a Shepherd’s Voice
Photo by Tyler Casey on Unsplash
When I was around five, I recited the twenty-third Psalm into a microphone as big as my face one night at church. As a shy kid, I was equally proud and petrified to walk toward the man holding the mike and make it to the end with no mistakes. That church, with its forest green carpet and Greek columns framing the entrance, is where I was baptized not long after. I was so small that the pastor had to lift me up above the ledge in the baptistry so the congregation could see me.
It became a tradition in our east Texan church for children to memorize that Psalm and other Psalms and quote them for the congregation at evening services. The leader invited kids who had recited verses to take turns answering questions meant to elicit a ‘kids say the darndest things’ type of answer. When I’d recited a different passage sometime later, he’d just had a birthday, so he invited us to guess his age. I blurted out, “99!” to the uproarious laughter of the crowd. As Lacy Borgo knows “Adults enjoy the stories of children, and their ways are an inspiration and a novelty” and yet when such moments are offered to be consumed as entertainment for adults, something sacred is compromised. My face burned as I returned to the pew where my parents waited, humiliated. My childhood-self took note: it’s better to stay silent than risk being mocked or shamed. Be certain or be quiet. That message was underscored in countless other ways before my tenth year.
Gentle and Kind
There was much that was wonderful about growing up in that church. We sang hymns that told true stories about God and the good world we inhabit. I learned to love the Bible and the value of turning to greet a neighbor with a friendly word. I learned more about the Good Shepherd as we sang ‘surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days, all the days of my life.’
But I also soaked up legalism, a narrow gospel, and misleading and oppressive ideas connected to purity culture, female submission, and a child-abusing Deity. Some of those unhelpful things were unlearned long ago. And there are a few I’m still in the process of untangling.
Even so, I remember God’s still, small voice, too. I trusted I was—and felt—loved and welcomed by God. One afternoon, I was walking along the edges of my first-grade playground under a canopy of trees, taking a rare break from swinging with friends. I was telling God how sorry I was that I hadn’t been thinking about him earlier that morning in class. I was certain he was angry and disappointed. In my youthful understanding of prayer, I thought I was supposed to be actively speaking or listening to God every minute of every day. As I walked, I sensed a surprising reply. Long before I was introduced to breath prayers and other ways of praying without ceasing that are more gracious and sustainable, the Spirit whispered words of comfort and consolation instead of the sharp reprimand or begrudging forgiveness I expected. God let me know he was happy I’d been paying attention to my teacher and friends in class. And that he was glad to be talking with me then.
Rod and Staff
God responded like a gentle shepherd instead of the loud and angry Parent I’d anticipated. To this day, the gentle tone I heard that day is how I can distinguish God’s voice from that of the accuser or my inner critic. Anyone who shepherds children or communities knows how much better it is to invite than to push or coerce. But some of us might be harder on ourselves than we would others, fostering a critical internal dialogue that we frame as holiness or high standards. And that matters because you are beloved of God. It also matters because the way we talk to ourselves tends to overflow into how we interact with others whether we intend it to or not. I wonder what might happen if you got curious about the Good Shepherd’s voice in your life. If you sense God speaking harshly or condescendingly, is it possible you’re hearing something other than the Shepherd’s voice in those moments?
I am grateful for that early invitation to know the Holy One as gentle and kind rather than exacting because more than a few teachers in my world would go on to paint him as punitive. I was raised in an era in which a very particular understanding of Proverbs 13:24 prevailed. Many parents believed Paul wasn’t being metaphorical when he gave the Corinthians a choice of his coming with a stick or with gentleness (I Corinthians 4:21). They trusted James Dobson that “Pain is a marvelous purifier.” They agreed with Bill Gothard that parents, particularly fathers, held authority that was a God-given “umbrella of protection” which in practice meant that parents were responsible to maintain rigid standards of behavior enforced with a ‘rod of reproof.’ All that means it’s understandable I was puzzled by the Psalm’s fourth verse. How was I supposed to find a rod or staff comforting? Was I meant to enjoy being punished? That couldn’t be right.
