When the Wolf Comes, the Shepherd Stays

When he was born he couldn’t see. His family was immediately ostracized. People didn’t know what caused his blindness. Something must have happened before he was even born. Had his mom done something she shouldn’t have or not done something she should have? Or his dad? He sat by the road day after day, begging for enough to buy food to temporarily satisfy his hunger. “Enough for today? I am so hungry! Will you let me die today? Have mercy on me!” Jesus did. He took dirt and spat in it, he formed a paste and covered the man’s eyes, and sent him to wash in the Pool of Siloam…on the Sabbath. The Pharisees could not believe his story – surely he wasn’t really blind; he couldn’t have really been healed. How could Jesus, who was obviously a sinner since he was healing on the Sabbath, have any power to do miracles? If he was not from God, he could do nothing. What should they do? What should they believe? Why would this man, Jesus, break the law by healing this nobody, this blind beggar, on the Sabbath?

Jesus responds that his purpose, his very reason for living, is for those who do not see to be able to see, and those who see to become blind. “Are we blind?” asked the Pharisees. And Jesus observes, “If you were blind, you would have no guilt; but now that you claim to see, your guilt remains.” And he offers a metaphor, based on everyday experiences that should have allowed them to see his message clearly, “There’s a sheepfold. Of course, it only has one door. If someone decides to go in any way other than the door, something’s up. The sheep will know it because they know the voice of the shepherd. They will come when he calls. Doesn’t matter if that other person knows their names, they won’t know that person’s voice and won’t follow.” The Pharisees understood the metaphor. It is one of the most recurrent metaphors for God in the Old Testament. God is the shepherd. We are the sheep.

In the prophecy of Ezekiel God declares, “As for you, My sheep, the sheep of My pasture, you are men, and I am your God.” The prophet Isaiah wrote, “Like a shepherd He will tend His flock, in His arm He will gather the lambs And carry them in His bosom; he will gently lead the nursing ewes. The prophet Jeremiah spoke God’s word, “Woe to the shepherds who are destroying and scattering the sheep of My pasture!” Throughout the psalms, the lyrics call on God, our shepherd, to seek the sheep who have gone astray, to carry, to guide, and to care for his people, the sheep of his pasture. Of course, then, as now, most everyone knew the 23rd Psalm by heart because the assurances we treasure now it offered them as well.

So, when Jesus reassures the Pharisees that the sheep won’t follow someone who bypasses the gatekeeper to enter the sheepfold, they didn’t know what to think. Could God have let Jesus in? The man whose sight had been restored thought so. He reminded the Pharisees that “Never since the world began has it been heard of that anyone opened the eyes of a man born blind,” and shared that the conclusion he had come to was that, “If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.”

Then, Jesus makes a bold claim, “I am the good shepherd.” “I am God.” There have been other people hired to tend the sheep – priests and elders, Pharisees and Sadducees, judges and kings, but every single time, when they have seen the wolf coming, they have fled. The good shepherd doesn’t flee. The good shepherd stays when the wolf comes and protects the flock, even if it costs his life.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”

In Biblical times, a shepherd carried a rod and a staff. A rod was relatively heavy and short like a club to fight off wild animals and to nudge the sheep when they were eating something they shouldn’t or wandering off a bit from the flock or standing in the gate and not going in. A staff was longer with a hook on the end to reach out and pull the sheep out of harm’s way, or back to the right direction, or closer to the shepherd.

Jesus doesn’t say, “I am here and there will be no need for rod and staff. Follow me to perfect pastures free of danger or death.” He says, “I won’t leave you. I know you, and you know me. And you are so important to me that I will lay down my life for you.”

There will be wolves. Loved ones will die. People will hurt you. You will face physical limitations. You will struggle. You will have worries. You will have grief. You will endure pain. We have all been impacted in the last year by worldwide disease, mass shootings, protests, and acts of cruelty and hate. There have been wolves. There are wolves. There will be wolves.

