Canter Bridge

The generative peculiarity of the twenty-third Psalm lies in its refusal to compromise the threat.

The valley of deep darkness (traditionally, ‘the valley of the shadow of death’) and the surrounding enemies remain intact. Their destructive capacity is not underestimated nor is the enemies’ sinister intention disavowed. They are simply left, in the poetics of the psalm, to be what they are.

This is without doubt a partial explanation for the psalm’s immediate and enduring appeal, for our own experience more often presents the challenge of surviving amid peril than of dramatic liberation from circumstances that are unmade before our eyes.

Yet the psalm is not timid.

The vigor that it cultivates in us is captured in one of its most exquisite declarations.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. (Psalm 23:5 NRSV)

The psalmist’s feast is counterintuitive. It manages to be solitary, imperiled, and celebratory.

There is no mention of accompanying friends and family, indeed the singularity of the psalmist’s experience is relentless even down to the detail that the table is prepared for me. It is a table laid out in the very presence of his enemies. Though not invited, neither do they stand far off. Finally, the poet sits down not to a lean picnic but to the plenty that is signified in a well-oiled face and wine that overflows.

The psalm offends all ordinary expectations, carving out for both the poet and his readers a space where danger and joy cohabitate. Threat is not dismissed but decisively relegated to the shadows so that a lonely heart can rejoice in YHWH’s care while no friend is looking.