One of my regular walks takes me across a small bridge, under which flows a stream. This stream can be a pathetic trickle or a rushing torrent, depending on the recent weather. Yesterday we had a good deal of rain, so today I was treated to a lively, chattering stream that flowed and leapt with great enthusiasm.
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
In the time of the writer of Psalm 23, sheep (and therefore shepherds) must have had quite a different persepective on water. He's clearly praising the still waters (and God for providing them), but when I think of still water, I picture something stale, flat, and unprofitable: fetid ponds, or the unpalatable alternative to mineral water that Swiss restaurants will serve you if you make the mistake of asking for water that's not fizzy instead of for that blessed, delicious Swiss Hahnewasser. (Tap water, that is. Switzerland has wonderful drinking water, and it flows freely in the city fountains, yet restaurants will charge you an arm and a leg for something flat and boring unless you know the secret password. Remember it: Hahnewasser.)
Still water smells of death and decay. Moving, flowing, leaping streams project life, health, freedom. Why was the psalmist so happy with God for leading him to still waters?
I guess I'll have to learn a lot more about a shepherd's life in ancient Israel to be able to answer that.
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