Abstract
Shepherd-like
In the Middle Ages, Suffolk, where I live, grew rich on wool. Nowadays it is better known for its pigs. In a largely rural county a surprising amount of today’s wealth is generated by manufacturing. But signs of past prosperity are unmissable. Enormous ‘wool churches’ the size of cathedrals dominate villages like Lavenham and Long Melford. Country houses built by wool merchants are dotted across the landscape. And place names like Woolpit and Woolaston survive.
Sheep and shepherding feature a lot in the Bible too - not surprisingly, because they made a significant contribution to the economy of Israel. The best-known psalm is associated with David, who began his working life as a shepherd. Psalm 23 fashions the experience of looking after sheep - making sure they have access to food and water, travelling miles over hostile terrain to search for them when they get lost, keeping them safe from predators - into the poetry of God’s relationship with his people. God is shepherd-like, says the Psalmist: leading, guiding, giving hope, sustaining through all kinds of danger, even the risk of death.
According to the prophets, Israel’s rulers are also like shepherds. Jeremiah (23.1-2) criticises them for neglecting the flock that is God’s people. They have allowed it to be scattered by predators - more powerful nations in a land-hungry region. Ezekiel (34.1-31) picks up Jeremiah’s threads. The nation’s leaders have put their own creature comforts before the good of the flock, and as a result the people have been exiled, with Jerusalem and its temple in ruins. Their only hope lies in the shepherd-like God, who will rescue and care for his flock by sending them a new David.
There is nothing romantic about shepherding. A friend of mine bought a small flock of sheep when he retired. He keeps them in a field on the edge of his village, not far from where I live. He is finding it harder to manage them, especially as he gets older. Even though last winter was mild, he struggled to give them the care they needed, and a few new-born lambs died. This year will mark the end of his shepherding.
Jesus takes up the image of shepherding in well-known stories and sayings. He speaks of his own people as ‘sheep without a shepherd’ (Matthew 9.36), and sees himself called to ‘the lost sheep of the house of Israel’ (Matthew 10.6, 15.24). In his parable of the lost sheep (Luke 15.1-7) he pictures his ministry among ‘tax collectors and sinners’ - people with low status whose wellbeing is easily overlooked by the respectable classes - as shepherd-like. Today’s reading from the gospel of John makes the connection between Jesus and shepherding explicit: ‘I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep’ (John 10.11).
Images of Jesus carrying a lamb on his shoulders, familiar from childhood, can easily sentimentalise his shepherd-like ministry. But this is demanding as well as rewarding work. Earlier in John 10, the good shepherd sacrifices his own comfort by lying across the entrance to the fold at night, to form a human barricade that keeps thieves out. He takes the trouble to get to know his flock, so that they recognise his voice and trust him when he calls to them. He is always on the alert to the ever-present threat of predators, like the wolves that snatch and scatter the sheep. Later, we read that he is prepared to travel cross-country to find sheep from another fold, and then bring them back to join his flock (v. 16).
Like the Psalmist, Jesus fashions the experience of shepherding into the poetry of his relationship with his followers. What does the image of the good shepherd, who knows his flock by name, remind us of?
A group of older people who lived in a block of low-rise flats in an inner-city area used to look forward to Mondays, when their dustbins were emptied. Over the years the residents and the dustmen had got to know each other by name. They would exchange gossip while the bins were being emptied, and ask after each other, especially those whom they hadn’t seen for a while. Then, without warning, the rosters were changed and the team of dustmen were given another round. Monday mornings were not the same for the residents, who now had to get to know a new set of dustmen. They said that the changes made them feel less cared for.
Shepherding is a familiar image of care. It reminds us that at its heart lies the time-consuming work of giving attention to others. How else could the good shepherd know his sheep by name? A parish priest was responsible for leading three churches in a market town. When he gave communion to members of the congregations, he used their first names: ‘Philip, the body of Christ’; ‘Katie, the body of Christ’. He remembered the names of those in the wider community whom he’d met through baptisms, weddings and funerals. People spoke of how much they felt cared for by a minister who knew who they were. What they experienced of his shepherd-like ministry took time to appear. It only happened because he was generous with his attention.
Shepherding also reminds us that knowing who people are relies on more than a good memory. It speaks of a deeper affinity. People who genuinely want to be helpful can sometimes assume that they know what is best for others. A church community felt called to develop its ministry in a part of the parish where the church had made little impact. So with their leaders they devised a plan based on what they imagined life in that area was like, and what they thought the people who lived there needed. When they tried to implement their plan, they discovered how wrong they were about the people they were trying to reach and care for. The church community learned the hard way about the importance of developing a deeper affinity with those they wanted to serve in the name of Christ - getting to know them and where they lived, learning about their way of life, listening to their real concerns. Again this is shepherd-like ministry. And it takes time and perseverance to develop.
Finally, shepherding reminds us that if we are to develop the deeper affinity that is essential to caring for others, we have to be prepared to let go of something in ourselves. According to Jesus, there is a pattern and a rhythm to his shepherding. Every evening the good shepherd lies down across the door of the sheepfold, and every morning he stands up again (vv. 17, 18). Lying down and rising up, descending and ascending is the pattern that dominates the gospel of John. The heavenly Word became flesh and ascended to the Father’s side (John 1.14, 18). The heavenly Father gives his Son in love, and the Son is lifted up on the cross (John 3.16, 14). Jesus’ willingness to hand over his own life so that he could be available for others eventually led to the cross. And as ‘he laid down his life for us … we ought to lay down our lives for one another’ (1 John 3.16). The church that lives by his commandment (1 John 3.23) displays the patterns and rhythms of sacrifice. It is a shepherd-like community of attentiveness and care: laying down, letting go, letting live.
In the 3rd-century paintings from the catacombs in Rome, where Christians buried their dead, the most common depiction of Jesus is as the Good Shepherd. This comes as no surprise, because it is a most profound and suggestive image of life-giving care. Demanding and attentive, self-giving to the point of sacrifice, the Good Shepherd leads us through life, and turns even the valley of the shadow of death into an eternal dwelling-place (Psalm 23.4, 6). Pray for the grace of the Good Shepherd, to fashion us into the shepherd-like people of the shepherd-like God.