on pastoring...the real shepherd

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)

The rest of the story of Amanda's lamb...

Finally the day came to select the lamb. Amanda’s dad took her to the breeder, where she promptly fell in love with the first lamb that gave a “baa!” as she approached. But her dad and the breeder selected five other lambs, each approximately equal in quality and allowed Amanda to choose from this limited number. She described her selection of her lamb, telling me she chose the one the “looked at me with love in her eyes.”


When the lamb was brought home, Amanda’s dad docked its tail and put the ointment in its eyes. Her dad was in the barn twice a day to milk their goats. On weekends while Amanda played in the yard with her sisters, her dad mended broken fences and did the various other chores that were too large for a young girl to do. Amanda’s job was to help clean the barn, feed and water the lamb, and halter train it. Amanda learned that tending a lamb was a lot more work than she had bargained for. And yes, the lamb would bleat for her every morning and afternoon. One day Amanda rolled her eyes and told me, “She does that ALL the time!”

Over the winter months the sheep grew quite large. By spring the ewe’s head reached Amanda’s chest, and she weighed more than Amanda did. It was time to shear the ewe for the first time. Amanda’s dad decided he would do the job because his daughter was too small. He took the shears and entered the pen. The sheep took one look at him and thought to itself, “I know that man, and I know he is not going to touch me with that tool in his hand.” And the chase was on. Around and around the pen Amanda’s dad chased the ewe, trying to get it cornered so he could shear it. Now Amanda’s dad is over 6 foot tall and had handled goats for years, so he had the strength necessary for the job, but he could not corner the sheep. Amanda’s dad felt that if his reach were a little longer he’d be able to accomplish his goal, so he took 2X4’s to extend his reach. The sheep was too fast even for a longer reach. He tried grabbing the sheep as it ran past him but had trouble getting his fingers into the wool. Once he finally got his fingers into the wool, only to be dragged across the pen until the sheep knocked him to the ground. After 40 minutes or more, Amanda’s dad decided he needed some help, and he knew who need to be there helping him. He went inside and called Amanda.

Amanda could tell her dad was pretty heated, so she quietly followed him out to the pen. Her dad entered the pen ahead of her, leaving the gate open behind him. The sheep was immediately on guard. As Amanda pushed her way through the gate, the sheep saw its opportunity and began to run as fast as it could toward the open gate. Amanda’s dad leapt for the sheep and yelled for Amanda to get out of the way. Amanda froze in fear as the sheep barreled towards her. Just inches away from Amanda, the sheep skidded to a stop, then put its face in Amanda’s chest and trembled. Amanda reached down, stroked the sheep’s ears and talked to it, calling it by name. As long as Amanda talked to the sheep, her dad could shear it; when Amanda’s attention wandered off, the sheep began to kick and jump away from the shears.

The sheep knew who its shepherd truly was, whom it could run to in troubled times, whom it could trust. It wasn’t the man who did so much to and for it, but the little girl who did things with it, the one who cared for it and loved it. When Amanda’s dad came into the house, he smelled of sweat; when Amanda came into the house, she smelled of sheep. Maybe that’s the truest test of a shepherd.

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.

swoosh!

Whoever believes will not be in haste.
Isaiah 28:16


As I grew up in the sixties, I watched it every week for three years.

Every week the starship Enterprise swooshed by in the opening credits of a series we simply wouldn’t miss for anything. I remember trying to guess which spot of light would become the ship blasting by at warp speed. And now I can’t think of a more appropriate image for the accelerating pace of our daily lives. It’s the first image that came to mind as I stumbled across this old friend in Isaiah 28:16 – “Whoever believes will not be in haste.”

Hama’amim lo yachish.

At least that’s something like how the Hebrew would sound. And it’s not only foreign in sound but it’s foreign in concept for us culturally.

The Hebrew verb translated “be in haste” or “make haste” is chush, with the “ch” pronounced like the “ch” in “Bach” (a guttural “h”) and the “u” long, so it’s choosh. And I go to all that trouble just because it’s an onomatopoetic word – a word whose sound imitates that which it represents, which is approximately the sound of an arrow or bullet or any other object flying fast right past your ear. Choosh. Swoosh.

Okay, so what?

Well, what strikes me yet again is the settled, peaceful, calm stance of the one who trusts in the Lord. The Lord has laid the foundation in Zion, a stone, a tested stone, a precious cornerstone, of a sure foundation. And when we truly trust in him, we are settled there. No panic, no rushing about, no running after this or that, no racing. No swooshing.

