The comfort of the good shepherd’s presence is all the more wonderful when we take seriously the reality of the darkness and the presence of evil. It is very important to be clear that David is not saying that the presence of the shepherd removes evil or eradicates darkness, as if being able to say “you are with me” means that the room is now somehow filled with light and happiness. No, the point is that because “you are with me,” I will not fear the very real darkness and the very real evil I am facing.

Where He Is

My family and I regularly fend off grizzly bears.

In our imaginations, that is.

We recently became engrossed in the hit TV series Alone. Let me recommend it, if you haven’t seen any of this extraordinary experiment in human endurance. The show involves individuals being dropped into a remote location simultaneously but separated from each other, and all given the task of surviving in the wilderness for as long as they can, completely alone. Each one receives a camera on which to record daily life. The environment might be stunningly beautiful, but it is also incredibly unforgiving, with grizzly bears, mountain lions, poisonous plants, and freezing weather the only companions. The person who survives alone for the longest time wins a large cash prize. Of course, you can guess what happens: one by one, in different ways, the competitors succumb to the elements, and the experience becomes too much, the dangerous adventure ends, and they radio in to say they cannot carry on. They are soon rescued and taken home to safety.

Part of my family’s enjoyment in watching is our poking fun at one another about who among us would be the least likely to win, for all sorts of reasons. Some of us are scared of flies, for instance, never mind giant bears; some of us are possessed of a sheer inability to not be talking all the time to someone else, unless asleep (and even then we’re not always sure the talking stops). We each think we would be the last one standing, and everyone else thinks we wouldn’t last one night.

You need to know, however, that the folks taking part in the TV show are first-rate survival experts. I get fed up if I get cold and hungry on a long walk in the park, but the Alone participants are not like me. These are people who know how to hunt, trap, kill, start fires, build shelters, insulate against wind and water and ice and snow, and survive against all the odds. And yet—and here is what makes the show so compelling—one by one, slowly, they all begin to unravel because of the sheer brutal effect of being in a dangerous place entirely alone. Some begin to revisit past griefs and talk to the camera about unresolved relational wounds; some even begin to look less and less human as self-care becomes almost impossible and they struggle to find food; all begin to talk openly about their loved ones at home. In the comfort of our living rooms, with our nearest and dearest, we get to observe the chasm that opens up in the human soul as a person grapples with the pitiless existence of being completely and utterly on his or her own.

The show immerses us firsthand in the fact that to be alone—really, truly alone—is one of the greatest hardships a human being can ever bear. A long-running study in loneliness conducted by Harvard University recently concluded that “loneliness kills. It’s as powerful as smoking or alcoholism.”¹

This is why the confession of faith that comes in this middle section of Psalm 23 is so beautiful:

I will fear no evil,
for you are with me.
(Ps. 23:4)

David expands on some concrete elements of the shepherd’s presence that put strength into his heart (the rod and the staff in the shepherd’s hands), and these too are part of why he is unafraid. But for now, just linger with me in the riches of the simple fact of the shepherd’s presence.

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