I am a sheep traveling through the dark valley with my Shepherd. I know He’s with me, but I don’t always see him. I heard He would be in the church. That’s where I am told that if there are two or more of us gathered, He’ll be there with us.
I walk into church wounded, scraped and bruised, and sometimes feeling pretty broken. There are many obstacles on the way. It’s hard to get there.
I know what a shepherd is because I’m a lamb and I need help, support, love, and reassurance. I know my Shepherd’s voice. They call themselves shepherds here, but I think I see the costumes they’re wearing, and I can tell they don’t understand sheep. How can a shepherd not understand sheep?
They place burdens on me that I can’t bear. They think they know me. They assume a lot about my attitude, about my heart, about my motives, and I think they assume I need their advice and their example.
I do need them, but they’re confused about who I am and what my needs are. And they don’t understand why I’m there. They also seem confused about who they are and why they are there.
They think I’m stupid. I’m not stupid, but I am defenseless and scared. I wasn’t made for this world. I was made for another, gentler place. I know this. I was made for love. I was made to walk next to my Good Shepherd. I think they’re like me, and they were also made this way, but maybe they don’t understand that, either. Why are they dressed up like shepherds? Why are they standing in the pulpit? How can they think their pompous, strident words could help a limping lamb?
How can they miss my bruises? When they do see bruises, why am I blamed for them? Why do they call me stupid? Why am I shamed?
How can they accuse me of so much wrong? How can they call me bad week after week when they don’t know me?
Why do I feel punished before the sermon begins? Why is everyone so stiff and phony?
Why do they tell me to follow them? They’re not on my path. They know nothing of my struggles. They know nothing of the wolves that have been waiting to eat me alive. They don’t know the journey I just came from. They’re impatient, brusk, and uninterested.
I come to get a glimpse of my Good Shepherd there. I would like to find His presence. I was told He would be here. Instead, I find more wolves, more obstacles, more confusion.
The worst part is the burdens.
Sing! Sing with enthusiasm! Hide the negative emotions! Be grateful! Go share the good news! Go help others! Be loving! Be like I am! Pray … read … volunteer! Come back on Wednesday! Most importantly, give!
God is good.
When I’m out in the valley I see lost sheep who need tending, but the shepherds never go find them. Their words would bring no comfort if they did. I wouldn’t bring them to the church with me because they wouldn’t understand these people at all. There’s no comfort, no relief, no help, only burdens and accusations that don’t make sense to a wounded lamb.
Where are the pastors?