The 23rd Psalm, Coolio, and the Relentless Pursuit of God

There are few pieces of scripture as widely recognized as the 23rd Psalm. Even if you’ve never cracked open a Bible, you’ve probably heard it — especially in its classic 17th-century King James Version. It’s poetic, comforting, and, frankly, a bit nostalgic.

A friend of mine once went to visit an elderly woman in the hospital. She asked him to read her the 23rd Psalm. So, he did — right from a modern translation. She was not pleased.

“That’s not right. Read the real version,” she said.

So, back he went to the familiar cadence:

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.
He restoreth my soul…

Now, for those of us who came of age in the ’90s, this psalm likely pings another kind of nostalgia — the kind that starts with a heavy beat and double tracked vocals:

As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,I take a look at my life and realize there’s nothing left…

Coolio’s Gangsta’s Paradise from Dangerous Minds (1995)—a film that gave us Michelle Pfeiffer attempting badassery in a leather jacket. The music video alone is a time capsule worth revisiting.

Hip-hop artists of the mid-’90s and early 2000s — Tupac, Biggie, Kanye — borrowed from the 23rd Psalm, but in a way that stripped out its comfort. They took the darkness and despair but left behind the hope. It became the soundtrack of life in neglected urban centers, places where survival felt more like a roll of the dice than a given.

But for the men I write with on Death Row, Psalm 23 carries something entirely different. For them, its promise — that God is present even in the valley of the shadow of death — offers real, tangible comfort. I’ve been told it’s the most requested scripture passage for prison chaplains on execution day. I can imagine them, waiting in that sterile, fluorescent-lit space, clinging to these words:

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,

I fear no evil; for you are with me;

Your rod and your staff — they comfort me.

The Nostalgia of the 23rd Psalm

Coolio is nostaligic. But also, this psalm is nostalgic. Psalm 23 is as much about comfort as it is about faith. It’s like rewatching your favourite sitcom episode — the one you’ve seen a hundred times. You know the plot. You know the lines. There are no surprises. And because of that, it soothes you.

And my oh my, do we need soothing these days.

The news is unbearable. Gaza — 48,300 Palestinians and 1,700 Israelis dead. Ukraine, Syria, Afghanistan. Executive orders that aren’t even legal. The world is literally on fire. Climate catastrophe feels inevitable.

And then, there’s the more local heartbreak — friends unhoused, struggling to find warmth and safety. People I know and love texting me from bus shelters, letting me know they’re still alive. A man from my church’s meal program just entered hospice. Before that, he was literally dying on the street.

I lie awake at 3 a.m., my brain spinning. How did we get here? How did this become normal?

And then, of course, there’s the personal stuff. My spouse and I juggle work, parenting, school schedules, dentist appointments. I constantly wonder if I’m doing enough. If I’m paying the right kind of attention to my kids. Are they nurtured enough? Resilient enough? Are they going to be okay? What kind of world are they going to inherit?

Some nights, I just want to crawl under a quilt, eat brownies, and watch The Princess Bride. I want to opt out. Not just from the endless to-do list, but from caring so much.

And although I am despairing I tell myself, God has more important things to do than worry about me. Like, go fix Gaza.

And yet…

The God Who Won’t Quit

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.

First of all, if I am supposed to dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life, I really hope it’s tidier than mine is right now.

But this is the part in Psalm 23 where our English just doesn’t do a very good job of conveying what the original Hebrew was trying to get across.

That word — follow — in the original Hebrew? It’s radaph (רָדַף). It doesn’t mean to politely trail behind like a friendly golden retriever. It means to chase, to hunt, to pursue.

This psalm isn’t saying, “God will sweetly follow you with goodness and mercy.” It’s saying, “God is going to hunt you down with goodness and mercy. There is no escape.”

It’s kind of hilarious. It’s like God saying, Oh, you think you can run? Think again. I’m coming for you — with relentless love and mercy, whether you like it or not.

So maybe the psalmist isn’t making an intentional choice to trust in God’s love. Maybe they’re just surrendering to the inevitable. Maybe they’re saying, Fine! You win! I give up. I’ll get out of bed. I’ll put down the brownie.

The Runaway Bunny God

When my kids were little, one of our favourite bedtime books was The Runaway Bunny by Margaret Wise Brown. The little bunny tells its mother, “I’m running away.” The mother responds, “If you run away, I will run after you. For you are my little bunny.”

No matter how the bunny tries to escape, the mother finds a way to bring them home.

Psalm 23 is The Runaway Bunny. It’s the story of a God who refuses to let go, who will chase us down with love, who will not let us opt out. No matter how tired, burned out, or hopeless we feel, God will be there — whether we ask for it or not.

Even in the valley of the shadow of death.

Even when we’d rather pull the covers over our heads.

Even when we try to tell ourselves we don’t matter.

God’s already in pursuit.

And there’s no escaping that kind of love. 🦢