Today is the summer solstice — the longest day of the year in the northern hemisphere. That means a lot of sun, and in Texas that means a lot of heat. While July and August are typically hotter, a lot of that has to do with the cumulative effect of buildings and the earth not being able to release as much heat during the night as the absorb during the day. And the summer solstice is usually what kicks that into overdrive.
Every driver in Texas knows that the prime parking spots are not the ones that are closest to the entrance of a given establishment – the most coveted ones are those that are in the shade. Why? Because it only takes a few minutes of exposure to the Texas sun without the air conditioning running to turn a car or truck into a roasting oven.
Every summer warnings abound about the dangers of leaving pets or small children in a parked vehicle for even just 10 minutes, whether windows are cracked for ventilation or not. Shade is at such a premium that people who live in apartments and condominiums will pay significant amounts of money for the right to park in covered spaces that do little to protect from any of the elements except direct sunlight. Even when there’s no wind and the air temperatures are at stifling triple-digit numbers, any kind of shadow can offer relief, and is worth going out of one’s way to secure.
The prime parking spots are the ones that are in the shade.
As a result, one would think that we would have a higher opinion of shadows; and yet the most well-known reference to shadows in the Bible, Psalm 23:4, seems to cast our understanding and appreciation of shadows in a different light, if you’ll pardon the pun. In fact, I would argue that the phrase, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death” is the reason Psalm 23 is as well-known and oft recited as it is. Those words have been invoked in and at so many deathbeds, fox holes, funerals, and all other kinds of life-threatening situations in the roughly 3000 years since it was first penned that believers and unbelievers alike have come to associate Psalm 23:4, and the shadow it talks about, with fear, evil, and death.
An example of this is a fairly well-known episode from the life of Dr. Donald Grey Barnhouse, a pastor, author, and radio preacher who lived in the first half of the twentieth century. Dr. Barnhouse’s first wife died at an early age from cancer, leaving him with four children, including two young daughters. The story goes that, while driving to his wife’s funeral, Dr. Barnhouse was struggling with how to explain their mother’s death to his girls. While stopped at a light, a big truck pulled up beside them, completely engulfing their car in its shadow. Suddenly inspired, he asked his girls if they would be more afraid of being hit by the truck or its shadow. One of them responded, “That’s a silly question, Daddy. The shadow can’t hurt you.” Quoting Psalm 23:4, Barnhouse explained to them that Jesus took the blow from the truck (death) so that they and their mother might only have to face its shadow.
The mental imagery we usually concoct in our minds when reading Psalm 23 is consistent with Dr. Barnhouse’s illustration. We know that shadows do not exist on their own – they are cast by something – and from the phrasing of verse 4 it appears that the thing casting its shadow in that context is death. Most of us fear death, and even those who don’t still don’t like it very much, so the thought of being enveloped in its shadow sends chills down our spines – and not the kind one hopes to feel when seeking relief from the Texas sun. As a result, we tend to view shadows negatively, as things to avoid, and when we find ourselves in the shadows we become frightened, confused, and worried because death is hanging over our head and evil may be lurking in places we can’t see.
But is that really the truth about shadows? In what ways do the Scriptures use the term “shadow”, and is it something we should fear? Was Dr. Barnhouse’s illustration to his daughters accurate, or should we understand Psalm 23:4 differently?
There are two Hebrew words that are translated by using the English word “shadow.” The first is tsel, the noun form of a verb meaning “to be or grow dark”. It is conceptually identical to our common understanding of a shadow and on occassion is also translated “shade”. In the Scriptures, tsel can be used literally, such as in 2 Kings 20 when King Hezekiah asks for the shadow on his stairs be moved backwards as a sign from God, but it can also be used metaphorically, as in Isaiah 30:2 where Israel is rebuked for seeking “shelter in the shadow of Egypt.” Not surprisingly, the most common use of tsel in the Scriptures is metaphorical.
