Am I just another sheep to God or something more?
We've been spending time with Psalm 23 over the last few weeks—that familiar passage that starts with "The LORD is my shepherd." It's a psalm many of us have heard at funerals or during difficult times, but there's so much more to it than comfort in crisis.
As we've walked through this ancient poem, a beautiful picture has developed—not of a distant God sitting on a throne issuing orders and laying heavy burdens on us, but of a leader who cares intimately and deeply for those he leads. Yes, he's a master. Yes, he's wise and weathered and strong. But he's someone who personally cares for the welfare of his sheep.
We've seen how he provides green pastures and still waters. How he leads us on right paths even when those paths go through dangerous valleys. How he's always equipped with his rod and staff to protect us.
But then something shifts in verse 5, and it's a shift we need to pay attention to.
From field to table
"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil. My cup overflows" (Psalm 23:5).
Wait—what just happened? We were talking about shepherds and sheep and green pastures. Now suddenly we're talking about tables and oil and overflowing cups?
Have we completely changed topics? Are we looking at a different metaphor now?
Here's what's happening: The shepherd hasn't changed. But who he's interacting with has changed.
Think about it this way. You carry yourself differently at work than you do at home, right? There's nothing wrong with that as long as your character stays consistent. A shepherd working in the field with his flock acts one way. But a shepherd at home with an honored guest? That's different.
The shift isn't that the shepherd changed. The shift is that we've been changed—from sheep he works with to honored guests he delights in honoring.
The shepherd at home
To understand what David is describing here, we need to picture what "home" meant for an ancient shepherd.
Don't think of a house with walls and a roof. Think of a tent. Not the camping tent you bought at your preferred box store—a massive Bedouin tent with Persian rugs on the floor, big enough to host a whole group of people. This is home base for the shepherd, the place he returns to after weeks in the wilderness with the flock.
There's a story from a professor who spent time with Bedouin shepherds in Israel. After a week traveling with a shepherd named Mohammed through the rugged hills with his flock, they returned to Mohammed's tent. The shepherd's family was in a frenzy of preparation because they had a special guest.
Mohammed kept saying to his guest: "You are now a brother in the family, and you should receive appropriate honor."
The whole family worked to prepare a feast. They dressed a goat, prepared rice and eggplant, and when it was time to eat, everyone sat in a circle on beautiful rugs with pillows. The men of the camp gathered, and the food was served.
And here's the part that's important: Nothing was given halfheartedly. The guest received the choice portions. The family worked hard to show honor. This wasn't the bare minimum of hospitality—it was lavish, generous, overwhelming.
That's the picture David is painting. "You prepare a table before me."
More than what he provides
Here's what we need to understand: God is more than what he provides for you.
It's easy to come to God like he's a cosmic vending machine. "Lord, I'm tired—can you help me sleep? I need those green pastures. I need protection from danger."
Those prayers aren't wrong—God does provide those things. But if we only come to God with our wish lists we're missing the depth of who God actually is.
The shepherd invites us to consider his character, not just his provisions. And to do that, we have to elevate ourselves beyond just being sheep in the poetry. We have to see that he's brought us from the field to his table.
It's not because we're special. Don't forget—we started as sheep, wandering around eating grass. But we've been changed by walking with him.
Eating with enemies watching
"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies" (Psalm 23:5).
This might sound strange, but here's the context: The same professor tells about sitting down to eat in Mohammed's tent when suddenly gunshots rang out. A rival tribe—some brothers who were still angry about losing a battle the week before—were firing shots outside.
The professor panicked but his shepherd host stayed calm. "They're already defeated. They're not going to touch us here. Let them make noise. We're going to eat and enjoy what I've prepared for you."
That's the picture. The enemies are real. They're still out there. They haven't disappeared. But they can't touch you at the shepherd's table.
This is the good news about Jesus that sometimes gets lost: He doesn't save us from bad stuff by simply avoiding it. He guides us through it and crushes the enemies so they have no power at the table.
The Apostle Paul puts it this way: "In fact, Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep" (1 Corinthians 15:20). Jesus didn't just wander away from death's shadow—he looked death in the face and said, "You're done. I'm leaving. You have no power over me."
And because he walked through death and came out the other side, he opens a pathway for us to follow.
Paul continues: "For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death" (1 Corinthians 15:25-26).
Let’s be honest though—sometimes I don't want to eat with enemies watching. I want God to set a table for me in paradise, where the enemies are gone and quiet and I don't have to think about them anymore. I want peace. Let's go back to the green pastures.
But God in his wisdom says he'll demonstrate his care and love by setting a table for us while the enemies still gnash their teeth. They still exist. They still threaten. And yet we eat together, unafraid.
