Category: Devotional


A common, and biblical, metaphor for describing the office of pastor is that of the faithful shepherd.  Jesus presents Himself as the Good Shepherd (John 10:1-18).  Drawing from the deep well of the Old Testament canon, Christ brought to mind the words of the prophets Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Micah.

Isaiah 40:11 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.

Ezekiel 34:23 “Then I will set over them one shepherd, My servant David, and he will feed them; he will feed them himself and be their shepherd.

Micah 5:4 And He will arise and shepherd His flock In the strength of the LORD, In the majesty of the name of the LORD His God. And they will remain, Because at that time He will be great To the ends of the earth.

The imagery is certainly a beautiful reminder of the loving care in which Jesus provides to us.  It is best illustrated in the Shepherd’s Psalm.  According to this psalm, God provides for us, blesses us, nurtures us, protects us, and leads us in the paths of righteousness (Psalm 23).

This same representation is used in the New Testament also.

Hebrews 13:20 Now the God of peace, that brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant,

1 Peter 2:25 For ye were as sheep going astray; but are now returned unto the Shepherd and Bishop of your souls.

1 Peter 5:4 And when the chief Shepherd shall appear, ye shall receive a crown of glory that fadeth not away.

Though pastor is arguably the most common title for church leaders today, it is only found twice in the AV translation of Scripture.  Well, sort of, let me explain.  In the Old Testament, Jeremiah invokes the term as he prays to God for vindication in the midst of a corrupt people (Jer. 17:16).  Paul uses it in Ephesians, teaching on the various offices of the New Testament Church.  He writes, “And he gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers” (Eph. 4:11).  The Greek term for pastor is poimen (pronounced poy-mayne) and though not translated often as pastor in the AV, it is found in numerous other verses, translated as “shepherd” (Matt. 9:36; Matt. 25:32; Matt. 26:31; Mk. 6:34; Mk. 14:27; Lk. 2:8, 15, 18, 20; Jn. 10:2, 11-12, 14, 16; Heb. 13:20; 1 Pet. 2:25).

The Good Shepherd, painting, Philippe de Champaigne

Cliché advice comes frequently in the ministry.  It will come from pastors, church members, non-church members, the unsaved (which can include any of the three previous groupings), etc.  No matter one’s experience level with the Christian faith, their biblical literacy, or even their genuine interest in your ministry, people will always have advice for you.  In my young and more impetuous days, I did not know how to handle these moments.  Over the years, I have learned how to smile, nod, and then hand it all over to God.  Oh what a difference a decade in ministry can make!

The most popular advice centers upon my role as shepherd.  I am advised to feed the flock, nurture the flock, love the flock, admonish the flock, protect the flock, and so on and so forth.  While I believe each of these charges are biblical in nature and I strive to fulfill them each day, I do believe there is a misnomer that arises from such advice.  These charges are not universally applicative.  What I mean is, God’s command in all of this is directed toward HIS FLOCK!  The sad reality is that mingled among the sheep (the true followers of the Great Shepherd) are some old goats (Matt. 25:32-33) and even a few wolves (Matt. 7:15; Matt. 10:16; Lk. 10:3; Acts 20:29).

So my advice to my fellow pastors?  Feed the flock of God (1 Pet. 5:1), love the goats and share the Gospel with them at every opportunity (Lk. 19:10), and love the wolves as well, but be sure to freely use your shepherd’s crook against them (Jude 3, 4).

The morning of March 13, 2013 was not much different from the others.  I woke up to children running up and down the hall making every attempt to be quiet as not to wake up daddy and failing miserably.  I loosed the mask of my CPAP machine, took a deep breath, and pulled myself up from the bed.  Leah was moving from kitchen to bathroom in a repetitive pattern as she spent time with the kids while getting ready for work.  Everything was normal, almost everything.

Even though spring was little more than a week away, our area was enduring a rather nasty cold front.  Weather in the southeast is never predictable, but March displayed the type of schizophrenic behavior you only expect from relatives at a family reunion.  Temperatures dipped as low as 24 degrees to as high as 72 in that span.  The thirteenth was not a particularly memorable day.  The overnight temperature dipped below freezing causing a heavy frost to coat everything.

The rear exit from our home has a large wooden ramp.  It is a nice feature and has served us well through the years.  You appreciate it most when you are trying to make only one trip from the minivan to the house after grocery shopping.  Its one drawback is that the smallest amount of moisture can turn it into a splintery Slip-N-Slide if temperatures drop below freezing.  This day was one of those days.

If you are familiar with the Lord of the Rings, you probably know that Bilbo told his beloved nephew Frodo, “It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”  Oh, Bilbo, truer words can only be found in the Holy Bible.  I assessed the situation when I stepped out the door that morning.  The frost was visible on the wood slats, and for the briefest moment I had the clarity of mind to use the other door and avoid the ramp completely.  Sadly, the moment of clarity was just that—a moment.  I started down the ramp.

