Shepherd King, Part One: Start Here

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Take a moment, please, to consider the incredible staying power of the Twenty-Third Psalm. How it shows up in places expected and surprising. How fragments of it are embedded in speech. How it gets used and misused, with or without the user knowing which was which. And yet the Psalm rights itself somehow. “The Lord is my shepherd…” and the speaker may or may not have a sweet clue what that means. But there it is.

     More than a moment, I’m asking you to take several weeks, actually, to meditate on the Twenty-Third Psalm. Best I can tell, I have permission from the Lord to ask such an audacious thing. I hope you’ll agree at some point. To that end, please take the very next moment – yep, this one – to pray for me… maybe something like “Father, let John hear you clearly, and use his writing to draw us into the beauty of your favor and affection.” Thanks.

     We’ll take the Psalm slowly, a phrase at a time. This’ll take a while, which, if I’m understanding the Lord correctly, is mostly the point.

 The Lord is my shepherd… (verse 1).

 Just say it… um, please. Several times. Move the emphasis from one word to the next with each repetition, and lean into the change. Here: I’ll suggest with punctuation what I hope we can do with our hearts and minds and voices:

The Lord is my shepherd… to the exclusion of all impostors.

The Lord is my shepherd… because he promised to never quit.

The Lord is my shepherd… though he tends the whole flock, he won’t lose me.

The Lord is my shepherd… even though I’m still figuring out the sheep/shepherd thing.

     Just so you know, I recited the Twenty-Third Psalm early on the morning of this writing… out loud, standing barefoot in the dewy grass of my backyard, arms outstretched. Should’ve been glorious, right? It wasn’t. And just so you know this also (because the Holy Spirit is insisting I tell you), I should’ve been out there two hours earlier; I should’ve had my big-boy boots strapped on, good-to-go; I should’ve been pointing and directing and barking out orders by then – at least to myself. 

     The Father’s favorite part of “shoulda” is the “shhh” part: “Shhh, little one. Don’t should on yourself. You don’t know what you’re should-ing yourself into. Shhh… now, would you like to hear what I have for you?”  

     Reciting the Psalm this morning was awful… except. Except that, underneath the gyrations of my heart and mind was a steady beat: The Lord is my shepherd; he knows and he sees; he is here and he is able; his Word is my guide; his Spirit leads me, now and forever.

     Four full decades of following Jesus have taught me at last: pushing ahead of the Lord’s pace is a greater sin – because it’s more harmful – than lagging behind. I used to think it was the other way around. I used to think “helping” the Lord to quicken his pace was a virtue. It’s not. It is so not a virtue. The sheep leading the Shepherd… how absurd is that?

     The Lord is my shepherd… let it run on repeat until I write to you again, letting this one simple declaration have its way, growing in depth and power. Meanwhile, I’ll leave us with a few words Jesus spoke to an anxious crowd long ago:

    “There is no need to be afraid, little flock, for the Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32).

 Grace and Peace (to calm the shoulda’s),

 

John

Apprenticeship 401: Cap and Gown

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     In this “Apprenticeship” series of letters, I’ve intentionally mixed academic and vocational terms: course monikers like 101, 201, etc., with “journeyman’s card.” In serving our apprenticeship to the Father, and cooperating in being conformed to the image of his Son, we’ll be getting a more well-rounded education than either category of terms can describe on its own, so I’ve wanted us to get used to seeing them together. Our work in this walk-around world is designed to produce something in the world – and in us – which begs the question…

     Where, exactly, is the Father going with our apprenticeship?

     In his letters to the Corinthian Christians, the apostle Paul made some statements that may have startled even himself. Here’s a sampling from the sixth chapter of (what we call) the first letter: Or do you not know that the saints will judge the world? (verse 2) Do you not know that we are to judge angels? (verse 3). It’s not hard to imagine the wide-eyed Corinthians responding, “Nope, sure didn’t.”

     Our first-century forbears hadn’t got used to being blood-bought daughters and sons of God Most High – and neither had their apostle, quite – which is one reason their exchange of letters at times sounds so contentious: “When are you going to get it, people?” “What the heck are you even talking about, Paul?” The high calling in Christ Jesus was higher and better than any of them had imagined up to that point.

     Which brings us to the twenty-first century, and a whole new batch of Corinthians (Cobblestonians?), learning moment by moment what their calling involves. Paul didn’t ask those questions of his own accord. God breathed them out, and Paul made sure they got put down on parchment, to be circulated throughout the family of God. Being God-breathed, they’re not the least bit imaginary. We may bank on them as if what they describe has already happened. The saints will judge the world. We who are saved will judge angels. Ready? Go.

     Oops, not ready? Yeah, me neither. Which is why it’s so important to know where this apprenticeship is going – and how far we’ve yet to go.

     In (what we call) Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, the Father calls his children ambassadors for Christ, given the ministry of reconciliation (5:18, 20). That’s what he has made us now. Our titles don’t change when God’s plan comes to fruition; the change is that our work becomes altogether effective and unfailing. How good does that sound to a soul weary with the world’s troubles? Fully animated by the Holy Spirit and unwaveringly obedient to the Master, we can’t miss the intended mark.

     The unsaved world would get mighty grumpy if the Church started putting up billboards now, saying, “Hey, Y’all, betcha can’t wait to be judged by us Christians!” So, as I’ve said earlier in this series, the unsaved world doesn’t need to see us as better, only different. I’ve heard Andrew Holzworth say, “When a Christian walks into the room, the room should change.” I agree. A peace merchant just showed up. A minister of reconciliation is at work. Someone, finally, is practicing mercy on the Master’s behalf. This is our work in the here-and-now.

