re inclined to fix on the valley and its pain, but God chooses to look forward and anticipate its effect. He deals with our divided hearts through disappointment, grief, and tears, weaning us from other loves and passions and centering us on Him. We learn to trust Him in the darkness; when all that is left is the sound of His voice and the knowledge that He is near; when all we can do is slip our hand into His and feel "the familiar clasp of things divine." These are times that wean us away from sensuality—that tendency to live by feelings rather than by faith in God’s unseen presence. We become independent of places and moods and content with God alone.

The dark days cause us to enter into a very special relationship with our Lord. As Job said, "My ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you" (Job 42:5). There are glimpses of God that can only be revealed when earthly joy has ceased.

The most perfect human love cannot satisfy us. That’s because our human hearts crave for a relationship deeper and more lasting than anything possible in this world. We were made for God’s love and without it we sink into loneliness. The darkness, the breakdown of human ties, the limitations and losses of human affection lead to that higher friendship, that larger, more permanent love.

David himself understood the adversity that draws us to God’s heart. Subjected to neglect by his mother and father and demeaned by the rest of his family, he was deeply scarred. His family would have ruined him if he had not fled to his heavenly Father for refuge. Out of his loneliness and heartache David wrote, "Though my father and mother have forsaken me, the Lord has taken me in" (Psalm 27:10).

David was hammered and hurt throughout his entire life, every blow converting him, exposing his ambivalence, until he would finally cry, "Surely, I was sinful at birth, sinful from the time my mother conceived me. . . . Create in me a pure [undivided] heart" (Psalm 51:5, 10).

God’s work is never done: "Thus always—the rod, the stripes, the chastisements; but amid all, the love of God, carrying out his redemptive purpose, never hasting, never resting, never forgetting, but making all things work together until the evil is eliminated and the soul is purified" (F. B. Meyer).

Then David cried out, "My soul finds rest in God alone . . ." (Psalm 62:1). It was through darkness, suffering, and pain that all David’s passions were integrated into one.

And so, all of life is consummated in loving God. That’s what we were made for; that’s where ultimate satisfaction lies. If that’s true, and I firmly believe it is, then although it is often hard to do, we should welcome any valley that leads us to Him.

One thing more: No valley goes on forever. We walk through the valley of the shadow of death. God knows what we can endure. He will not let us be tempted or tested beyond what we can bear (1 Corinthians 10:13). The deliverance we seek may be subject to delay, but we must never doubt that our day will come. "Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning" (Psalm 30:5). Sorrow has its time to be, but God will mitigate the tears when their work is done. Those who mourn will be comforted. There will be an end.