I made it halfway down the ramp when my left foot suddenly appeared in front of my face.  I thought it odd, but it was soon followed by the right foot.  My regular view of the frost covered field out behind the house was quickly replaced with the morning sky.  With a thud, I landed on my back and the air was forced from my lungs.  I was in shock for a moment, trying to catch my breath.  I did not hit my head, but it took me a few moments to gain my senses and realize what had just happened.  Pain was shooting throughout my body and I laid there gasping for breath in between the jolts of pain.

When my sense finally returned, I tried calling for Leah.  I am not exactly sure why I was calling for her.  There was nothing for her to do.  She could not pick me up, or even help me up because doing so would mean coming down the frost-covered ramp.  My calls went unheard, as I expected.  Finally, I began to press the remote door locking button on Leah’s key chain.  I did this for minute before I saw my son’s head poke out the back door.  “Get your mom please,” I forced out through gritted teeth.

Leah became frantic when she came to the door and I began to question why I had even called her to the door.  I was able, after the most excruciating ten minutes of my life to this point, work my way up with the help of the hand rail.  I could not stand up straight and walked like a slow moving treasure hunter who could not take his eyes from the ground.  I made it to my chair and remained there until forced to move.

My precious wife wanted me to go immediately to the emergency room.  I was able to deflect her because I still possessed pain medication from a shoulder surgery in October.  I assured her they would only give me pain medication and muscle relaxers.  This only gave me a brief reprieve and she was soon asking me once again to go to the ER, or if not the ER, call our physician and seek to slip into his daily schedule.  I refused.

My wife did what many wives have done through the years when dealing with an obstinate husband.  She called my mother.  I still maintain this was a dirty move, but I cannot argue with its effectiveness.  A two minute phone call from my mother got Leah what she had lobbying for most of the day.

Leah’s instinct was correct and my logic was wrong.  It happens often enough that it should not surprise me, but pride makes many of us slower learners.  When the doctors had finished their diagnosis, I walked, rather shuffled, from the ER with two fractured vertebrae and a severely bruised coccyx, which is a fancy word for tail bone.  That is right, I had broken my back in the fall.

To put our life into perspective at this point of the journey, Leah was in the midst of a high risk pregnancy and continuing to become more fatigued each day, and I broke my back.

Up until this point in my 35 years of life, I never understood how someone could be angry at God.  I saw it as a pointless venture, a road to nowhere.  When you become angry at God, I thought, what recourse do you have because God will always be right and you will always be wrong?  Even with that knowledge in my heart, I became angry with God.  It was short-lived and personal, but it was certainly anger.

The conversation in my mind went like this:

“Father, you know how much our family is struggling at the moment with Leah’s condition.  Why did you allow this to happen to me now?  Why not after Leah delivered?  Why here?  Why now?”

I played through that dialogue for nearly a week.  There was no self-pity.  I did not lament my lot in life; I bristled at it.  People get angry all the time, why was this so different.  It was different because of the hypocrisy that was creeping into my life.  I was incapacitated with a broken back, my wife was deteriorating weekly under the strain of her pregnancy, and I was angry at the only One who could truly help my situation.  As mentioned, I stayed in this hypocritical state for nearly a week.

I had last preached on March 10, a mere three days before my accident.  Though heavily medicated with pain medication, I was groggy, but fundamentally aware of my fractured emotional state and declining spiritual condition.  I reached for my sermon notebook and began flipping through its pages.  I had no intention of writing, and I was not interested in reading, which made picking up the notebook all the more puzzling.  I came to the last sermon I preached, Contentment in the Christian Life from 1 Corinthians 7:17-24.

This sermon led me to the first few chapters of Job.  And like all things from God, Job led me to the Gospels and the Cross of Christ.  My anger melted away and was replaced with shame.  How could I be angry in my condition or my wife’s condition when I considered the sufferings of Christ?  I did not know why I picked up that notebook, but I knew what God was trying to tell me.  No amount of suffering I can endure will ever match the agony of Christ.

I let go of my anger and replaced it with thankfulness.  Am I saying I became thankful for a broken back?  Yes, I am.  Knowing myself as I do, I am confident I would not have come to my realization for a very long time.  I allowed my anger with the circumstances to obscure my judgment and harden my heart to that which I knew to be true.  God is good and gracious every moment of every day.  I made peace with God, asking for forgiveness for my anger.  I sought strength for the days ahead and assurances that I could share with my family for the trials that were to come.

God knew the lesson I needed to learn, He knew the perfect time to teach me that lesson, and more importantly, He knew how important that lesson would be in the days to come.  So at peace with God, I moved ahead with peace in my heart concerning God’s plan for our family.