When I first came to minister in these parts, just over the border in what is now the Stiperstones group of parishes, a friend sent me a card to wish me well. On the envelope, under my address, he’d written “Enclosed: a picture of some of your new parishioners.” When I opened the envelope, I found the card to be a charming picture of rather a lot of sheep. And he was right of course: there were definitely more sheep than people in my new parishes, and I can recall more than one occasion on which my journey to church on a Sunday morning was delayed by sheep straying about on the road.
And only a few weeks ago I was coming over the Long Mountain from Marton towards Trelystan, on my way home from somewhere, when again there were sheep all over the road. Really, all I could do was to slowly drive towards them so I was herding them along the road. Thankfully nothing came in the other direction, so I had a clear run with them; and eventually they came across a track off to the side leading up to some farm, and scampered off up there. Was that home, I wondered - but I had no way of telling, and at least they were off the road and out of my way.
That wasn’t the best example of good shepherding, though of course they shouldn’t have been out there in the first place. But it was the best I could manage at the time. Walking down from Shelve towards White Grit on Good Friday, I was able to observe a shepherd working very well, with her dog, just a couple of fields away. Sheep are naturally prone to panic, and quick to follow each other in quite lunatic directions, so the shepherd needs to be tuned into that and thinking ahead if he, or in this case she, is going to keep the sheep safe and get them to where they need to be. I’m no judge, but it seemed to me that in this case shepherd and dog didn’t put a foot wrong. The sheep were safely and skilfully moved into a small holding area in the corner of the field where they could be securely penned in.
That was a good example of how we move sheep here. We drive them, we herd them. In the Middle East, on the other hand, sheep are by tradition led by their shepherd. On holiday in Greece I remember watching a man leading a small flock of fairly scruffy looking sheep to graze on salty pasture by the mouth of a little river. My attention had been drawn by the tinny sound of the bells worn by each sheep, but really it could have been a scene straight out of scripture. There’d have been no fields and fences up on the hills of Judaea or Galilee; flocks would mix on the hills, and sheep needed to know their own shepherd’s call.
Jesus spoke a lot about sheep; no surprise, since he used everyday things to illustrate his teaching, images to help those who heard him understand and remember his words. But the image of a shepherd is very Biblical. It’s often used in scripture of kings and leaders. When Moses knew his life was nearing its end, he called on God to appoint a leader for the people, so they’d not be “like a sheep without a shepherd”.
Most tellingly, the 23rd Psalm, a version of which we’ve just sung, has God himself as the shepherd who leads us into safe pasture, refreshes our souls, and is at our side even in the darkest and most desperate times of our lives. Prophets like Ezekiel contrasted the bad and careless shepherding provided by their leaders to the people of Israel with the good shepherding their Lord desired for them. Those who should have protected the sheep had instead exploited them and neglected them, leaving them scattered, helpless and unfed while they themselves grew fat and sleek. Judgement would fall upon those false shepherds, while the Lord himself would intervene to provide for the needs of his neglected and harrowed flock, restoring them to health.
These were images that would surely have been in the mind of Jesus when he talked about sheep and shepherds. But in truth, there were many examples of ‘bad shepherding’ in his own day, and there are still.
So where do we look, for shepherding and guidance? Whose are the voices we tune into, recognise, and follow? The people listening to Jesus knew well that though the sheep they cared for should recognise their own shepherd’s voice and follow only him, it didn’t always happen that way. Sheep got lost; sheep attached themselves to the wrong flock; and sheep were constantly at risk from dangerous predators and unscrupulous thieves.
Jesus warned them against the false shepherds of their own day: shepherds who cared more for their own needs than those of the flock in their care, leaders whom God had made responsible for the sheep of Israel, but who had instead exploited them and led them astray, abusing the trust placed in them. Hirelings, he called them, hirelings who care nothing for the flock.
I don’t think we need to look very far in today’s world to find examples of bad shepherding and false leading: political leaders who care more for dogma and power than for the real needs of real people; the dubious ethics and moralities peddled by the media and from within the so called celebrity culture of these times; the enthronement of Mammon in industry and commerce, and the idea that things are only worth what you can sell them for.
Thieves, Jesus calls them. Verse 10: “The thief comes only to steal, kill and destroy.” Some thieves may have a persuasive tongue and a sweet voice; their message may attract and seduce. It’s tempting to follow such shepherds, but all their promises turn out to be false, to be so much dust and ashes. Whereas Jesus says (continuing to read verse 10), “I have come that they may have life, and may have it in all its fullness.”
Jesus goes on to say, “I know my own, and my own know me.” They will recognize his voice, he tells us. Think of the sheep penned together at night. In the morning the shepherd comes to call his sheep out of that mixed flock, to lead them to find good pasture up on the hills. That’s the picture Jesus gives us.
And he goes on to say that his sheep won’t respond to the voice of another shepherd. How good are we really, I wonder, at picking out his voice from all the various siren calls of the world? We need help to do it well. I’ve been trying to learn some Welsh recently, but over Easter things got too busy, and I’ve had a few weeks off. It’s distressing to find just how quickly you lose touch, and things went rusty; I’ve got to get back to doing a bit every day, if I’m going to catch up and keep up. The same thing applies here. “Seven days without prayer make one weak” (that’s W E A K) as the church noticeboard poster puts it.
“I have come that they may have life,” says Jesus. A good shepherd knew what dangers faced the flock, and would be always ready to protect them. Jesus says, “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” When the sheep were up in the hills through the summer months, the mixed flocks would be brought into the safety of a fold for the night. Imagine a walled circle, with a single entrance, where the shepherds would sit on guard. Maybe just one shepherd would keep watch while the others got some kip. In that case the shepherd himself would lie across the doorway, to make sure none of the sheep strayed out of the safety of the fold, and no predators got in. So Jesus says of himself, “I am the gate of the sheepfold. Whoever enters through me will be saved. He will come in and go out and find pasture”.
Mother Julian of Norwich, whose day it is tomorrow, would have well understood what the 23rd Psalm has to say about “walking in the shadow of death”. She wrote vividly about the testing and trials of her life, but goes on to say that “we are all mercifully enfolded in the gentleness of God, and in his kindness and goodwill.” In times of trouble and sadness, we are (she writes) “kept safe and sound by the merciful safeguarding of God, so we are not lost.” Such words connect into my image of Jesus as the true shepherd who gives his life for the sheep. He knows us more deeply than we know ourselves, calling us by name, seeking us out when we lose our way.
And through his death on the cross he has become for us the gate we could otherwise never find, the gate that leads us to be enfolded in the safety of eternal love, the gate that leads to the life promised in all abundance. The more we open our hearts to him in prayer and worship, the more time we take to reflect on his word, the more clearly we’ll hear his call, picking out and tuning into his voice, against the myriad voices of the world.
Some more words from Mother Julian: “We cannot know the blessed safety or our endless joy until we are filled with peace and love, that is to say, wholly pleased with God and with all his works and with all his judgements, and until we are in love and peace with ourselves and our fellow Christians and with all that God loves, as love would have it. And God’s goodness in us brings this about.”
So let us pray:
Merciful God, you gave your Son Jesus Christ to be our Good Shepherd, and in love for us to lay down his life and rise again, so opening the way into his eternal kingdom. Keep us always under his protection, fill our hearts with that love and peace that is your gift, and grant us grace to recognize his voice, to hear his call, and to follow in his steps. In his name we ask this, Jesus Christ, our Shepherd and Saviour and Lord. Amen.
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