I’ve since learned Middle Eastern shepherds’ rods were used not to beat but to protect and preserve their sheep. A rod was a short club that often had metal embedded into its end. Its daily use was, turned horizontally, to count the flock as they returned to the fold for the evening (see Leviticus 27:32). Kenneth Bailey, who spent just shy of fifty years in various Middle Eastern countries with opportunities to witness and learn from shepherds, notes that if a sheep turned out to be missing from at that evening roll call, “a rescue party of some kind [would] be on its way at once.”
The rod also served as a weapon in case a wild animal attacked a sheep. This is what David was talking about when he claimed he was capable of challenging Goliath (I Samuel 17:34-35). A minister who grew up in Tarsus (modern-day Turkey) tending his family’s herd of 100 sheep wrote, “One good blow from [the rod] will kill or cripple to utter disability almost any ferocious animal.” The rod was not intended to wound vulnerable sheep but to keep them safe in the face of real danger.
The staff was a walking stick, usually with a crook on its end like the one often depicted in the hands of the Good Shepherd in frescoes and stained glass both ancient and modern. A staff helped shepherds climb and gave them something to lean on as they stood watch over the flock. It might also be used to guide the flock or to help an animal that had fallen into a cleft in the rocky ground or running water climb back to safety.
When he called God’s rod and staff a comfort, David was naming his conviction that God would protect and guide him. That he could rest easy knowing God was his security. K.J. Ramsey contends the rod and staff’s comfort are about “the promise of deliverance…the intimacy of belonging to a Shepherd who fights for us, who runs down lions and bears to keep us alive, who rescues us out of briars and bushes of bullying, who stretches out his staff just to remind us he is near, who is relentlessly determined to bring us home.”
Goodness and Mercy
Though many have misused the twenty-third Psalm either as platitude or pressure to be happy no matter what, David was well acquainted with trouble (and, particularly later in his life, all too capable of causing his own). His most well-known song isn’t inviting us to ignore everything hard or heavy in the world. Rather, at the very heart of the Psalm, he’s contending the comfort he’s talking about could coexist with fear, darkness, and the shadow of death.
It’s worth noticing that while the Psalm begins talking about God, at this mention of greatest danger, David begins speaking directly to God. God’s protection (his rod and staff), and provision, (table, anointing, and cup), are described in real time. Bailey describes it as the moment “God dramatically ‘walks on stage’” and begins offering care.
For a shepherd, the most dangerous part of a day was on the way home, when the most vulnerable in the herd, the tired, the young, the hurt, could be more easily picked off by a predator. Instead of being stalked by scavengers, David proclaims he (and we) are followed by goodness (tob) and mercy or lovingkindness (hesed) not for a short while until God gets distracted or moves on but for all time.
In the mid-nineteenth century, the dean of Westminster Abbey called trust in God as Good Shepherd the popular religion of the earliest Christians. He contended, “The kindness, the courage, the grace, the love, the beauty of the Good Shepherd was to them…Prayer Book and Articles, Creeds, and Canons, all in one.”
Eric Bishop wrote about a 1930s riot in Palestine after which the British government seized the herds, and, thereby, the livelihood, of the entire village as punishment. {I pause here to acknowledge with Solomon that there is indeed nothing new under the sun, praying for peace in Gaza, Israel, Ukraine, and everywhere the least of those created in God’s image suffer. If you’d like to take a moment to hold those peoples in the Light, consider engaging this prayer.}
The people were allowed to redeem their animals for a fee. An orphan with a small flock somehow gathered the necessary funds and went to claim them from a large common pen. The officer in charge welcomed him to collect the number of animals he’d redeemed but mocked the thought he would be able to pick out his particular flock from the assembly. The young shepherd simply pulled out his nai, piped his unique call, and “’his own’ separated from the rest of the animals and trotted out after him.” His sheep knew their shepherd.