Reading Isaiah 18-28 in one setting this past week, my mind immediately connected “whoever believes will not be in haste” with this description of a panicked Jerusalem facing catastrophe and looking to the armory, to the walls, at the infrastructure and supplies, but not finally seeing what matters most:

In that day you looked to the weapons of the House of the Forest, and you saw that the breaches of the city of David were many. You collected the waters of the lower pool, and you counted the houses of Jerusalem, and you broke down the houses to fortify the wall. You made a reservoir between the two walls for the water of the old pool. But you did not look to him who did it, or see him who planned it long ago. Isaiah 22:9-11

There certainly is a balance between prayer and action, but in my experience we put the premium on action backed by prayer (when we have time) rather than the reverse. The result is that rather than offering a different speed, a different way of doing life as the people of God, we end up swooshing just like the rest of the culture. People in a frenzy. Government in a tizzy. Church in a whirlwind of the latest Herculean effort.

Phil Vischer in his book, Me, Myself, and Bob, in describing the rise of Big Idea Ministries and VeggieTales, says that it was a Herculean effort to start his ministry/business. That was understandable. The trouble was, everything became a Herculean effort. It became a way of life. Soon he found himself in the hospital with pericarditis. The year after that he contracted strep throat. The year after that, shingles. He writes, “All stress related, the results of an increasingly maniacal schedule that had me bouncing between press interviews, speaking engagements, and endless meetings with animators, marketers, licensors, architects, and designers. My days were now scheduled down to fifteen-minute increments. Even the tasks I should have enjoyed – the creative writing projects or strategy sessions – were no longer fun. Big Idea was now creating toys, books, greeting cards – you name it. Exactly what I had wanted. But my time was so stretched now that the only projects I could handle personally were the videos themselves, and even those I only did by locking myself away in a nearby hotel for intense two-day writing marathons characterized more by stress than joy. And the strategy sessions with my executive team, sessions that sounded so fun going in, were routinely devolving into extended and unresolved arguments.”

I think the point here is simple.

Stop swooshing as a way of life.

Don’t even think about demolishing your home to fill the breaches in the wall.

And before you start counting arms or gathering pools…stop.

Breathe.

Remember that he holds everything together by the word of his power – not by the strength or skill or persistence of our Herculean efforts.

And then spend some time watching birds that don’t sow or reap, and wildflowers that don’t hustle through the mall looking for the latest fashions. Somehow, they end up doing just fine. The Father feeds and clothes – somehow.

Sitting with a gal this past week as she talked about frantically trying to get a hold of herself and find out where God really is in her life, I suggested she stop struggling so, and picture herself already in the flow of the river that is God – what we call the kingdom of God. She immediately remembered an incident when she was twelve and on the diving team. She tried a new highly convoluted dive that left her disoriented when she entered the water. She always found her bearings by finding the bottom and then knowing which way to go up. But she couldn’t find the bottom. She panicked and thrashed until she remembered a basic lesson in swimming: if you don’t know where you are, stop, and your lungs will carry you to the surface. So she did just that. She stopped. And she rose.

I told her that was a mighty fine sermon she just preached for herself.

Mighty fine one for us too.

be not afraid

God spoke strongly to me, grabbed me with both hands and warned me not to go along with this people. He said:

"Don't be like this people,
   always afraid somebody is plotting against them.
Don't fear what they fear.
Don't take on their worries.
If you're going to worry,
   worry about The Holy. Fear God-of-the-Angel-Armies.
The Holy can be either a Hiding Place
   or a Boulder blocking your way…
Gather up the testimony,
   preserve the teaching for my followers,
While I wait for God as long as he remains in hiding,
   while I wait and hope for him.
I stand my ground and hope,
I and the children God gave me as signs to Israel,
Warning signs and hope signs from God-of-the-Angel-Armies,
   who makes his home in Mount Zion.     Isaiah 8

King Ahaz was between the proverbial rock and a hard place – caught between King Rezin of Damascus and King Pekah of Israel. Both were conspiring and plotting. Both were on the verge of attempting to overrun Jerusalem and install their own puppet king in their great political chess game with the ruling and rising powers both north and south.

Ahaz was panicked and fearful. His fear infected his entire court – and amplified the fears already resident in the general population.

As Isaiah reports it, “When the house of David was told, ‘Syria is in league with Ephraim,’ the heart of Ahaz and the heart of his people shook as the trees of the forest shake before the wind.” Just think of our recent wind “microbursts,” power outages and downed trees, and you get the picture.

