In my years as a missionary teacher, I’ve come to resonate deeply with the idea of shepherding.
Me enthusiastically: Okay, everyone! It’s time to move!
My kids/students/humans in general: *eating slowly like sheep grazing*
Me: Uh, did I mention there’s more grass over here?
Humans: *ear flick, possible raised head and sideways glance*
Me: *picks up rod* We’re moving or else!
Humans: *slow shuffle toward direction I’m pointing*
I take it back. Shepherds of actual sheep are much better at their job than I apparently am. Getting small (and big!) humans to listen and obey is more akin to herding kittens than sheep.
And so I find myself wondering if I’m cut out for these leadership roles I’ve agreed to—the classroom, the mentorship, the spiritual life program. How in the world do I actually cast vision or offer direction or stir up motivation? How do I move these stubborn sheep anywhere when I barely know where I’m going?
If you in any way consider yourself to be a pastor, leader, or teacher, you’ve probably wrestled with the same questions. Leaders, we’ve been warned, are often frustrated and lonely. No wonder Moses beat that rock and was reprimanded by God. He’d spent years leading a “stiff-necked people.” I’d be pretty upset at their constant complaints, too.
But maybe I’ve misunderstood my job description.
We’re all familiar with the biblical metaphor of leaders as shepherds, but recently God has highlighted a few other verses that remind me of who I really am in this scenario.
Let’s start back in a classic psalm written by David, the shepherd king: “The Lord is my shepherd…” Ah yes, even if I were the king of Israel, I’d still be a sheep in need of God’s instruction and protection just like everyone else. Sometimes in my earnestness to serve others, I forget that. (Read my expanded story-version of Psalm 23 here).
And how about Jesus? Both Matthew and Mark record him as having compassion on the crowds of people because they were like sheep without a shepherd. In John 10, Jesus directly calls himself the Good Shepherd who lays down His life for His sheep, and both Peter and the writer of Hebrews refer to Him as the Great Shepherd.
The depiction of God guiding our souls like a wise shepherd is comforting, but I still feel as though I need to emulate Him and guide those under my care. I try to protect my children, instruct my students, and care for my coworkers.
Recently, my fear of losing control has been revealed in some anxious dreams where I alone was responsible to fix, protect, and hold everything together. Just a few nights ago, I had another dream where I was moving through an old-school computer lab, jumping from task to task, solving problem after problem as the only competent adult in the room.
Clearly, when I see myself as the primary shepherd, the burden becomes too heavy. I’m taking on a responsibility that belongs first and foremost to Jesus.
Okay, then. I’m a sheep.
But what of those leadership roles? Is there a more helpful picture than shepherd for someone like me who can take responsibility a bit too seriously?
In one of those instances when Jesus had compassion on the crowds and wanted to care for them as their shepherd, He did indeed involve the disciples. In Mark 6 they inform Him that the people are hungry. Jesus doesn’t agree to the disciples’ idea to send them away so they can eat. He doesn’t call down manna from heaven or dredge up a bunch of fish for them to cook. Nope. He says, “You give them something to eat.”
Interesting.
I think, too, of Jesus’ little chat with Peter on the beach after Jesus’ resurrection. After being asked if he loves Jesus, Peter is asked three times to “feed [His] sheep” (John 21:15-17).
I did the good Christian thing and looked up the two different Greek words used there for “feed,” and they do carry a distinct shepherd or herdsman connotation, but I find it noteworthy that Jesus didn’t ask his disciples or Peter to ever protect His sheep. He didn’t even specifically ask them to lead His sheep. That’s His job.
He did, however, ask them to feed His sheep. This feels more like a shepherd’s apprentice to me. Or maybe just like one sheep beckoning to the others as it moves toward the next fresh patch of grass.
There’s a tremendous amount of freedom in this renewed perspective. The Chief Shepherd leads His sheep, protects His sheep, keeps His sheep. I’m invited to walk with Him, feeding—not forcing. Maybe feeding looks like quiet faithfulness, attentive listening, or persistent prayer. Or maybe it looks like sharing a testimony of how God has guided me through difficult seasons, or simply showing up when a child or friend needs me.
Now that I can do.