On his last night, Jesus told his friends, “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27). And something we know about that voice is that it is most often gentle and kind. The sort that “will not break a bruised reed or quench a smoldering wick” (Matthew 12:20 (Isaiah 42:3). That it is at its most heated when religious leaders make faith esoteric and inaccessible or when anyone keeps the least from healing, care, and Presence.
I’m grateful to be able to be able to remember a playground moment when God’s voice was warm and welcoming. A moment predating one in which a more rigid gospel portraying God as a severe and disapproving Sovereign took up more of my theological imagination. I’m glad to have the solace of that trustworthy foundation to return to when I need it most.
I wonder what you might need to remember about how God has talked to you in significant and ordinary moments. What does the voice of the Good Shepherd sound like to you?
If you’d like to spend more time reflecting, consider trying this breath prayer:
Breathe in: Good Shepherd
Breathe out: I am listening
with care,
terra
Coming Up
On June 21st, there’s a strawberry full moon. Make plans to step outside and look up!
I am excited to have the chance to create an interactive lament installation and lead a workshop on grief at the Wild Goose Festival next month. Who’s planning to be there, too?
I’m looking forward to joining the Eremos community for a workshop exploring lament as a missing piece for many. Central Texas friends, I hope to see you there!
I look forward to speaking at the Church Mental Health Summit alongside Aundi Kolber, Caroline Leaf, Makoto Fujimura, and Latasha Morrison in October. The event is sponsored by Spiritual First Aid and Hope Made Strong and will happen on World Mental Health Day (October 10th). Find out more and register here.
What I’m Watching
Still loving Dr. Who, of course. I loved the Bridgerton nod (and Tony award-winning Jonathan Groff appearance (he’ll always be King George to me).
I also just finished Renegade Nell. It is without question the most original story I’ve seen in a while and was full of twists and surprising turns. I will say, when scrolling past it, it looked like the last thing I’d be interested in; a sort of Pirates of the Caribbean wannabe. I gave it a chance after I saw it was starring the quirkiest actress from Derry Girls, Louisa Harland. I don’t want to give too much away but I’ll tell you three reasons you should watch.
It was an unexpected and fun exploration of gender, class, and racial stereotypes. It’s full of gentle magic including a surprising turn from a former Parks and Recreation actor. I recognized a lot of actors from Dr. Who also acting in this series which I dearly hope has a season 2. Cautions: there is a lot of violence and, as I commented elsewhere recently, I am weary of sacralized violence. But the violence here is never gratuitous and almost always in self—defense. Also, know there are occult images that are central to the story. Here again, it’s approached in a way that explores the dangers and the reasons people might be drawn to such dark forces (spoiler: it’s power and money and defending the status quo at all costs).
What I’m Reading
I returned to Amanda Held Opelt’s A Hole in the World and am savoring it. It’s so well-researched and full of gorgeous insights and quotes. Here are two I’ve loved this week:
“Redemption has not presented itself to me in a neat, tidy box. I have not passed through all the stages. I have not graduated from grief. I did not earn an A+. And also, I am breathing. I am surviving. I have not given up.”
And, quoting Wendell Berry’s Hannah Coulter, “But grief is not a force and has no power to hold. You only bear it. Love it what carries you, for it is always there, even in the dark, or most in the dark, but shining out at times like gold stitches in a piece of embroidery.”
What I’m Listening To
A friend shared a few songs from Kacey Musgraves's new album this week. I love her clear voice, wisdom, and self-effacing humor (my favorite kind).
I suggest starting with “Deeper Well” and “The Architect.”
I’ll leave you with this blessing:
I lie down in the long grass
face to the blue platter serving up the sky
riveted by starlings flapping fiercely,
how hard it can be to bear my weight
but today I think of the pear
waiting on the table
inside the cool dark kitchen,
a perfect orb of sweetness,
and wildflowers sway all around me
as if there is some impossible song they all hear
and when the breeze visits all they can do is dance
and wonder why I don’t do the same.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
