Reading: 2-5 Spurgeon Speaks of "The Dark Valley" in Psalm 23

Sermon #1595

Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit 1 Volume 27

www.spurgeongems.org

1 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH

NO. 1595 DELIVERED ON THURSDAY EVENING, AUGUST 12, 1880, BY C. H. SPURGEON, AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.

 "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 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.

I know what wise Brethren say, "You should not give way to feelings of depression.” Quite right--we should no more. But we do. And perhaps when your brain is as weary as ours, you will not bear yourselves more bravely than we do. "But desponding people are very much to be blamed.” I know they are, but they are also very much to be pitied and, perhaps, if those who blame quite so furiously could once know what depression is, they would think it cruel to scatter blame where comfort is needed. There are experiences of the children of God which are full of spiritual darkness and I am almost persuaded that those of God's servants who have been most highly favored have, nevertheless, suffered more times of darkness than others.

The Covenant is never known to Abraham so well as when a horror of great darkness comes over him and then he sees the shining lamp moving between the pieces of the sacrifice. A greater than Abraham was early led of the Spirit into the wilderness and yet, before He closed His life, He was sorrowful and very heavy in the Garden. In this heaviness, for which there is a necessity, Believers have a black foil which sets out the brightness of eternal love and faithfulness. Blessed be God for mountains of joy and valleys of peace and gardens of delight! But there is a Valley of Death-Shade and most of us have traversed its tremendous glooms.

Moreover, there are parts of human life which are dangerous as well as gloomy. In journeying through the passes of the East, an escort is usually needed, for robbers lurk among the rocks and shoot down upon the traveler, or block up his way with sword and spear. The name of the Khyber Pass is still terrible in our memories and there are Khybers in most men's lives. There are points in human history that are specially dangerous. Oh, you that are beginners, I do not wish to frighten you! I do not want to tell you that the ways of wisdom are terrible, for they are not! No, "Her ways are ways of pleasantness and all her paths are peace.” But, for all that, there are enemies on the road to Heaven and there are, "Cutthroat Lanes” where, when the enemy finds your spirits cast down, he pounces upon you unawares with temptation-- and before you know it you may be wounded and sorely grieved.

 There are spots in the Valley of Death-Shade where every bush conceals an adversary; where temptations spring out of the very ground like the fiery serpents from among the desert sand; where the soul is among lions, even among them that are set on the fire of Hell! If you have not yet come to that part of your pilgrimage, I am glad of it and I hope that you may be spared it, in answer to that needful prayer, "Lead us not into temptation.” But if you are called to walk through this dangerous ravine, what will you do? Why, say this--"Yea, though I walk through that dangerous pass of which I have heard, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.”

Remember that a Christian man is never so much in danger from abundance of temptation as from the carnal security of his own heart. We are often most in jeopardy when we are not tempted--and the worst devil in the world may be no devil at all. "Deliver me,” said a man of great experience, "from a sleeping devil, for if he roars at me, he keeps me awake. But when he leaves me alone, then my heart presumes that all is safe and I am betrayed.” You young people, or old people, too, who are placed, in the course of Providence, in positions of great trial and temptation need not wish for an easier pathway, for it may be that you are safer now, being on your guard, than those who are not fiercely tried, but sit at ease and are in great peril from sloth and spiritual indifference. Better consume with fire than perish of dry rot!

The cold mountains of trial are far safer than the sultry plains of pleasure. I am not, therefore, alarmed at manifest danger--neither would I have you greatly dismayed because there is a gloomy gorge between you and Heaven. One of the chief reasons of the gloom is the fact that this terrible pass is shrouded in mystery. You do not know what the sorrow is.  The shadow--the shadow of death--what does it mean? You cannot discern the form which broods over you. You cannot grasp the foe. It is of no use drawing a sword against a shadow! Bunyan represents the pilgrim as putting up his sword when he came into the Valley of the Shadow of Death. He had fought Apollyon with it, but when he came into the midnight of that horrible valley, it was of no use to him. Everything was so veiled, magnified and blackened in the dark.