I saw a cartoon sketch meme this week that a friend posted with the comment, “This is what pastoral care classes in seminary should teach.” There were 6 frames of two people in the office break room. One was sitting against the wall distraught, the other was reacting. What should you do? Ask what’s wrong? Try to cheer them up? Offer a tissue? All are kind responses. The last frame was the “right” response, though. The two figures are sitting together, backs against the wall.

Rev. Rick Warren, the founding pastor of Saddleback Valley Community Church and author of the best-selling Purpose Driven Life, teaches his congregation to be alert to disaster – they even have an associate pastor whose title is the “Pastor of Disaster” – because when we are in crisis, when we are broken down and up against the wall and the wolf is threatening, we realize we need a shepherd, our hearts are open and we realize that we can’t take care of ourselves, we are not self-sufficient, we are vulnerable.

And what we need is not an encouraging pep-talk or seven steps shared with us to find hope and healing, what we need is someone to embody the Good Shepherd, to – borrowing the lingo of Saddleback Church – to “Shut Up and Show Up.” You may know that Rev. Rick Warren and his wife Kay have experienced deep tragedy. Their son committed suicide. Within 15 minutes, Rick recalls, their closest church family were there with them. He recalls, “There was nothing they could say that was going to encourage me. What they did was hugged…And then they said, ‘We’re not going home tonight. We’re staying at your place.’ ‘You don’t have to do anything.’ They slept in the kitchen and on the sofa. They said, ‘We’re just going to be here with you.’”

Perhaps the most lasting impact of the pandemic is that throughout the last year, we have not been able to truly be present to those who are hurting. And the impact of the pandemic goes well beyond those who were sick with COVID-19. We are experiencing collective grief – wolves have come in and stolen precious moments from us – I have a friend who gave birth and even her husband was not able to be present, weddings have been postponed or had limited attendance, youth have not had dances, the church has not had fellowship, the community has not been able to gather to celebrate or to mourn. The world is in the midst of the stages of grief. And I think it is really important to recognize that we all grieve in our own order and on our own timetable.
-Denial – surely it isn’t that bad, it can’t be real, and already we wonder if it really was as bad as we thought.
-Anger – boiling over, friction and irritability, and a general feeling that we have had enough.
-Bargaining – remember when this was only going to last a couple of weeks because we were all going to stay at home, only we didn’t because we just needed to get out a little? We start with science: as long as we all wear our masks, as long as we keep our distance, and then we justify that we have to take them off to eat, and a hug only lasts a few seconds.
-And sadness as we reflect on our losses, on the things we have missed, on the changes that are likely to remain with us for a while, on the inability to turn back time and go back the way things were, and sadness that looks to the future with anxiety, anticipating future grief, the unknown of the future impact on COVID-19 long-haulers, of variants, will we have to quarantine again?
-Eventually we reach acceptance as we move through grief, but to reach acceptance we have to let ourselves feel the emotions we are experiencing. We have to acknowledge them and let them pass through us. The only way out is through.

The good news is this: when the wolf comes , the shepherd stays. Jesus promises, “I won’t leave you. I know you, and you know me. And you are so important to me that I will lay down my life for you.” This is our hope to which we cling and which we share with others by being there in the midst of struggle as a reminder that Jesus is present. You don’t have to spend the night at their house, although you might. Is there somebody you haven’t heard from in a while? You could just show up at their house, stand outside and wear your mask, or pick up the phone and call them today and just say, “Hello. I was missing you” and listen.

We are all in the midst of grief – collective grief. And when we are grieving we cannot see. We cannot see the way out. We are blind to the fragments of light breaking through. But, Jesus can heal. If he can mix up dirt and spit to heal a blind man, he can use you and me to help others see that they are not walking through the dark valley alone, that the Good Shepherd walks with us, to protect us and guide us, and when we can’t see our way through the shadows, the Good Shepherd carries us.