The other word is tselmaveth, a compound of tsel and a root meaning “death”. This is the term we find in Psalm 23. The translation “shadow of death” is not a bad one, but it unfortunately causes us to view “shadow” as being dependent on “death”, as Dr. Barnhouse did in his illustration. Grammatically, however, in this construct, “death” is a modifier of “shadow”, meaning that it is more accurate to understand tselmaveth as a “death-like shadow”. In fact, of the 20 times it occurs in the Old Testament, it is translated 9 times in the New American Standard Bible as “deep darkness” and once as “black gloom”. In the other 10 instances in which “shadow of death” is used, “deep darkness” could easily be substituted without changing the meaning of the verse, including in Psalm 23:4. The important thing to understand is that the emphasis of tselmaveth is not the object casting the shadow but rather the intensity of the hue of the shadow.
Transferring the emphasis of tselmaveth away from the object casting the shadow to its degree of darkness does not take away from the weight of this word. Death-like darkness is very dark indeed. Half of the instances of tselmaveth occur in the book of Job, which should not come as a shock because, for most of that story, Job is in a very dark place. It also does not deny the presence of evil in dark places or minimize that danger. Jesus himself told us that “men love darkness rather than light because their deeds are evil.” Nevertheless, I do think that understanding tselmaveth as the shadow cast by death, particularly in Psalm 23, is a distortion of the truth because of what the Bible teaches us about tsel.
The Hebrew word for “shadow” exclusively denotes a positive symbol of protection, safety, and relief.
The word tsel appears more than twice the number of times as tselmaveth in the Old Testament. When used in its metaphorical sense, it exclusively denotes a positive symbol of protection, safety, and relief. Most of the time it specifically refers to the protection of God, and in the rest the protection provided by lesser powers. Unlike tselmaveth, which focuses on the intensity of the shadow, tsel emphasizes the object casting the shadow. A few examples are: “Hide me in the shadow of Your wings” (Psalm 17:8); “The Lord is your shade on your right hand” (Psalm 121:5); and “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty” (Psalm 90:1). In my opinion, that last one best illustrates what the primary interpretation of tsel should be: shadow equals shelter, and the quality of the shelter is dependent on who or what is casting the shadow.
There are also instances in which the specific term “shadow” is not used, but the concept is implied. Theologians and artists alike have attempted to imagine what the pillar of cloud that led the children of Israel through the wilderness looked like. Although we don’t have a lot of details, we do know that it was no small fluffy cumulus cotton ball. It was large and imposing enough to keep an extremely angry Pharoah and his army at bay all night while the Israelites crossed the Red Sea. A friend of mine who served in the military in the Middle East tells stories of the desert sand becoming so intensely hot that the soles of his soldiers’ boots would literally melt off their feet. There is no way that even the most robust men, not to mention the young, the elderly, and all their livestock, would be able to endure 40 years in that kind of desert heat without shade – which I believe the pillar of cloud provided them.
Another example is when Moses asked to see God’s glory, and God hid him in a cleft of Mt. Sinai and covered him with His hand to protect him. You may have never thought of that hand casting a shadow, but it did.
Perhaps the last place we would expect to find shadows, if they are symbols of evil and death, is in the Garden of Eden, but they are there, too. We’re told that, before the fall, God came to walk with Adam in the cool of the evening, which is that time of day when the sun is starting to set but hasn’t yet. The cool of the day is created by changing the angle at which the sun’s rays hit the earth. In the middle of the day, the angle is more perpendicular, but as the day wanes, its rays hit less directly and intensely, and the shadows they cast are lengthened so they cover more area. Shadows were a part of God’s creative design as a by-product of how He created light and darkness to work – part of what He declared to be very good – so it is incorrect to view shadows as the exclusive domain of evil and assume that the darkest ones can only be cast by death.
Now, there are clearly instances where tselmaveth refers to the intense darkness brought about by the presence of sin and evil. A notable example is Isaiah 9:2 where it is prophesied that “the people who walk in darkness will see a great light; those who live in a dark land (tselmaveth) the light will shine on them.” This passage is quoted by Zacharias in Luke 1:79 and by Jesus Himself in Matthew 4:16. In both instances it is translated in Greek as “shadow of death”, and in all three passages it is clearly a description of spiritual darkness. However, it is clear from the context of Isaiah 8 that the source of that darkness was not caused by death looming over their heads, but instead came from their rejection of God and turning to spiritists and mediums for guidance (Isaiah 8:19-22). In fact, the prophet declares that ““It is the LORD of hosts whom you should regard as holy. And He shall be your fear, And He shall be your dread” (Isaiah 8:13). It is not death or the shadow it casts that should create fear — it’s the realization that we don’t measure up to the holiness of God that should prompt fear.
