Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 1595
Delivered on Thursday Evening, August 12, 1880
“Yea, 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.” Psalm 23:4.
Do you know I had laid this text by? I meant that this choice promise should be kept in store and stock till I came near the Jordan and I hoped that then, in my last hours, I might be privileged to enjoy its sweetness and sing with joyful lips—
“Yea, though I walk through death’s dark vale,
Yet will I fear no ill;
For You are with me, and Your rod
And staff me comfort still.”
The other day I found that I needed to eat this heavenly loaf at once and I did so. Fathers tell their children, “You cannot have your cake and eat it, too,” but this rule does not hold good of the consolations of God. You can enjoy a promise and still have it. Yes, and all the more because your faith has fed upon its fatness. I got honey out of this verse some days ago when a tempest howled around me, but its sweetness is still there. I shall enjoy it, I doubt not, as I come near death’s gate, but I have had it already sealed to my own soul with richness and fullness of comfort by the blessed Spirit of our God. Would to God that every Believer who is burdened might find it as precious to his heart as I have found it to mine.
This verse is, no doubt, very applicable to the experience of when he comes to die but, for certain, that is not its only intent. It has an inexpressibly delightful application to the dying, but it is for the living, too! And at this time if, through any peculiar trials, your heart is cast down within you and you are walking through the death-shade, I pray you to repeat the words of the text and may the Lord help you to feel that they are true—“Yea, 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.” The words are not in the future tense and, therefore, are not reserved for a distant moment. Do not postpone to the future that which you so greatly need in the present.
Though I walk, even at this hour, through the dark valley, You, O Lord, are with me! Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. David was not dying—the Psalm is fall of happy, peaceful life. He is lying down in green pastures and following his Lord by still waters. And if a cloud has descended upon him and he feels himself like one threatened with death, he nevertheless expects goodness and mercy to follow him through all his days. The song is not to lie upon the shelf till our last day, but is to be sung upon our stringed instruments all the days of our lives! Therefore let us sing it at this hallowed hour in the courts of the Lord’s House and in the midst of them that love Him.
I. I call your attention, first, to THE PASS AND ITS TERRORS—“the valley of the shadow of death.” Get the idea of a narrow ravine, something like the Gorge of Gondo or some other stern pass upon the higher Alps where the rocks seem piled to Heaven and the sunlight is seen above as through a narrow rift. Troubles are sometimes heaped on one another, pile on pile, and the road is a dreary pass through which the pilgrim, on his journey to Heaven, has to wend his way. Set before your mind’s eye a valley shut in with stupendous rocks that seem to meet overhead, a narrowing pass, dark as midnight itself. Through this valley, or rocky ravine, the heavenly footman has to follow the path appointed for him in the eternal purpose of the Infinite mind. Through such a dreary rift many a child of God is making his way at this moment—and to him I speak.
Our first observation about it is that it is exceedingly gloomy. This is its chief characteristic. It is the valley of the shadow—the shadow of death. Death is terrible and the very shadow of it is cold and chill and freezes to the marrow. I have stood under rocks which have not merely cooled me, but have cast a horribly damp chill as though the embrace of
death had been about me and its cold within me. One hastens to escape from such a deadly shade which has tended to strike you with fever. And such, it seems to me, is the shade cast by the wings of death when the man feels that he is under such trouble that he cannot live and would not even wish to do so if he could. The joy of life has been like the sun under an eclipse and in the chill, dark, damp shade of a terrible sorrow the man has cowered down and beneath the icy touch of doubt has shivered, has felt fevered and frightened and has been as one out of his mind.
I speak to some young hearts here who, I hope, know nothing about this gloom. Do not wish to know it! Keep bright while you can. Sing while you may. Be larks and mount aloft and sing as you mount! But there are some of God’s people who are not much in the lark line—they are a great deal more like owls. They sit alone and keep silent. Or if they do open their mouths, it is to give forth a discontented hoot. Companions of dragons and very suitable companions, too, such mournful ones need all the gentle sympathy we can afford them. Even those who are bright and cheerful do, many of them, occasionally pass through the dreary glen where everything is doleful and their spirits sink below zero.