Living below, in this old sinful world
Hardly a comfort can afford
Striving alone, to face temptation’s sword
Where could I go but to the Lord?
Where could I go, oh where could I go?
Seeking a refuge for my soul
Needing a friend, to help me in the end
Where could I go, but to the Lord?
Neighbors are kind, I love them everyone
We get along in sweet accord
But when my soul, needs manner from above
Where could I go but to the Lord?
Where could I go, oh where could I go?
Seeking a refuge for my soul
Needing a friend, to help me in the end
Where could I go, but to the Lord?
The song, “Where Could I Go?” was written by James B. Coats in 1940. He was a music teacher in public schools in Mississippi and a Baptist Minister. He wrote many songs, but “Where could I Go?” is his most enduring song. He got the inspiration to write this song while he was at the bedside of one of his neighbors, Joe Keyes, an African American, who was actively dying. Mr Coats asked Mr Keyes if he knew where he would spend eternity when he died. Mr Keyes summoned the last strength he had, looked Mr Coats straight in the eye and replied, “Where could I go but to the Lord?”
That old song poses a question every human heart eventually faces. Not just at the end of life, but also in the middle of it. Where do you go… when your marriage feels like it is holding on by a thread? When you’re doing everything you can for your children, and still feel like it is not enough? When the bills keep coming and the numbers don’t add up? When you lie awake at night, replaying conversations, carrying stress no one else sees? When the future feels uncertain? When the pressure at work keeps building? When you show up to work, to duty, to responsibilities, but inside, you feel empty? When you feel like you are giving everything and still coming up empty? Where could you go?
Today is the Fourth Sunday of Easter. Another name for this Sunday is Good Shepherd Sunday. Every year, on this Sunday, we read from the 10th Chapter of John’s Gospel, which is centered on the Good Shepherd. The responsorial Psalm is from Psalm 23, which begins with the line, “The Lord is my Shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.” Another translation says, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”
But let us be honest. How can we say that? In this economy? In this stress? In this uncertainty? In this struggle? Do we not want things to be different? Do we not want peace in our homes? Do we not want clarity in our decisions? Do we not want healing in our bodies? Do we not want relief from pressure, from anxiety, from loneliness? So how can we stand here and say, “I shall not want”?
To answer these questions, we have to understand the one who wrote the Psalms. Bible scholars generally attribute the authorship of the Book of Psalms to King David. David did not write the Psalms from an easy chair. He wrote the Psalms from his experience as a shepherd when he fought lions, giants, cold nights, and uncertainties. He wrote the Psalms from his experience when he fled from his son for his life. He wrote the Psalms from his experience when he wept over the loss of his child. David knew firsthand what a shepherd does: a shepherd leads, feeds, protects; he never leaves the sheep alone, even in the valley. So when David said, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” he was not saying life was perfect; he meant, “Even when the road is rough, I will not lack because I have all that matters, the presence of my Shepherd.”
This Psalm does not promise a life without pain and loss, it promises God’s presence amidst disappointment, pain, and loss. The Psalm says, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” Sometimes, God removes the valleys, other times he walks with us in the valley. In this Psalm, God chooses not to remove the valley but to walk with us in the valley.
Some of us are not lacking provision, we are lacking trust. We have the Shepherd, but we keep trying to lead ourselves. We have his presence, but we keep acting like we are alone. We have his care, but we keep carrying everything by ourselves. And so we feel empty, not because God is absent, but because we are not resting in Him.
Finally, Psalm 23 does not end in the valley, it ends at the table, “You prepare a table before me… You anoint my head with oil… My cup overflows.” In this valley of tears, we are left with a thousand and one unanswered questions. But we are not alone. The same Good Shepherd who walked with David in the valley walks with us. We confidently say, “The Lord is my Shepherd, there is nothing I shall want,” not in denial of the troubles of this life, but in acknowledgment of the presence of our Shepherd, and we believe his goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our life, and together with David, we shall dwell in the house of the Lord, forever and ever. Amen.
Homily for 4th Sunday of Easter Year A 2026
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