Feed My Sheep

Over the last few weeks, I have learned firsthand the intimacy and urgency of the request “If you love me…feed my sheep” made by Jesus to his disciple, Peter, in the Gospels of Matthew and John. Circumstances of health have left me unable to watch over my flock for a time, and I have had to entrust them to another’s care.

To one who is not a shepherd, “Feed my sheep” seems like a simple request to make sure their stomachs are full…but it is so much more. The significance of this humble request is more explicitly revealed in Ezekiel, chapter 34. Feeding sheep entails: caring for the weak, binding the wounded, seeking the lost, protecting them, defending them, assuring their peace of mind, visiting them, watching over them, guiding them, folding them (keeping the flock together) and managing them with tenderness and kindness. You see, “feeding” does not just mean to satisfy their physical hunger – but all of their needs. To meet all of their needs, you must know them, intimately.

Feeding sheep cannot be accomplished as a daily chore – it is an ongoing labor of love. In John, chapter 10 verse 13, Jesus said that a hired man has no concern for the sheep; he will abandon them when he sees a wolf approach. By contrast, the good shepherd will lay down his life for them. In biblical days, a shepherd was usually the youngest of the household, and the sheep did not belong to him. He shepherded out of love, loyalty and obedience to his father. How well he fulfilled this duty was a measure of his integrity, and determined the survival and success of his family. Shepherding was not a casual task, it was a sacred trust.

What would make sheep so valuable that a shepherd would give his life for them? In the Old Testament, sheep were not only a family’s sustenance, their source of food, milk and clothing, but of means of reconciliation with God through sacrifice. A sheep provided for both their physical and spiritual needs.

Since sheep have no means of defending themselves, a shepherd is responsible for them day and night. Though equipped with a rod, the most important aspect of his success was intimate acquaintance – love. The shepherd knows his sheep, and the sheep know him. They will not follow a stranger. How many times do we miss the key word in that passage? “Follow.” A shepherd doesn’t drive his sheep. A dog drives sheep. A shepherd calls sheep – and recognizing his voice - they follow. A rod requires contact with an individual sheep (or predator) where a voice can carry across the distance to move an entire flock away from danger. A stranger simply cannot step in and fill the shepherd’s role without becoming as familiar to the sheep as the shepherd. You cannot shepherd without love and trust.

Yesterday I was able to visit my sheep. Though they had food to eat, they were starving. They were hungry for my voice, my touch, my concern, my leading. Having a stranger meet their physical needs had not satisfied them. I realized that asking someone to feed my sheep in my absence is asking them to love my sheep as I love them…to be not the person they are, but who I am for my flock.

It gives me great pause to consider that in first epistle of Peter, chapter 5 verse 2, we are told to “Care for the flock of God entrusted to (us). Watch over it willingly, not grudgingly – not for what (we) will get out of it, but because we are eager to serve God…so that when the head Shepherd returns…”

I have not just been given my flock to care for in this life, but I have been entrusted to feed my Father's sheep.

For the people placed around me, how accurate of a reflection am I of Christ and his care for them? Will I have been a stranger or a shepherd in his absence? If the head Shepherd were to return to his flock, would he find his sheep scattered and hungry?

“Feed my sheep.” It seems like a humble request…but it is a sacred trust, far more demanding and noble than we imagine, and impossible to do without surrendering ourselves and conforming to his likeness...Do we love him enough?

Feed My Sheep
by David Humpal

I would give my all to God
My life is in God’s hands
I would do a mighty work
Across the foreign lands
But God gently said to me
Feed my lambs

If God asked to give to him
My wealth or riches deep
I’d obey his every wish
Each promise I would keep
But God calmly said to me
Tend my sheep

Every mountain I would climb
However high or steep
Every canyon I would cross
However wide or deep
But God softly said to me
Feed my sheep


Your prayers during this time would be greatly appreciated. Of course a return to health would be a blessing, but however he chooses to glorify Himself in my life, I would pray to be His humble servant.

Redemption

There are many seasons on the farm – some more picturesque and romantic than others. If asked to describe a farm, what comes to your mind?
Is it a spring scene with the fields newly planted, frolicking baby animals, and green splendor? Or do you see the culmination at harvest with the hay, fresh-mown and baled in the fields, trees laden with fruit and a lush garden with bountiful produce? Very few people picture what happens between the spring and harvest. Labor. Building, preparing, repairing. It is neither picturesque nor romantic. It is dirty and exhausting, and in the case of the task at hand – aromatic – in the worst way.

This week I stripped the barn. As the shepherd, the task falls to me. No one else will even come near. There is not one member of my family, nor a person for hire willing to lend a hand. To stand in the barn before the work begins, you would be oblivious to what lies beneath the soft, sweet-smelling straw. A few inches below the surface the litter has begun to decompose…a few inches below that, it is fully rancid. During the coldest months, the heat from the decomposition keeps the floor of the barn warm for the sheep, but in the summer, the same heat becomes unbearable. Stripping the barn removes between twelve and eighteen inches of the most pungent, putrid filth - the stench is so rank it defies description or imagination - to the cool, sweet soil beneath.

