Daily Office Reflection — Psalm 118; Isaiah 66:7–14; I John 3:4–10; John 10:7–16
The Lord Is at My Side
Psalm 118 feels like a traveler’s song — the kind you sing after you have come through something.
“The Lord is at my side; I will not fear.”
“The stone the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.”
The psalmist does not deny danger. He remembers being surrounded, pressed, opposed. Yet his conclusion is not bitterness — it is confidence. Not in himself, but in Presence.
The Lord is at my side.
That line alone can steady the heart.
In a world loud with fear — political fear, financial fear, cultural fear — the psalm does not promise control. It promises companionship. The stone rejected becomes foundational. The one cast aside becomes central.
The kingdom of God often grows from what others overlook.
Comfort Like a Mother
In Isaiah 66, God speaks with surprising tenderness:
“As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you.”
The image is intimate. Not distant ruler. Not stern judge. A mother bending close.
Yet in the same passage we read of God’s indignation toward enemies. That language can unsettle us. But the prophets are not describing a temperamental deity. They are revealing a holy resistance to whatever crushes life.
God comforts the wounded.
God resists what wounds them.
In every generation, forces rise that diminish human dignity — cruelty, injustice, exclusion, greed. Divine indignation is not hatred of people; it is opposition to anything that destroys belovedness.
Comfort and confrontation are not opposites. They are both expressions of love.
Born of God
The words in I John can feel severe:
“Sin is lawlessness.”
“Those who are born of God do not sin.”
If taken as perfectionism, this would crush us. But earlier in the same letter we are reminded that if we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves.
The distinction is not between flawless people and flawed ones. It is between two directions of life.
To be “born of God” is to participate in God’s nature — which is love. A person growing in that love cannot comfortably live in patterns that harm others. We may stumble, but we do not settle there. We turn. We grow. We soften.
Sin, in this sense, is not merely breaking a rule. It is breaking relationship.
Lawlessness is life disconnected from love.
Those born of God are learning — slowly, imperfectly — to live connected.
The Good Shepherd and the Other Sheep
In John 10, Jesus gives us one of the most beloved images in Scripture:
“I am the good shepherd.”
“I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold.”
In its first setting, this spoke of Gentiles — those outside Israel’s covenant. But the echo continues through time.
The Shepherd’s flock is larger than any one tribe. Larger than any denomination. Larger than any ideology.
The mark of the true shepherd is not exclusion. It is self-giving love.
He lays down his life for the sheep.
The gate is not a barrier to keep the world out. It is a place of safety where life can flourish. The voice that calls is recognized not by force, but by familiarity.
Sheep know the shepherd because they have learned his tone.
A Pilgrim’s Reflection
As I sit with these readings, I feel both steadied and stretched.
Steadied — because the Lord is at my side. The years have taught me that fear is a poor guide. Presence is better.
Stretched — because the Shepherd has other sheep. I cannot shrink God to my comfort zone. I cannot limit the flock to those who look, worship, vote, or love exactly as I do.
If I claim to be born of God, then love must shape my posture. Not sentimentality, but courageous love. The kind that comforts the wounded and resists injustice. The kind that refuses to call unclean what God has called beloved.
The Curious Pilgrim in me keeps walking — learning that faith is less about defending a fence and more about listening for a voice.
And the voice still says:
Do not fear.
I am with you.
There are more sheep than you know.
Closing Prayer
Good Shepherd,
Stand beside us when fear rises.
Comfort us as a mother comforts her child.
Resist in us whatever harms love.
Turn us from patterns that wound
And draw us toward lives shaped by mercy.
Teach us to hear Your voice above the noise.
Keep our hearts wide enough for the other sheep.
And when we are tempted to build smaller fences,
Remind us that Your flock is larger than our imagination.
Walk with us on this pilgrim road,
Until fear gives way to trust
And all Your children find rest in Your pasture.
Amen.
The Curious Pilgrim 
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