on pastoring...dreaming of a lamb

He will tend his flock like a shepherd;
he will gather the lambs in his arms;
he will carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead those that are with young.  (Isaiah 40:12 ESV)

"He will gather the lambs in his arms, he will carry them in his bosom..." Made me think of a story my wife often tells about our niece, Amanda, years ago...Amanda and her lamb. So I asked her to write about it. Here is the first part of the story of Amanda and her lamb:

I knew a sheep once. Can’t remember its name, but it belonged to my niece, Amanda, who lived outside the city limits. Her parents, my sister and brother-in-law, raised chickens for meat and eggs, and goats for milk and cheese.

Amanda was a young girl who was active in 4H. Because of her age, she could only participate as a Cloverbud, at a non-competitive level. The rules allowed her to do small animals, like guinea pigs and rabbits, but she was not allowed to show large animals until she reached the age the powers that be had determined would provide protection from some of the dangers involved with large animals. Small animals were fun enough, but the glory and the big awards lay in the large animal barn.

Amanda put a lot of thought into the animal she would show. She discussed this with me one day, and shared with me the logic only a young girl could have. She had considered cows briefly, but as she told me, “they have slimy noses, and that’s just gross.” She considered pigs, but “they’re just gross all over.” Her parents raised goats, so a goat would not be unique enough. But a sheep? Now, there was the animal for her. A little lamb, soft and gentle, bonded to Amanda and no one else, would be the animal that fulfilled her heart and her dreams.

Finally Amanda was old enough for the large animal projects in 4H. The problem was that her family was poor. They could not afford a large pet that did not produce anything of value. Amanda couldn’t bear the thought of her precious lamb being butchered and eaten through the winter, nor could she endure the thought of auctioning it at the end of the fair. She and her dad finally reached a compromise: Amanda would do a breeding project. The ewe would be Amanda’s, but the babies would be her dad’s, although he would allow her the choice of the local butcher or the fair auction at the end of the season.

Now that Amanda’s dad had a financial interest at stake, he became quite interested in sheep. He began an extensive research project, learning to his delight that he could keep the sheep with the goats with very little modifications to the pen. He discovered the care the animal would require, as well as the diseases which could harm the sheep and how to treat them. He got himself up to speed in the qualities of a well bred sheep. He researched breeders to see which ones had the highest number of fair winners, visiting the sheep farms and talking with the breeders to see which of them would be most likely to be a resource for questions that would arise in the future. Amanda dreamed of how the lamb would go from window to window outside the house, watching her as she did her homework and household chores, bleating for her.

on pastoring...part 1

Behold, the Lord GOD comes with might,
     and his arm rules for him;
behold, his reward is with him,
     and his recompense before him.
He will tend his flock like a shepherd;
     he will gather the lambs in his arms;
he will carry them in his bosom,
     and gently lead those that are with young. (Isaiah 40:10-11 ESV)

She forgot the rings.

Our trip to Kauai had two key purposes: a celebration in advance of our 30th anniversary, and being present for our friends at their wedding on the shores of the island.

It was a beautiful Friday morning – our first on the island. We had driven half-way around Kauai, it seemed, with plenty of time to reach the beach where the officiant, photographer, and florist would be waiting. We didn’t know it at the time, but we were almost there, when we received a text from our friends driving in a separate vehicle ahead of us that they forgot the rings. They were going to drive back to the hotel, get the rings and make some calls to make sure that everyone would wait. Meanwhile, as they rushed back, that’s just what we did – we waited.

We had quite providentially stopped at a scenic overview of the Hanalei National Wildlife Refuge. And we soaked it in. Kauai is one of the world’s wettest locations (the wettest point on earth, Mt. Waialeale, is located on Kauai, and receives an astounding 460 inches of rainfall each year). And it shows. So many shades of green! Deep, vibrant, verdent green! Everywhere. We soaked in the view as we waited for our frenzied friends (everything turned out fine, the officiant was still waiting along with the photographer and the florist, and the wedding went on as they had planned and dreamt).

Quite fittingly, Kauai was where I read Isaiah 40-52 as part of the ongoing Project 1189 (reading through all 1,189 chapters of the Bible in two years). And even as the island lingers in my heart and soul, so does Isaiah with its many scenic overviews, beginning with the passage quoted above.

Isaiah 40:10-11 immediately seized my attention with its seeming incongruity of strength and might in verse 10 and the tenderness and soft touch of verse 11. But what strikes me as I take in this rich scenic overview – for me starting in Isaiah 40 – is that there is no incongruity here at all, except in our own minds and cultural perspective. Typically (or should I say stereotypically) tenderness is regarded as feminine and weak (at least by men). We men are all over “his arm rules for him” leading us to a crescendo of testosterone by the end of verse 10, while, for us, verse 11 sputters out, an ignominious dud (it has to be a female nursery worker’s verse!).

But connecting both verses is the statement, “he will lead his flock like a shepherd.”

Shepherd is the crucial link.