Why? Because in Christ, the enemy is defeated. He just hasn't quit yet.
The question that matters
So here's what we need to ask ourselves: Whose presence occupies our attention the most?
Are we most concerned with the presence of our enemies—all the threats, the accusations, the undermining, the chaos in the world? Or are we most occupied with the presence of our shepherd, who leads us, cares for us, nourishes us, protects us, and has already defeated the enemies?
When Jesus is our shepherd, he's bold with his generous grace.
Anointed and overflowing
"You anoint my head with oil. My cup overflows" (Psalm 23:5).
In that hot, dry climate where water was scarce, people didn't bathe often. Daily maintenance involved rubbing oil on your skin to keep it from cracking. Fresh oil was a sign of care and preparation.
When the shepherd anoints his guest's head with oil, he's personally preparing them to be honored. He's not just setting out food—he's involved in making sure his guest is ready to be celebrated.
And then, at the table, when the host asks if you'd like more to drink, you politely say, "No, I'm good." But he takes the pitcher and starts pouring anyway, saying, "You say when."
And he keeps pouring.
He's not just doing the bare minimum to entertain you until you leave. He's pleased to fill your cup to overflowing.
This is the difference between mercy and grace:
Mercy is canceling the debts we owe. If you're in debt, it would be wonderful to get back to zero. God's mercy cancels our debt and says, "You no longer owe me anything."
Grace is what only God would do next. God doesn't just cancel the debt—he gives us his bank account. He bestows on us riches we could never earn.
If you're in Christ, God hasn't only forgiven your sin and canceled your debts. He says, "I consider you righteous the way Christ is righteous. Your goodness is his goodness. When I look at you, I see him."
That's grace that lavishes oil and fills your cup to overflowing.
And again, let me remind you: It's not because you're that great. It's because of the God that he is.
The invitation to opt in
Here's where this gets personal.
This psalm comforts people whether they're religious or not. There's something about the poetry that just feels good. But notice where David starts: "The LORD is my shepherd" (Psalm 23:1).
Not "a" shepherd. Not "the" shepherd in some general sense. "MY shepherd."
David, a king of Israel, knows that being a leader of the flock matters less than being a member of the Lord's flock.
God is shepherd in a general sense over all creation. But he's "my shepherd" in a very special sense.
That exchange we talked about—canceling your debts and receiving the riches of Christ's righteousness—is a special grace. And we must opt in to Jesus's special grace.
It's not something all of us just automatically get.
Jesus invites us to the table. But you have to come.
You have to let him bring you near. You have to come into the shepherd's tent. You have to trust his provision, whether it looks like what you thought you were getting or not. You have to sit with his family. And you have to let him mark you as his when he anoints you with honor.
He does the work. He sets the table. He invites you. But you must respond.
So what now?
If you're reading this thinking, "I like this psalm—it makes me feel good," that's great. I want you to know this psalm. But more than that, I want you to know the Shepherd and belong to him.
Here are some questions to sit with:
How are you embracing the honor that Jesus extends to you? Do you let him bring you to his table? Or do you take his invitation and say, "You know what, I think I'm good over here with the life I've built for myself"?
Where are you resisting Jesus's grace? Maybe you're willing to take his mercy—"Lord, forgive my sins"—but the grace feels like too much. "You can't give me that. I'm not worthy to accept that honor."
You're right—you're not worthy. But he is good. And he's bold with his generous grace.
Are you treating God like a vending machine? Coming to him only for what he can provide, or are you learning to value him for who he is?
If you're not sure the Lord is your shepherd—if you don't know that you have his mercy and grace—you can change that today.
You can say something like this:
"Jesus, I know I haven't earned it, but you say you're rich toward me. Would you forgive me of my sin and cancel my debts? Would you lavish your grace on me so I can be called your child, your honored guest, and a citizen of your kingdom?"
If you pray that and mean it, he will do it. Not because you're worthy, but because he's good.
And for those of us who've been following Jesus for a while but have grown weary—let this remind you of just how awesome he is. His grace extends even to his enemies, showing how glorious and mighty and majestic he is.
You are safe with him. And he wants you to value him beyond what he blesses you with.
When Jesus is our shepherd:
We lack nothing we truly need
He handles all the danger
He's bold with his generous grace
The table is set. The cup is overflowing. The oil is ready.
Will you come and take your place as his honored guest?
If you want to talk with someone about what it means to accept Jesus's invitation, reach out to us at ocala@weareneighborhood.church. We'd love to walk with you as you explore what it means to let the shepherd bring you from the field to his table.
You're not just another sheep to God. You're so much more.
