Shepherding is one of humankind’s earliest occupations. And shepherding is mentioned early in the Bible, when Adam and Eve’s second son, Abel, is described as a “keeper of sheep,” those small animals known for their abundance, and usefulness. Key figures in biblical history kept sheep, including Abraham, Jacob, and Jacob’s wife, Rachel, who was noted for her skills as a shepherdess. David was a boy, out tending his family’s flock, when divine intervention anointed him for kingship. Even today, amongst the 1.2 billion sheep across the globe are still some shepherded in Israel and the Palestine territories.
Now although sheep are intelligent and endowed with a wide field of vision, their size renders them easy prey for wild animals. Thus, the shepherd’s role is to guide and to protect; to guide creatures to green pastures and still, clear waters, and to protect them from the wolves, hyenas, and jackals, enemies ready to devour. A key piece of that protection is relational. Sheep are highly social creatures, capable of recognizing faces, remembering smells, and expressing fear, anger, and happiness. They form strong bonds with each other, as well as their shepherd. The best caretakers respond in kind; giving each creature a name and nurturing a relationship as they graze, drink and settle in each evening.
For these reasons, shepherds have been used to symbolize leadership for nearly as long as shepherding has existed. The Lord is my shepherd the psalmist writes, and these five familiar words contain the hopes we have for leaders: the nourishment of green pastures and overflowing tables, the encouragement of right paths to walk along, the comfort of a shepherding staff that brings mercy and goodness, the protective presence that enables one to walk through the valley without fear. Despite the beauty of the psalm, tending sheep is lonely, dirty work, just as leading a group is often solitary and complicated. Shepherding required skill, courage, and fortitude, for creatures are prone to wander. So the hopes around shepherding leadership is not always fulfilled. Human shepherds came and went, often failing to protect, comfort, or inspire. And so faithful ones throughout the ages have claimed the Lord is MY shepherd; God knows me by name.
Throughout John’s gospel, Jesus makes a series of “I Am” statements. I am the bread of life. I am the Living Water. I am the vine; you are the branches. While the images are important, the “I am” also voices a truth, echoing back to God’s self-identification to Moses: “I am who I am.” So the Lord who is our Shepherd is Jesus the Good Shepherd. Who God is, Jesus is also. To this claim, Jesus adds an additional characteristic: I will lay down my life for my sheep.
It is this added trait that causes me to stumble. The shepherd of Psalm 23 is strong, knowledgeable, and triumphant, creating space for us to dwell in God’s presence forever. This Shepherd brings nourishment, space to rest, strong arm against enemies. Why mention the possibility of death? In seven verses, Jesus states five times that the Good Shepherd lays down his life. “Such a sacrifice,” says Austin Shelley, “seems both unnecessary and short-sighted. A dead shepherd will not be of much help to the sheep.” What might it mean?
One only offers their life to someone they love. The promise speaks, then, of the intimacy existing between shepherd and sheep. My sheep know my voice; I know theirs, says Jesus. One might add, “I know their habits, the hurts, and hopes.” They trust me. James Howell notes that the center of Psalm 23 is the word with. “Thou art with me.” Howell says, “God isn’t primarily a fixer or a guarantor of this or that we think we must have. God’s purpose is to be with us.” A shepherd who stays with the sheep will inevitably encounter risk, worry, or danger. God does not leave as we suffer the worries, fear, and dangers of being human.
I am the Good Shepherd, who lays down his life for the sheep, reiterates Jesus. “The goodness of the shepherd comes at a cost,” says Meda Stamper. Goodness almost always comes with a cost. “I wanted to be a good doctor,” says Elly. So I studied and studied, and developed good work habits. I practiced my skills. I learned to really listen to patients. I figured out how to balance demands of my work, life, and how to go the extra mile when called upon.” Goodness comes with a cost. “I wanted to be a good spouse,” says Frank. So I took my vows seriously. I practiced kindness, respect, and making time for each other. I learned to forgive and be willing to admit I was wrong. Some days I felt I was giving 1000%. It was joyous, life-giving and also hard.” We are created with goodness, intrinsically worthy. Witnessing to the goodness comes with a cost.
The Good Shepherd’s path makes space for our witness. The expectation is for us to mirror his sacrifice. In our own fashion we lay down our lives. Laying down one’s life can happen in all kinds of forms:
- One might lay down a dream for the sake of spouse’s dream, family’s needs, or aging parents
- One might lay down a bad habit, because it is harming those who love you .
- One might lay down, as in create, an extra category in your household budget, titled “doing good for someone in need.”
- One might carve out more time, laying aside one scheduled event to create space to read to a child, to drive someone to the hospital, or take groceries to a homebound person.
“I lay down my life” is a way of saying that the needs or others and the urgent cries of human family will shape what I do with my time, money, and my days. When we lay down ourselves in such a way, we cut a path to life for someone else. As we incur the costs of such sacrifices, we can lean upon the Good Shepherd, whose laying down of life is done for our benefit, for our life, a sacrifice that cuts a path for us.
Author Shusako Endo wrote a novel, titled Silence in its English translation, about priest serving a Christian community in Japan in the 16th century, a period in which ruling Shogun leadership persecuted Christians. Priest Rodrigues ministers in secret, until he and members of the community are captured and tortured by the government. As Rev. Adam Hearslon retells the story, “the priest is told he can save members of his flock by denying Jesus and stepping on a carved iron picture of Christ cammed a fumi-e. The decision rents him in two. Deny Christ and save lives or refuse and everyone dies. . . . Rodrigues stares at the picture, praying for guidance, and suddenly Jesus speaks through the print, saying ‘Trample. Trample’ Step on me, because this is precisely why I came to earth. I came to earth so that you might find life, so that my sacrifice might be your gain, your life.”1
Hearslon continues, “Beloved of God, you may never know the true danger you have faced. You may be oblivious to the most profound acts of mercy that Christ routinely submits himself to on your behalf. Christ came to be trampled upon . . . his presence along the path includes his wounds from the violence of the world.”2 As we walk the path Christ creates for us, we know we follow behind a leader who suffers alongside us in the fears, ricks, hungers, and dangers that ensnare us along the path. Do not fear, though, because this Shepherd knows our voices, and his voice calls out again and again to us, encouraging us along the way. Amen.