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1. Servants and Shepherds

Priests are called to be servants and shepherds among the people to whom they are sent.

Authorized Text of the Ordination Services

The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep.

I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.

John 10.13–14

Shepherding, when you think about it, does not give a positive or politically correct nuance to the work of caring for the people of God. Sheep are rather silly creatures, prone to run away at the slightest pretext, and not given to meaningful encounter with anyone who tries to approach them. By the same token shepherds can in many societies be a rough and ready lot, hard drinkers, and in need of a considerable makeover before they are ready to appear, tidied up and hair combed, in a crib scene in the parish church.

But no doubt we have been exposed to too many stained glass windows to see straight. Stained glass has exerted, ever since the Victorians rediscovered and revamped it, an unholy influence on generations of Christians gathered beneath its rose-coloured shadows. It has probably been responsible for more bad theology in the Church than all the lousy preachers in history laid end to end.

Certainly that young fresh-faced Northern European who poses in our parish church window with a cuddly and unusually co-operative sheep across his shoulders bears no resemblance to the kind of shepherds Jesus knew, or to the kind we are called to become. The genuine article is a tough and resourceful character, a loner who can live off the land if need be, someone best not meddled with, who keeps his own counsel, likely to respond to any frivolous enquiry with a hard, unyielding stare.

If we take seriously then our Lord’s use of the shepherd image, we shall be forced to make some readjustments. Note the vivid colour with which ‘shepherd’ is contrasted with ‘hireling’. This is bad news for the greedy or ambitious, or even for those who would use the word ‘career’ to speak of the unfolding of their ministry.

‘Hireling’ is someone on the make, just there for the money, who will make a run for it the moment there is any sign of trouble. Despite the frustrations of a system of stipends in which diligence receives no greater financial reward than idleness, those ordained in the Church of England are blessed with a basic parity of income. We need never lower ourselves by asking at the interview the unseemly question, ‘And what is the salary?’

Likewise the polity of the English Church is such that, at least in its better moments, the parish knows that in its priest it does not have a hireling in its employ, to be hired or fired at its bidding, but a pastor who by the conditions of his institution is free enough and secure enough to be a true shepherd of souls. The priest who is not financially beholden to his church council is a shepherd who can talk straight to his flock.

Take note that the shepherd spends a great deal of time alone, out in all weathers, unmindful of others or of creature comforts. He lives literally on the edge, putting his own life at risk, in order that those in his charge might rest secure. At night he lies across the doorway of the sheepfold to ensure the safety of his flock. Nothing will get past him, even if he should perish in the process.

The most obvious clue to our true calling, that will distance us from the hireling, is the ability to stand alone. When you arrive in your first parish, the warmth of the welcome by the people, the readiness of the lay leadership to serve alongside you, the willingness to give you headroom to do your own thing, all this will take you by surprise and give you great heart. Remember that sooner or later the test will come when, having exhausted all other options, you will be required as a true shepherd to stand alone, sometimes utterly alone.

The church council will vote your project down, the faithful churchwarden will say one thing privately and another in public, and the supper invitations will dry up. You will be left standing in an empty hall wondering what on earth you have done in coming to this place.

If you stand firm, it is precisely at that moment that you will win your spurs as a true shepherd. The people of God long for courageous leadership but don’t always know it. Whatever the vicissitudes of the journey, the whole community of God’s faithful – sheep and shepherd – will be mighty glad and very grateful when we are all safely back in the fold, snug and safe. But to get there they will need a fearless loner, with the courage to continue the lonely walk even through those times when no one will give you the time of day.

My wise first vicar used to say, ‘A popular priest is a lousy priest’, and he was right. Immense courage is needed for this lonely path, but once we become enmeshed in special relationships with this group or that, in friendships within the parish, compromised by assurances given or rash promises made, we will be robbed of our calling to be a true shepherd, and will become the most miserable of men and women.

As always, the words and word pictures of Jesus are not meant to make us religious, but simply happy in our work and at peace with ourselves and with God. We shall never know fulfilment or peace of mind if we fail to live out our calling to the best of our ability, standing apart in order to embrace all without fear or favour.

‘Teacher’s pet’ is not a flattering epithet for a classmate, but neither does it say much for the teacher. A teacher with favourites is unable to assess a class accurately, to discern good and bad in all, to stand aloof when need be. Such a teacher has surrendered her ability to teach. She is compromised and to some extent thereafter will be ‘played’ by the class.

We need not go out of our way to stand alone, or make a big deal of it. The moment of decision will come soon enough. The ‘honeymoon period’ enjoyed by any new parish priest is so called because it is intense and comes to an end.

It is of little consequence whether the presenting problem is large or small; the basic issue remains the same. It may be a trivial detail in the first week, e.g. a showdown with the flower arrangers who would reduce the altar table to a flower stand, or it may be a mighty whopper – like ‘letting go’ (to use that delightful American euphemism) the director of music after months of sabotage from the organ stool.

Like the new teacher in the classroom, who must in the first few minutes establish who is the boss if the class is ever going to become a community of learning, the new parish priest must establish her credentials in the parish as the person appointed and commissioned to be in charge. This is not in order to parade the exercise of power (there’s precious little of that to be had!) but to create the kind of community where everyone, not just the people who have run the show for the last 20 years, has a voice and a place in the process of building up the Body of Christ.

We are not talking here about control freaks. The priest who truly shepherds will do it with such a light touch that hardly anyone will notice, and those that do won’t try it on again. Good shepherding doesn’t require a loud voice, or a hectoring manner, and sometimes it will require only the giving of ‘the bad eye’ (as they say in Yorkshire) to quell the rebellion or cut out the nonsense.

Serving is not servility but, in the pattern of Christ the Good Shepherd, strong leadership which is firm and fearless and which is concerned only for the welfare of the whole flock, stray sheep and black sheep included. Only service of this kind will develop into the self-emptying love out of which is born a willingness to lay down one’s life for the sheep.

Anything less will cause us, when the chips are down, to slink away with the impostor or make a run for it with the hireling. The people given into our care will know the difference, and so will our Lord. ‘I know my own and my own know me,’ says the greatest shepherd of them all.