"A wiser fella than myself once said, 'Sometimes you eat the bar... sometimes the bar... why... he eats you.'" - The Stranger
Or to put it another way: Some days I shepherd, but most days I'm a sheep.
On the days I shepherd, I do it with fear and trembling. Seriously. Despite appearances, and what is often perceived as a rather direct exterior on my part, I continue to try to learn how to follow the example of the chief shepherd (to paraphrase Peter).
On the days I shepherd, I stand up in front of people and have the audacity to tell them about God, God's will, God's character, God's hopes for us. (Karl Barth called it "the audacity of preaching.") It really is audacious. Who would dare?
Lately I have been preaching about shepherds, specifically those in the church who volunteer to help lead a flock. Some churches call them pastors or elders or bishops or the guys who go to the "business meetin'." But whatever these men and women are called, they have an equally audacious task: Follow the example of God, and lead God's people.
Who would dare?
Well, I know some. Personally. The ones I work with now at Bering are amazing people. Those with whom I have worked with in the past have been (mostly) equally amazing. But what makes them amazing, out of all the shepherding I have seen these men and women do, is that they have first names.
You heard me right... first names.
The chief shepherd has a first name: Jesus; my earthly shepherds have first names, too: Paul, Ann, Kathy, Amos, Terry, Judy, Lynn, Ed. Those are my current eight shepherds, men and women I know that any of us at Bering could call for guidance. And then there are the other first names at my church who shepherd in other ways. They, too, have first names: Samira, Edward, Jim, Dwayne, Carol, Rolfe, Rod, and on and on I could go. (And I probably should.) In fact, what makes Bering such a great place is that I could form a list here that would border on ridiculously long. That list would not be confined to gender or age. I can think of some of our teen girls and guys who model great examples for our older adults, as well as younger kids. The teen girls in class with Cale and I this morning set good examples for my own young daughter. In their own way, even if they do not realize it, they are shepherding. Likewise, they have first names my daughter knows: Abbie, Anna, Ashlyn, Claire, and Missy to name the ones this morning. I can say their names to my daughter, and she knows who they are.
I say "Samira," and my kids' eyes light up. When they asked me to help them fill out their form to suggest new pastors of our church, they asked me about people by name.
So there I was this morning, preaching a long and detailed sermon about shepherds who protect the flock from the dogs. And what I could see, from the sea of eyes making contact with mine, were familiar faces of people with first names.
As I sat with our leadership in a lunch meeting today, I sat among those who care for God's people, all of us shepherds, all of us sheep, all of us on a first-name basis.
As my family and I sat at Abbie's musical this afternoon, I was proud of her, not only for her performance, but because I know her by name, and so does my daughter who looks up to her.
On our way home this afternoon, a man was on the side of the road having trouble with his motorcycle. We bikers have a code that we never leave anyone who needs help. (Sounds downright Jesus-like, don't it?) So I stopped, helped him, drove him home, and shook his hand. You know what we exchanged?
First names.
So now, it is early Sunday evening. The air conditioning feels good. The grilled cheese sandwiches are on the stovetop. The kids are playing. And all is right with the world.
Bob asked a group of us Friday night at our boys' night out if our lives would look any different without God. My son, one of my own little shepherds, said it best: "We wouldn't have each other."
But we do.
Thanks be to God, a God who knows us by name.
