The Shepherd's Way

“The test of a vocation is the love of the drudgery it involves.”
Logan Pearsall Smith

“Do not be too quick to condemn the man who no longer believes in God: for it is perhaps your own coldness and avarice and mediocrity and materialism and selfishness that have chilled his faith.”
Thomas Merton

“There is no pit so deep, that God’s love is not deeper still.”
Corrie ten Boom

“What is to give light must endure burning.”
Viktor E. Frankl

“We all want progress, but if you’re on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn.”
C. S. Lewis

“People don’t run away from their church because they’ve lost faith. They run because they’re trying to preserve it.”
Barbara Brown Taylor

“To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow—this is a human offering that can border on miraculous.”
Elizabeth Gilbert

There is something unforgettable about a man walking straight into the middle of a fragmented situation with nothing but mercy in his eyes. Not tolerance. Not indifference. Not cowardice masquerading as peacekeeping. Mercy. The kind that does not whisper around the edges of controversy but steps into it like Christ walked toward the tomb of Lazarus. Knowing. Unafraid. With full authority and full compassion—neither diminished by the presence of the other. I remember it like it was yesterday. The leader of a church stepped through the doors where I worked, and I knew why he had come. Someone from our congregation—someone caught up in a divisive spirit—was working there. And in those moments, you expect the worst. You expect the cold cut-off, the public shaming, the final straw. But instead, he saw her and said gently, “I’ve come to find my sheep.” I do not know if this moment truly changed her, but it changed me. He could have rebuked her. He had every biblical and practical reason to do so. He could have called her out by name, reminded her of the damage being done, issued consequences. He could have stood tall and let righteousness do its work. But he did not. He chose the shepherd’s way. The rare way. The Jesus way. He sought reconciliation. He stepped past the tension and into the ache. And in that moment, what rang louder than doctrine or discipline was love. Not the kind of love that avoids hard truth—but the kind of love that moves toward the wandering one even when they have stopped moving toward you.

The Shepherd Leaves the 99
The words of Jesus in Luke 15 are scandalous in their simplicity: “What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine... and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it?” (Luke 15:4, ESV). He does not wait for the sheep to wander back. He does not sit in the safety of the flock and mourn the one who left. He goes after it. There is motion, urgency, intention. And He does not just go after it briefly—He goes “until He finds it.” But we do not always do that, do we? Too often, when someone veers off—whether by deception, sin, confusion, or even genuine misunderstanding—we do not pursue. We close the gate. Sometimes the one who wanders is not wandering at all. Sometimes it is the one who speaks up. The one who dares to ask questions. The one who refuses to blindly follow but hungers to understand. But instead of being met with patience, they are met with suspicion. Instead of, “Let’s sit down and work through this,” they hear the sound of the gate closing behind them. Their questions become labeled as rebellion, their desire for clarity mistaken for criticism. And so the door is shut—not because they have walked away, but because they dared to pause and ask why. But should we not ask why? Should we not question structures that have hardened into tradition but lost the pulse of Christ? Jesus Himself confronted the religious authorities of His day—not to destroy the law, but to fulfill it, to reclaim its heart. “You leave the commandment of God and hold to the tradition of men” (Mark 7:8, ESV). There is nothing unbiblical about questioning authority when that authority no longer reflects the character of the Great Shepherd. In fact, it may be the beginning of true spiritual health. Discernment demands engagement—not passive compliance. And when someone risks asking hard questions, we ought to listen—not label. Because often, the questioner is not attacking the church—they are fighting for it. The tragedy here is that we do not lose them to sin—we lose them to silence. We exchange dialogue for distance, forgetting that a shepherd’s staff is meant to guide, not to drive away. We call it “guarding the flock.” We call it “setting boundaries.” We wrap our self-protection in biblical language and then quietly, perhaps even subconsciously, congratulate ourselves for standing firm. But firm against what? A struggling sheep? The wounded? The confused who no longer know how to trust spiritual authority? This is not about permitting sin. It is not about tolerating divisiveness or minimizing the need for correction. It is about what we do with the wandering. It is about whether our first instinct is to draw near or to draw lines.