So what is David really saying in Psalm 23? Sure, “Yea though I walk through the valley of spiritual darkness” could be a valid idea, but that doesn’t seem to jive with the rest of the passage, where he has already talked about the Lord making him lie down in green pastures and still waters. It seems inconsistent to me for him to then jump to finding himself in a place of spiritual darkness characterized by the rejection of God. If I’m in the kind of spiritual darkness like the one described in Isaiah 8 and 9, shouldn’t there be reason to fear evil?
I just have a hard time reconciling the idea of David picturing death as this Goliath-like monster who casts this spine-chilling shadow around him with the rest of the psalm. His tone does not convey that this is a place he needs to leave, but one into which he wants to lean more. “Your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” Is that not the language of shade, shelter, and protection? “Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.” Is that not the opposite of what you would expect to follow you in a shadow cast by death? “I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Doesn’t that sound more like Psalm 90:1 than Isaiah 9:2? Of course, David may have simply meant to acknowledge our tendancy when we find ourselves in a dark shadow to expect that evil is lingering there. In that case, however, I would still argue that his focus was not on the thing casting the shadow, but the intenisity of the hue of the shadow itself.
What if the deep darkness you’re experiencing is being cast by the wings of the Father?
Just think for a moment. What if the deep darkness you’re experiencing is being cast by the wings of the Father? What if the intensity of the heat to which you would otherwise be exposed is so great that to protect you He must gather you so closely to Himself that He creates tselmaveth – a shadow with a darkness so deep that it quantitatively looks like death but qualitatively grants life; a darkness where there is no evil because He is there, with His rod and staff to protect, with His table to nourish and strengthen, with His oil to comfort and heal, with His goodness and mercy to surround you like a fortress?
Is that not what a mother does when her child is afraid of a storm or is awakened by a bad dream? How deep is the darkness from the child’s perspective when his face is buried in her bosom, seeking to be engulfed in her embrace? That darkness may even be darker in hue than the shadow cast by the storm clouds, but have you ever tried to peel a child away from his mother in that scenario?
So how do you walk in the valley of the shadow of deep darkness? For me it starts with remembering who is casting the shadow in the first place, which is why I think he distinction between tsel and tselmaveth is so important. Jesus said, “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; and I give eternal life to them, and they will never perish; and no one will snatch them out of My hand. My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand.” (John 10:27-29). You are held snugly in the Son’s hand, which is then engulfed in the Father’s hand. Hand over hand – that creates quite a shadow, don’t you think? But with His hands around you, His presence with you, and His Spirit inside you, could you possibly imagine a place more secure than that? At that point, who cares how deep the darkness is?
From there you walk by faith. Regardless of what is casting the shadow, it’s always hard to see in the dark, and in deep darkness seeing can be nearly impossible. Walking by faith is always preferred over walking by sight, but when we insist on doing the latter, God may plunge us into deep darkness so that we have no choice but to stop trying to find our way on our own. A good friend recently reminded me of a quote by C. H. Spurgeon: “God is too good to be unkind and He is too wise to be mistaken. And when we cannot trace His hand, we must trust His heart.” Bury your face in the deep darkness of the bosom of the Father until you can hear His heart, then trust it and obey Him.
I think Josh Wilson captures the true essence of Psalm 23 and shadows in his song, The Things that I’m Afraid Of. Here are the lyrics to the chorus:
I walked through the valley of shadows
And it scared me half to death;
But You’re with me everywhere I go
So I won’t give up yet.
My fears would surely kill me
If I didn’t know the truth:
The things that I’m afraid of
Are afraid of You.
Of course there will be times when you must face the darkness of evil, but what Psalms 23 and 90 tell me is that even in those cases the greatness of the shadow of the wings of God envelopes any shadow that could ever be cast by any giant, demon, or death itself. Just as Legion begged the Lord Jesus to be cast out of the man and into the herd of swine, the things that terrorize us are mortally horrified of our God.
With that in mind, read Psalm 23 again, and tell me if you don’t come away with a different perspective on walking in the valley of the shadow of death.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul;
He guides me in the paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of death-like shadow,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
