It’s the psalm that almost everyone knows. Long before Whitney wailed it over the P.A. at funerals, we were singing about the One who will always love you. Always.

Although I’ve preached on Psalm 23 occasionally in the churches I’ve pastored, I’ve usually turned to that page in my Bible at funerals and thanksgiving services. It doesn’t seem to matter whether the loved one being grieved for was thought to be a believer or not, the psalm speaks powerfully. Besides, such services are for the living, not for the dead. Remember grannie by all means. Thank God for her life. Shed a few tears. But give God room. It’s almost certainly you that He wants to speak to.

I’ve a series of Bible Commentaries on my study shelves entitled “The Bible Speaks Today”. The series title was doubtless inspired by scriptures like Hebrews 4 v12: “For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” Alive and Active. Yep. That’s it. Whenever the Scriptures are opened and proclaimed, God gets to work by His Spirit and “speaks today”. And, as the prophet Isaiah reminds us, “my word that goes out from my mouth, will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.”

You see, I’m used to all this stuff. I’ve been preaching for 40 years, and it’s second nature to me. But even I get the occasional surprise. Thank God I do. Life with Jesus would be terribly dull if I didn’t get the occasional jolt. And if there’s one thing that life with Jesus is not, it’s dull. Oh no. There are surprises around every corner. Well, I was certainly surprised when my life and ministry came to a full stop in the middle of the summer of 2020. I didn’t see it coming. And I pride myself in being well prepared, anticipating most eventualities, getting ahead in my studying, and keeping on top of the administration. I still didn’t see it coming. One day, and yes, it was literally like that. One day. On this one day, I realised that things weren’t quite right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but intuitively I knew that I needed to change direction or risk serious consequences. Although it was a huge shock, the truth is I’ve actually enjoyed ministering during the pandemic. I’m an evangelist at heart, and the realisation that our online daily broadcasts and the Sunday services were, potentially at least, reaching hundreds of thousands of people was tremendously stimulating. There were messages from people I’ve never met in person, and probably never will. Some of them were living in Muslim countries, and here they were asking me about Jesus. Before Covid-19, it would have been unusual to have a Christian visitor in our Sunday morning service, despite the fact that the church is in one of the U.K.’s most popular holiday destinations. If there was a visitor, it was virtually guaranteed to be a friend of the church from the past, or an extended family member from one of our regular congregation. People just don’t wander into our churches looking for answers to the great questions of life. For the most part, it just doesn’t happen these days. But the genuine seekers do go searching online. Google has the answer to everything else, so why not God? Our Sunday services were being viewed on average by 300-400 people each week. We had no idea who they were, of course, or whether or not they were already believers, but the few responses we did receive encouraged me to be bold. And my preaching changed. I became more overtly evangelistic. Now, I’ve been preaching for a long time, and apart from a fortnight’s music and mission tour to North East Poland in the summer of ’92, generally speaking I don’t have many opportunities to present the Gospel from “the pulpit” as it were. But here was an opportunity like no other. What a glorious surprise. My congregation noticed that something had happened to their pastor, too. Some encouraged me directly, saying just how my preaching had a new vibrancy and challenge. What they didn’t know, and what had even escaped my own notice, was that I was increasingly “running on empty”.

One of my closest friends, an Elder in our church, had tried to reach out to me, enquiring in the most gracious and loving way, whether I needed a break. Eighteen months of daily broadcasts nonstop takes its toll. He recognised that, even if I didn’t. There had been a four week attempt at a break in the summer of 2020, but my laptop came with me, and the work continued. So, it was all this that led to a consultation with my GP on 31 May 2021. As ever, he asked me a question that I’m sure you’ve been asked in similar circumstances: “What outcome are you hoping for from this consultation?” I was struggling to articulate the reason for my appointment, but I recall mumbling something about maybe needing a couple of weeks off work to rest. The doctor asked me some diagnostic questions and I did my best to answer honestly. “You’re going to get worse before you get better” he said. “forget having a couple of weeks off work, you’re going to need several months, but let’s talk again in a month. In the meanwhile, I’ll refer you to the Community Mental Health team”.

It wasn’t long before Val and I were face-to-face online with Dr Laurence M-N, using the NHS version of Zoom (I’ve developed a loathing for Zoom, but curiously this time it was really helpful to see the psychiatrist’s face). In the providence of God, I’d been assigned the CMT Head of Department, an experienced clinician with a delightful personality and a wonderful capacity to truly listen. And listen he did. Not just to what was said, but what was left unsaid too. Val found it as helpful as I did. Dr Laurence couldn’t have been more affirming. Having heard my story, he was refreshingly straightforward with us both: “So, you’re telling me you’ve worked 50 hours a week without a break for 18 months?” said he, “Well, I’m not surprised you’ve had a breakdown. Anyone would.” And not for the first time I wondered why it is that mental health issues carry the stigma they still do. Dr Laurence agreed with the prognosis of my G.P. and said cheerfully: “You’re not going to work again this year.” He wanted to know what our plans were. By this time he’d met Jack (online of course) and we explained we were off to a remote farm in County Antrim for five weeks. He responded enthusiastically, saying he couldn’t recommend anything better.