Hob-goblin as he called them, hovered around--strange shapes and singular forms of doubts which he could not meet with reasoning or overcome with argument. A man can pluck up courage against a thing he knows, but an evil which he does not know unmans him! He does not know what the trial is and yet a strange, joy-killing feeling is upon him. He cannot see the extent of his loss in business, but he fears that his all will go--he does not know the end of his child's illness, but death appears to be threatening. All is suspense and surmise and the evil of evils is uncertainty.

That which frightened Belshazzar when the handwriting was on the wall was, no doubt, that he could see the hand, but he could not see the arm and the body to which the hand belonged. It seemed so singular to see the mystic handwriting in letters of lightning and no more! So, sometimes, it seems to us as if we could not make out our condition--could not understand God's dealings with us. We have seemed to be at cross-purposes with Providence. We have come to a place where two seas meet and we cannot understand the current. Our temptation has been comparable to a cyclone and we do not know which way the hurricane is sweeping--we are in the power of a whirlwind, jerked to and fro.

Such things happen to God's people now and then. And what are they to do when they get into these perplexities, these mysterious troubles that they cannot at all describe? They must do--and God help them to do--as this blessed man did, who in the peace and confidence of faith went on his way singing--Yea, though I walk through the valley shaded by the mysterious wings of death and though I know nothing of my way and cannot understand it, yet will I fear no evil, for You are with me. You know the way that I take. There are no mysteries with my God. You have the thread of this labyrinth and You will surely lead me through. Why, therefore, should I fear? Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me!

Gloom, danger, mystery--these three all vanish when faith lights up her heavenly lamp, trimmed with the golden oil of the promise. Nor is this all. The idea of solitude is in the text. The path is lonely and the pilgrim sings, "Yea, though I walk”--as if he walked alone, no one sharing his shadowed pathway! Solitude is a very great trial to some spirits and some of us know a great deal of what it means, for we dwell alone, in a spiritual sense. But you will say, "Do you not mingle with crowds?” Yes, and there is no solitude like it. When your office and position set you as on a mountain all alone, you will know what I mean. For the sheep, there are many companions, but for the shepherd few.

Those who watch for souls come into positions in which they are divided from all human help. Nobody knows your cares or can guess the burden of your soul. And those who try to sympathize with you fail in the generous attempt. Some of you, perhaps, are in a position in which you complain, "Nobody was ever tried as I am. I feel as if God had set me as a mark for His arrows.” Or possibly you murmur, "There may be many more afflicted than I, but none in my peculiar way. I suffer a singularity of trial.” Just so and that is an essential part of the bitterness of your cup--that you should lament that you are alone. But will you not say, with your Divine Master, "You shall leave me alone and yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me”?

Now is the time for faith. When you trust God and a friend, there is a question whether it is God you trust or the friend. But when the friend has left you and only God is near, no question remains. If you and I are walking together and a dog follows us, who knows which is the dog's master? But when you go off to the left and I turn to the right, all men will see which one of us owns the dog by seeing which he follows! If you can trust God alone, then you are really trusting Him! And if, when creature streams run dry, you can stoop down to the Creator's overflowing well and drink there, then you are a Believer and there is no mistake about it.

 It is profitable to be driven into loneliness that we may prove whether we are solely trusting in God or not. It is a bad thing to be standing with one foot on the sea and the other on the land. An angel stood in that fashion and it suits angels--but it is not a safe posture for such burdened beings as men and women! We must get both feet on the Rock of Ages, or the foot which stands upon the sea of changeful self will be our downfall. My Soul, wait only upon God! When Faith's only foundation is the power and faithfulness of the Lord, she learns to glory in the absence of all visible help and sings with joyful heart--"Yea, though I walk through death's dark valley, unattended by human companion, I will fear no evil, for my God is near!”