It would seem there is something of “masculine” might and the ruling arm in a biblical shepherd. You need go no further than David, seeing a precious lamb about to be snatched away by a ravenous bear or lion. Does he drop the predator, Goliath-like, with a well-aimed stone? No, he gets up close and personal in a very hands-on approach, grabbing each intruder in turn “by the beard” and then beating its bloody brains out with a club. Now that’s a ruling arm. But as I observe the picture more closely, there’s really not much here of the (again, stereotypical) masculine western man out to provide food for his family or a trophy for his wall. It’s more like a momma bear being robbed of her cubs. David is furious at the predator’s intrusion, but not because of potential financial or numerical loss or even trespassing on his domain. It’s because of the lamb – the one he gathers in his arms and carries “in his bosom.” The shepherd knows the sheep by name – and can recongize and distinguish them by touch and even by smell. And the sheep know his voice – because he is constantly among them using it, calling them by name, singing over them, laughing, warning, lecturing, cajoling.

He would lay down his life for any of them and he would leave all of them to go find one that was missing (the needs of the one outweighing at that moment the needs of the many).

It was only later in David’s life that he lost this shepherd’s heart when he as king stood on the balcony of his accomplishments enjoying his own scenic overview of Bathsheba’s courtyard – and then became the prowling predator himself, singling out and pursuing another’s lamb and ruthlessly making the kill.

As it was in Hanalei, there is so much to be seen here in this Isaianic inspired view. Much of God as our Shepherd; much concerning myself as one called “pastor/shepherd” following his lead and walking in his pastoring ways.

It’s quite a view.

It’s going to take a few posts to unpack and explore what I’m seeing…and what I’m saying every time I introduce myself as “pastor.”

to one in paradise

Finished reading Isaiah.

So much hope amidst so much sorrow;
so much light amidst so much darkness.
Hezekiah like I turn to the wall
to find myself facing the same gaping void.
I strain to hear the rhythm of life's lyre
but only silence
I strain to hear the song.
but only silence

The exquisite delicacy that is Isaiah
"epochs of intense tranquillity"
culminate in a prophet sawn in two
and a suffering servant whose generation
is speechless

I strain to hear the song
but only silence

Presently heard is Poe's voice, raven like
Isaiah's epitaph, and mine too:

Thou wast all that to me, love,
For which my soul did pine-
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.


Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries,
"On! on!"- but o'er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!


For, alas! alas! me
The light of Life is o'er!
"No more- no more- no more-"
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree
Or the stricken eagle soar!


And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams-
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.

the highway

In that day there will be a highway from Egypt to Assyria, and Assyria will come into Egypt, and Egypt into Assyria, and the Egyptians will worship with the Assyrians.

In that day Israel will be the third with Egypt and Assyria, a blessing in the midst of the earth, whom the LORD of hosts has blessed, saying, “Blessed be Egypt my people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel my inheritance.” (Isaiah 19:23-25 ESV)

A small group luau.

I’m sitting on the patio listening to a Mormon elder who grew up in Hawaii strum away on a ukulele, singing out that “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” ukele song. And I am transported.

Mormon elders hanging out with protestant/charismatic/evangelical believers may not be the biggest gulf spanned or the highest wall crumbled. But as I closed my eyes and totally forgot who was playing – other than the fact it was a human being with a song in his heart and a story to tell, I was reminded for a moment of this passage in Isaiah I recently had stumbled across (again).

“In that day Israel will be the third with Egypt and Assyria, a blessing in the earth.”

Egyptians and Assyrians and Israelites (interesting that Israel is the third!) worshipping together. Images of the tavern scene from Fiddler on the Roof – Russian Jews and Cossacks drinking and dancing and celebrating, because there was something to celebrate that transcended all of their differences (in this case an upcoming marriage). First the Jews celebrate and dance, then the Russians enter the picture and take center stage, and then there’s a little collision, and Tevye takes the plunge and enters the dance with a Russian goy.

I find striking that neither lost their identity as they entered the dance together.

“Blessed be Egypt my people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel my inheritance.” Each distinct, each blessed, each joining hands.

In the tavern, Jew and goy each have their distinctive nationalities and dress and language and dance, ultimately playing off each other on the tavern floor – with Tevye daring to learn the Russian’s dance. Though, admittedly, this is only for a moment. It doesn’t take long for the present, flawed reality to cloud back in even as they leave the tavern and Tevye is warned of an upcoming “demonstration” by the local police. But for a brief moment there is a highway from Assyria to Egypt, from Egypt to Assyria, and north and south dance in worship, in life together, with little Israel the third partner on the dance floor.

Funny how absorbed we can be by our differences.

Even funnier how we try to “hammer them out,” thinking that this is the way to build this highway.

But the reality is this isn’t a highway that we can or need to build at all. It’s one that is already here, waiting for us to muster up the courage to see and acknowledge it. Waiting to be walked and danced and worshipped on. Waiting to be used. We can use it, or we can put our own roadblocks on it – political and religious, economic and social – we can pile them high and then defend our barricades quite zealously. And we do.

But the highway remains.

And as I listen to the strains of the ukulele, I find myself wondering on this 9/11 what it will take for us to tear down the barriers we have erected. What will it take to see Jew and Goy, Muslim and Protestant, Catholic and Mormon, _________ and _________ dancing together on that highway.

What will it take?

And still the ukulele plays.

Still Isaiah dreams.