And that’s how we came to be in this rugged, utterly breathtaking part of the United Kingdom. With it’s warm hearted friendly people, and the rain too.

We’re staying in a two-storey annexe to the side of a magnificent old farmhouse with far-reaching views of open country. It’s absolutely perfect. The annexe is beautifully furnished and extremely comfortable. God even organised a bed for people with back problems! Our lovely hosts, Allan & Heather, are part of God’s gift and they already feel like family. That’s unusual for me. Ordinarily it would take me years to form a relationship.

A family funeral midway through our time meant a return ferry trip back from Belfast to Liverpool and a 600 mile dash to East Sussex and back. It was the right thing to do, and it proved to be a rich family time. Mercifully, it came at the midway point of my convalescence so we had sufficient days remaining to make it worth our while returning. God knows. The weeks before the funeral had been marked by facing grief, and making practical arrangements. The time afterwards, well, that’s where Psalm 23 v3 comes in.

I’ve never really noticed it before. Well, not quite in the same way as I have this time. When you’re on the receiving end of God’s Word, there is a completely different cadence and perspective to when you’re sharing it with others. Preaching and teaching has been one of the greatest privileges and deepest joys of my life, but I’ve not had that many opportunities to receive God’s Word for myself. I guess it’s a preacher’s handicap, but whenever the Word comes alive in my personal devotional reading, I find it almost impossible to prevent my mind from wondering how and when the insights can be shared with others. It’s not always wrong to think this way, of course, but oftentimes it is. As my good friend, Roy Searle, says: “God shares his secrets with those who keep them.” I’ve not always been good at keeping God’s secrets. Perhaps I’m falling into that trap again right now, though I doubt it.

The first sentence of Psalm 23 v3 says simply: “He restores my soul“. In my dictionary, the word “restore” has the following description: “to return (someone or something) to a former condition, place, or position”. A few months ago, I was completely unaware of the need for my soul to be restored. Had someone asked after my spiritual well-being, I might well have responded with a rather churchy “I’m fine!” but I wasn’t. And that’s the way it is with many of us. The well-spring had run dry, or rather, the well had become blocked.

There was plenty of life-giving refreshment to be had, after all Jesus himself said “he who drinks of this water will never thirst”, but my overwork and failure to take a proper Sabbath day of rest, had compromised my capacity to draw on that life-giving stream. _

The week before we returned from Northern Ireland to England for Monica’s funeral service, we went to our first ever “drive-in” service. It was quite an experience. We were instructed to tune our car radios in to 107.3 on FM, and as if by magic, all of a sudden we were plugged in to the service audio. It won’t surprise you to discover that we’d gone to the service very much praying that the Lord would meet with us ahead of what looked as if it might be a demanding week, but despite sharing the Lord’s Supper together (a truly weird experience as we had to BYI and partake individually in our cars) the end of the service came and we really hadn’t sensed the Lord say anything to us. Then came the final song and we sang it with gusto. “I know who holds the future, and he’ll guide me by his hand. With God things don’t just happen, everything by him is planned. And as I face tomorrow, with it’s problems large and small, I’ll trust the God of miracles, give to him my all”. And there it was. God spoke to us a deeply personal word, where “tomorrow” was both the literal as we anticipated the funeral, and the figurative as we face an uncertain future.

We returned to Belfast on the overnight ferry, arriving on a Friday morning. I’d been in touch with the director of Baptists in Ireland, who counselled us both and prayed with us. Having heard a little of our story, Dave Ramsay said: “You’ve got to give ‘The Way’ in Ballyclare a go. They’ve got a young pastor, Johnny Carson, and they’re meeting in the Town Hall. They’ve only been going eighteen months, but they are doing really well. You’ll fit right in”. And fit right in we did. It was balm to the soul. We sensed God’s restoration as we basked in truly Spirit-led worship (thank you Michael Ball, you did a great job). An Elder, Chris McKinven was preaching, and he gave a wonderfully encouraging yet challenging word. The church was full of young families (Jack came to church with us, and he was a hit with the children). And the welcome. Wow. We were among the last to leave, and we knew we’d been with family. The Lord’s family. No other family compares. We even got invited to supper with a lovely couple who ministered to us that night.

The Lord knows. The Lord cares. The Lord is in the business of soul-restoration. And it’s wonderful.