When the Gate Closes
There is a subtle cruelty that enters when the gate is closed—because it masquerades as spiritual maturity. It pretends to be wisdom, when often it is just weariness dressed in robes of righteousness. We rationalize it: “They chose this.” “They knew better.” “They have become a threat to the unity.” “They were given chances.” “They are not listening.” And maybe some of that is true, but truth untethered from mercy becomes a weapon, not a rescue. It is one thing to remove someone from a position of influence when their spirit is off—it is another to stop caring altogether. It is one thing to require accountability—it is another to silently hope they disappear. The wandering sheep may have drifted slowly, unintentionally. Or they may have been lured by the false confidence of a divisive leader. But whatever the reason, the one who wanders is still a sheep. Not a wolf. Not an enemy. Not a tool of the devil. Not yet. The enemy may be using their confusion—but God still knows their name. And that is the moment we must decide: will we reflect the heart of the Shepherd who goes, or the heart of the hireling who runs away? “He who is a hired hand and not a shepherd... sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees... He flees because he is a hired hand and cares nothing for the sheep” (John 10:12–13, ESV). The hireling does not chase after the sheep. He may protect the structure, he may guard his post. But the shepherd? He chases. He carries. He restores. The gate—meant to protect the sheep—can become a weapon if it is used to cut off rather than call back.

The Intentional vs. the Indifferent
The wandering may be unintentional, but the cutting off never is. There is always a choice to shut the door on someone who has veered off. And while discipline may be needed, the shutting of our hearts is never justified. Some sheep do not even know they are wandering until they turn around and find the gate barred behind them. They feel the coldness of the ones who used to call them family. They hear the silence from the ones who used to counsel them. And worst of all, they begin to believe that the gate closing is the voice of God. But it is not. The God who pursued Adam in the garden—“Where are you?” (Genesis 3:9). The God who told Hosea to love a faithless woman again (Hosea 3:1). The God who ran toward the prodigal “while he was still a long way off” (Luke 15:20, ESV). That same God still searches. Still calls. Still walks toward the wounded and the rebellious alike. We are not gatekeepers. We are sheep under a Shepherd. And our role is not to determine who is worth the chase— it is to reflect the heart of the One who chased us.

Restoration is Required
No one pretends restoration is easy. It rarely fits into clean structures. It often costs more than walking away. But the question is not whether it is clean or easy—it is whether it is Christ. Paul writes in Galatians: “Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness” (Galatians 6:1, ESV). Notice the command is not simply to correct, but to restore. And not with cold precision, but with gentleness. The way of Christ is the way of the cross— and there is nothing tidy or easy about crucified love. Restoration is inconvenient. It requires us to linger in someone else’s valley longer than feels comfortable. It calls for patience. Prayer. Discomfort. And often, it demands we risk being misunderstood by others who prefer clean breaks over redemptive messes. But we do not get to decide which sheep are worth it. Christ already did. And if the blood of Jesus was not too high a cost for their soul, then our time, our inconvenience, our discomfort surely is not either.

“I’ve Come to Find My Sheep”
Those words still echo. Because they came not just from a man, but from a heart aligned with Christ. He had every reason to rebuke. Instead, he sought. That is not weakness—it is spiritual courage. That is not compromise—it is Christlikeness. It made me ask myself: Do I walk toward the broken? Or do I guard the gate? Do I reflect the Shepherd’s heart, or the institution’s fear? Am I trying to keep things neat, or am I willing to get my hands dirty in the work of restoration? The sheep that strays may be confused. May be defensive. May even be combative. But it is not my job to preserve peace at the cost of compassion. It is not my role to punish with silence. It is my calling to carry the heart of the One who said, “I know my own and my own know me” (John 10:14). Even when they have stopped acting like it. We are living in an hour where the temptation to cut people off is growing stronger. Churches are split. Relationships strained. Offense is a currency. And all the while, Jesus is still going after the one. He still leaves the ninety-nine. Not because they do not matter. But because the one is just as much His. Will we go after them too? Or will we sit behind the gate, comforted by the sound of the remaining flock, too preoccupied with order to notice the ache?

Dear reader, maybe it is time some gates were unlatched. Not to welcome division or to throw out discernment—but to make room for the Shepherd to pass through. Maybe we need to remember that we, too, have wandered. “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned—every one—to his own way...” (Isaiah 53:6 ESV). And still, He came for us. If Christ had waited for us to return on our own, we would still be lost. But He came to find His sheep. That is the kind of gospel that does not just save—it transforms. It rewrites our instincts. It softens our judgments. It opens our gates. Let the church be known again for its shepherding—not its gate keeping. Let the wandering sheep hear a voice behind them saying, “This is the way, walk in it” (Isaiah 30:21 , ESV). And let it come not from a place of moral superiority, but from a place of deep, unwavering, Christ-shaped love. Because at the end of the day, there is only one Chief Shepherd. And He is still going after the one. Will we follow?