     When we receive our caps and gowns – or as the Revelation puts it, the white robes and a new name (2:13, 7:9) – we’ll know what to do with them. Meanwhile, the very best thing we can do is acknowledge our dependence on the Father, and lean fully into him – Behold, as the eyes of servants look to the hand of their master, as the eyes of a maidservant to the hand of her mistress, so our eyes look to the Lord our God, till he has mercy upon us (Psalm 123:2).

     On your very last day you will be most like Jesus. Same for me. I’m happy to wear the apprentice’s cap, happy to cooperate with the Master for as long as it takes. Same for you, I hope. Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is (1John 3:2).

 Grace and Peace (from the Master himself),

 

John

Apprenticeship 301: Honoring the Master

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     I remember vividly the day I became a wage-earning machinist, transitioning from a vocational school student to the real world of shaping metals. The memory is sharp mostly because the day didn’t go so well. I was the first trade school student to co-op in the shop; this was a grand experiment for my new employer. The shop supervisor, Mr. Herman Ulrich, led me to an old Monarch engine lathe, pointed to a chunk of steel bar stock on a nearby skid, and said, “Rough it down to 4 inches.” And then he walked away. The date was January 8, 1979… a Monday.

     The task was simple enough; I had already done far more intricate work at school. But next to the raw stock was the piece we were replacing, and I decided I would make the new one just like it. I found the correct measuring instrument, applied a little finesse, and got it within a thousandth of an inch – at which point it was scrap. When Herman came back, he made that known to me in no uncertain terms.

     What I hadn’t taken into account was that the mating part hadn’t been reconditioned yet. Its shape would change, and my part would have to work with the new shape. The grand experiment was a flop, and I was sure my one-day employer would go back to hiring only experienced machinists.

     In this third installment of the “Apprenticeship” series, I hope to foster belief in one of the most important aspects of the Master/apprenticeship arrangement: the Master is worthy of honor, and in giving honor, the apprentice will be actively practicing humility.

     There’s a small section of John’s Gospel that I try to keep in mind at all times:

    About the middle of the feast Jesus went up into the temple and began teaching. The Jews therefore marveled, saying, “How is it that this man has learning, when he has never studied?” So Jesus answered them, “My teaching is not mine, but his who sent me. If anyone's will is to do God's will, he will know whether the teaching is from God or whether I am speaking on my own authority. The one who speaks on his own authority seeks his own glory; but the one who seeks the glory of him who sent him is true, and in him there is no falsehood (John 7:14-18).

     As often as I can remember, I pray a prayer based on what Jesus said and did there, something like, “Jesus, keep showing me how to work for the honor and glory of the one who sent me – wow, the same one who sent you: our Father in heaven. Use me as a man of truth, with nothing false about me.” From there, I check frequently to see if I’m cooperating in the answer to my own prayer.

     The quickest way to destroy a good apprenticeship is with arrogance. And arrogance, though we tend to think of it as something completely obvious, is actually sneakier than we give it credit for. Arrogance happens in the absence of humility. Active humility is the antidote to arrogance. Working for one’s own honor and glory is the default position – to honor the Master, that circuit has to be turned off first, and the active humility circuit turned on. Feel free to borrow my prayer or compose your own, but please don’t let the default have its way. If Jesus was so quick to point to the Father – look again: he didn’t skip a beat – we can be quick, too.  

        Among the apostles, Peter generally gets the ribbon for “Most Improved,” which may be true, but I give the one marked “Most Like Jesus from the Get-Go” to John. It shows up in the Gospel he was inspired to write, and in his letters. John gets my vote as the one most willing to practice the active humility necessary for honoring the Master. In the intro to his first letter, he testifies to what we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we looked upon and have touched with our hands, concerning the word of life (John 1:1). He’s diligent in making sure that what we have seen and heard we proclaim also to you, so that you too may have fellowship with us; and indeed our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ (verse 3). Ever and always, he honors the Master.

     Along with honoring the Master in his first letter, John also has a word about apprentices. It’s easy to miss, so I’ll call it out:

    My little children, I am writing these things to you so that you may not sin. But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world. And by this we know that we have come to know him, if we keep his commandments… whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked (1John 2:1-3, 6).

    And then he writes:

    Beloved, I am writing you no new commandment, but an old commandment that you had from the beginning. The old commandment is the word that you have heard. At the same time, it is a new commandment that I am writing to you, which is true in him and in you, because the darkness is passing away and the true light is already shining (verses 7-8).

     The true light is already shining… which is true in (Jesus) and in you. And in you, Christian, as a Christ-like one. Apprentices can do good and gainful work on behalf of the Master. We’re not meant to wait for the “journeyman’s card” to turn out the first good part. On that cold and frightful Monday in January of ’79, yeah, I got off to a rough start, but before the shift was over I was making goods that could be sold to the customer. After a dose of discipline from Herman, I was ready to do what he had actually told me to do. The true light is already shining – by way of our fellowship with one another and indeed with the Father and his Son Jesus Christ, our job, in honoring the Master, is to make the darkness pass away at the fastest possible rate… beginning right-the-heck here, right-the-heck now.

     What do you need to get through today’s shift, and honor the Master along the way? Discipline? Encouragement in the Lord? Holy Spirit animation? All of the above? He is the faithful Master and Teacher. He intends for his apprentices to turn out good work and gain experience. Just ask.

     Eventually, the majority of the workforce in the shop was made up of us hot-shots from the county’s two vocational schools. Turns out I didn’t spoil the plan altogether. And I worked there myself for twenty-five years, and left on the best of terms when it was time to go. But boy, did it take some hard lessons in humility! The sooner those were learned, the better. In the same way, the sooner we learn to honor the Master by doing what he has actually set us to do, the more helpful and rewarding our apprenticeships will be.

 Grace and Peace (for today’s shift),

 

John