I stood leaning on the pitchfork, overwhelmed and weak from the odor. I asked God for another metaphor to distract me enough to get me through it. Something beyond the role of the Shepherd, and unconditional love, that would raise mucking manure in the sweltering July heat to a sublime meditation. God is faithful to instruct…

Why was I doing what I was doing? For the love of the sheep, to give them a reprieve from the heat, and prepare the barn for winter…No. Beyond that. Beyond the sheep, beyond the barn, beyond the stink. What am I holding? See it not for what it was – manure - or what it is – rot…but what will it be when it is finished? At this point I clearly saw the transformed and finished product – the compost heap. In the end this offensive rot becomes the harvest. There could be no harvest without it…the crop would starve. In the depths, in the undisturbed dark of the barn it is rot. To apply it directly to something green and growing would kill the plant – it is too “hot”. But if it is brought to light and exposed, turned and exposed, it is transformed to one of the most life-giving substances on earth – fertile compost – rich soil - tilth. What was filth and decay is redeemed.

Like the floor of the barn, our outward appearance is little indication of what lies beneath. And what lies beneath is decay, which leads to death. It can be transformed to something life-giving! Christ is able to redeem even our worst attributes – our greatest failures - those that permeate us to the core with filth and shame, when we turn to him in faith. Allowing that transformation is hard. It means surrendering to light that which has been hidden in darkness. But our transformation can bring nourishment rather than rot. When we are so broken we allow ourselves to be changed –that very brokenness becomes a blessing in the lives around us. There is no greater witness to redemption than a transformed life.

There are so many scriptural references that can be used here, but I like Ephesians 5:1-20 and these verses in particular...

"For though your hearts were once full of darkness, now you are full of light from the Lord, and your behavior should show it! For this light within you produces only what is good and right and true..." Ephesians 5:8,9

What is best...

I weeded the garden today. It was an arduous task. Not simply because of the weeds that have staked a claim in every inch of unoccupied soil after the blessed rains – but because of all of the good plants. Weeds are easy enough to identify and mark as unwanted. It is the “good plants” or the volunteers, as my grandma called them, which try me. A volunteer is a plant that regenerates the following year that wasn’t intentionally sown. They’re quite random, appearing in places most unsuitable. Last year we had a bountiful crop of tomatoes. It was beyond bountiful – it was overabundant. We could not eat, preserve or gift them fast enough. As a result, some of the fruit fell to the ground. The soil was tilled - the seed was scattered – and now there are volunteers throughout the garden.

Hundreds of beautiful tomato plants are growing in the rows of beans, peas, carrots, onions, squash. They had grown so well that I could no longer discern what was planted through the tomatoes. Again they flourished, this time to the detriment of everything else I planted. You see, I had already given half of my garden to planting tomatoes…and with the help of my volunteers, the entire plot had been overtaken. Up until today, I left them there. Because a tomato plant is a good plant. I didn’t have the heart to uproot it. But my garden was meant to be more than tomatoes, even though tomatoes are good. As I carefully weeded around the neat rows and the random tomatoes, I remembered a verse of scripture about choosing what is best. You see, keeping everything good in my garden was choking out what was best. In a row of carrots, carrots are best, no matter how good a tomato might be. When I commit to planting carrots, my aim should be to harvest carrots.

This is not the first time I have encountered this lesson on the farm. At one time we kept both Soay and Icelandic sheep. I loved them both. Both had qualities that not only made them suitable, but endearing to me. I did not want to ask the question “which is best?” because I did not want to choose. Keeping them both cost me dearly. The flocks could run together for the most part of the year, but breeding season presented many challenges, which I could have avoided entirely, had I made a choice. As does happen, one of my best rams escaped his pen, and covered ewes that had not been assigned to him. Not just any ewes. The Grand Champion ewes, which were to have been bred to the Grand Champion ram. Rather than the outstanding lambs we anticipated, we reaped a harvest of crossbred lambs, as the ram was not only unassigned, he was not the same breed as the ewes. The lambs are good lambs, but they are not a faithful representation of either breed. They are not authentic. They can never be the best for the purposes their parents were bred for. The same is true of us when we refuse to choose…we are only a half-hearted servant of either cause.

Making a choice is always difficult, for when we commit to one thing, we must, at the same time, say no to the other options – even if they are good. It is only by honoring a commitment in this way, that we can truly have what is best. So often in life, we are overwhelmed as my garden was, by allowing everything that is good, rather than focusing what is best. Good things clutter up our lives and our calendars – leaving little time or energy for that which is best. We soon find ourselves inadequate to fulfill any of the tasks set before us. Our limited energy and resources are spread so thin, that nothing we do is done well. No one is well-served when we try to have it all or be it all. We become discouraged…all because we lacked the courage to make a choice.

There are many decisions before us in a day. So many questions and opportunities…but we should not be asking ourselves “is this a good thing?” but rather, “is this best?” Is this the best of what is available to me now? Is this the best time, or would it be better to wait? Is this the best place, or should it be elsewhere? Is this the best use of my time, or is there something else I should be giving myself to? Is this the best use of my talent? Is this the best way to say what needs to be said? We must have the courage to commit to what is best, and focus our energies on those things...

With regret, I have pulled and placed my lovely volunteers on the compost pile. Choosing is not easy. Now there are empty spaces between the rows and between the plants. Healthy empty spaces that give them room to grow, seek the sun, extend their roots and draw nourishment from the unobstructed soil around them. Restful places. These empty places will be covered with mulch to protect them, so that nothing takes root there to draw away from or overshadow the young plants.

In order for us to be our best, we need to do the same with the cares and preoccupations of this world. What do you aim to harvest from this life? What have you committed to?

And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ--to the glory and praise of God. Philippians 1:9-11