Today you get the psalm most often whispered in hospital rooms and read over gravesides, six verses that have carried more people through more valleys than any other poem: the LORD is my shepherd.

Around it, God stacks a cascade of I-will promises over enslaved Israel, and Jesus teaches forgiveness that loses count. Green pastures come with a strong Shepherd. Walk in.

Israel could not hear the I-wills; discouragement and harsh labor had closed their ears. God kept the promises anyway. That is worth underlining in a season when your own capacity to believe feels thin: the covenant did not run on Israel's morale. It ran on the character of the One saying I will.

Psalm 23 is what those promises feel like from inside a life: led, restored, accompanied through the valley, seated at a table your enemies can see. And forgiven, millions forgiven, which is why the choking servant is such a scandal. Let the Shepherd's care in, then pass a fraction of it along to whoever owes you.