 Let me remark, further, that though this valley is thus gloomy, dangerous, mysterious and solitary, yet it is often traversed. Many more go by this road than some people dream. Among those who wear a cheerful countenance in public there are many who are well acquainted with this dreary valley--they have passed through it often--and may be in it now. When I wear the sackcloth of sorrow, I try to bind it about my loins under my outer garments and not where all shall see it, for has not the Master said, "You, when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that you appear not unto men to fast”? Why should we cast others down? There is enough sorrow in the world without our spreading the infection by publishing our troubles.

Storybooks are sent me to review and when I perceive that they contain harrowing tales of poverty, I make short work of them. I see quite enough of sorrow in real life--I do not need fiction to fret my heart. If men and women must write works of fiction, they might as well write cheerfully and not break people's hearts over mere fabrications. If I must weep, let it be over an actual grief and not over a painted affliction. But so it is--some like to tell the story of their sorrows and care little what may be the influence upon others--they might have a little more consideration for their fellow man. If my own heart is bleeding, why should I wound others? Sometimes it is brave to be speechless, even as the singer puts it--

"Bear and forbear, and silent be. Tell no man your misery.”

It is surely true that a great number of God's best servants have trod the deeps of the Valley of the Shadow and this ought to comfort some of you. The footsteps of the holy are in the Valley of Weeping. Saints have marched through the Via Dolorosa--do you not see their footprints? Above all others, mark one footstep! Do you not see it? Stoop down and fix your gaze upon it! Go on your knees and view it! If you watch it well, you will observe the print of a nail. As surely as this Word of God is true, your Lord has felt the chill of the death-shade. There is no gloom of spirit, apart from the sin of it, into which Jesus has not fallen! There is no trouble of soul, or turmoil of heart which is free from sin, which the Lord has not known. He says, "Reproach has broken My heart and I am full of heaviness.”

The footprint of the Lord of Life is set in the rock forever, even in the Valley of the Shadow of Death! Shall we not cheerfully advance to the Cross and death of Jerusalem when Jesus goes before us? I shall close my remarks upon this Via Mala of terrors by showing that dark and gloomy as it is, it is not an unhallowed pathway. No sin is necessarily connected with sorrow of heart, for Jesus Christ our Lord once said, "My soul is exceedingly sorrowful even unto death.” There was no sin in Him and, consequently, none in His deep depression! We have never known a joy or a sorrow altogether untainted with evil, but in grief, itself, there is no necessary cause of sin. A man may be as happy as all the birds in the air and there may be no sin in his happiness. And a man may be exceedingly heavy and yet there may be no sin in the heaviness. I do not say that there is not sin in all our feelings, but still, the feelings in themselves need not be sinful.

 I would, therefore, try to cheer any Brothers and Sisters who are sad, for their sadness is not necessarily blameworthy. If their downcast spirit arises from unbelief, let them flog themselves and cry to God to be delivered from it. But if the soul is sighing, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him,” its being slain is not a fault. If the man cries, "My God, my soul is cast down within me; therefore will I remember You,” his soul's being cast down within him is no sin. "If need be,” says the Apostle, "you are in heaviness through manifold temptations.” Not only, "If need be you are in the temptations,” but, "you are in heaviness through them.” There is a necessity for the heartbreak, for it is in the heaviness of the spirit that the essence of the trial is found.

Does not Solomon say, "The blueness of a wound cleans away evil”? If the blow is not such as to leave its bruise, there has been no chastening that will do us good. Heaviness of spirit is not, therefore, on every occasion, a matter for which we need condemn ourselves though it will be well, always, to turn a severe side to one's self. However we may censure ourselves for heart sorrow, we must be careful not to condemn others--for the way of sorrow is not the way of sin, but a hallowed road sanctified by the praying of myriads of pilgrims now with God--pilgrims who, passing through the valley of Baca made it a well, the rain also filled the pools. Of such it is written, "they go from strength to strength; every one of them in Zion appears before God.”

 Thus much upon the dark and dangerous Valley of the Shadow.