Isaiah called for a meeting in “Washerman Field” outside of Jersualem.

What does Isaiah say to the trembling king?

“Be careful, be quiet, do not fear, and do not let your heart be faint because of these two smoldering stumps of firebrands, at the fierce anger of Rezin and Syria and the son of Remaliah.”

“Be not afraid.”

It’s one of the most oft repeated phrases in the Bible.

That’s probably because we all so naturally gravitate towards fear. Quiet trust doesn’t come naturally, for the simple reason that there is really so very little that we can control. Our fear ultimately betrays us. It betrays our lack of heart and soul. It betrays a pragmatic mind that doesn’t really believe God is sovereign and in control, and if he’s not, we better be, but ultimately we're faced with the fact that we can’t be, and so, well, we live in fear. We make decisions in the shadows of fearful calculations and prognostications. And like Ahaz we grasp at Assyrian straws while turning away from virgin signs of Immanuel. We figure it out. We break alliances, we make alliances, we trade alliances, we push the pieces around the board of home and work and church, and in so doing earn the same epitaph as Ahaz: “If you do not stand by faith, you will not stand at all.”

While reading and pondering all this in Isaiah 7 and 8, I came across this statement by Richard Rohr in his book Everything Belongs:

I believe faith might be precisely that ability to trust the river, to trust the flow and the lover. It is a process that we don’t have to change, coerce, or improve. We need to allow it to flow. That takes immense confidence in God, especially when we’re hurting. Usually, I can feel myself getting panicky. I want to make things right, quickly. I lose my ability to be present and I go up into my head and start obsessing. I tend to get overfocused, and I hate it because then I’m not really feeling anymore. I’m into goal-orientation, trying to push or even create the river – the river that is already flowing through me.

Faith does not need to push the river precisely because it is able to trust that there is a river. The river is flowing; we are in it. The river is God’s providential love – so do not be afraid…Some say that FEAR is merely an acronym for “false evidence appearing real.”

Ask yourself, “What am I afraid of?” “Does it matter?” “Will it be there anyway in the end?” “Is it worth holding on to?” We have to ask whether it is fear that keeps us from loving. I promise you, grace will lead us into those fears and voids, and grace alone will fill them up, if we are willing to stay in the void. We mustn’t engineer an answer too quickly. We must not get too settled too fast. For it is so easy to manufacture an answer to take away the anxiety. To stay in God’s hands, to trust, means that to a certain degree I have to stop taking hold of myself. I have to hold, instead, a degree of uncertainty, fear, and tension…

What must be sacrificed, and it will feel like a sacrifice, is the strange satisfaction that problem-solving gives us. Don’t you feel good when you’ve solved problems at the end of the day? We say to ourselves, “I’m an effective, productive, efficient human being. I’ve earned my right to existence today because I’ve solved ten problems.” I do want us to solve problems; certainly there are plenty out there to solve. But not too quickly. We mustn’t lead with our judgments and fears. We shouldn’t lead with our need to fix and solve problems. This is the agenda-filled calculating mind that cannot see things through God’s eyes. We must not get rid of the anxiety until we have learned what it wants to teach us.

There must be Someone to trust, there must be a prior experience of the river flowing through us or we will surely take control. Why wouldn’t we? If there’s not someone else in control, why wouldn’t we be pre-occupied with taking control? There’s really not much alternative in a secular culture. No wonder we have an entire country of control freaks. And it gets worse as we get older. It gets harder because we get used to the way we like things. We start organizing and shoving other people around to fit into our agendas.

Ouch. Rohr doesn’t even know me, but yet he very clearly sees who I too often have been.

Just how driven am I by my own Ahaz ways, rather than entering the flow of Immanuel?

How often still do I activate my own cleverly devised Assyrian gambits – my latest plans to rescue myself or this person or that situation?

How naturally do I still fester in a culture of fear rather than fostering a path of deepening, quieting faith and trust?

How often do I still wish to fix my story or eject it, rather than stopping long enough to hear what God is already saying in the midst of it? Will I again resume work on the latest verison of my “wave machine,” or will I stop long enough to once again feel the River?

As I stand alongside Ahaz in Fuller’s Field, will I choose to stand my ground and hope and wait upon sign and wonder mysterious and hidden…or will I yet again yield to the so easily prevailing winds of fear carrying the latest cries of “conspiracy!” "trouble!" "calamity!" "doom!" and drive and be driven…