7. THE SHEPHERD GOING
BEFORE THE FLOCK
"The sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by
name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead
of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice." John 10:3-4
Beautiful is the feeling of fondness, we had almost said of affection, which
from time to time we see displayed by man towards the lower animals. The
cottager in the lonely abode has his faithful dog to tend him in his hours of
labor, or to share morning and evening his frugal fare and the caresses of his
children. Even in the dense city, the poverty-stricken inmate of the upper
loft has her hours of solitude cheered by the tiny warbler hung up with dusty
plumage in its cage. It is no simulated sorrow on her part when the note
falters and the wing droops; and the cage is suspended empty and songless.
The same feeling, on a more remarkable scale still, may be seen in the case of
the Hindu with his elephant, or the Arab with his horse; and, most of all, in
that of the Oriental shepherd with his fleecy companions. We would require to
be among the hills of Judah and Gilead, or amid the vast valleys and forests
of Bashan and Hermon, rightly to appreciate and understand the exquisite
beauty of the figure which we are now to consider in the Pastoral parable. In
these wide sheep-walks and mountain-ranges the shepherd occupies very much the
relation of a parent to his offspring. He has a tender solicitude for each
member of his flock. He is not the rough hireling or stern custodian, but the
kind protector and provider. He knows every sheep. He has a name for each. By
night and by day he is at their side. During the hot months of summer they are
taken on the cool mountain heights to a temporary fold, composed of a palisade
of intertwined branches of thorn. He sleeps armed in the midst of them. He is
ready to give battle to any prowling lord of the forest who (as is sometimes
the case) clears at a bound the temporary rampart—"The wolf comes and scatters
the sheep."
Instances are on record where he has cheerfully given his life in deadly
conflict, either with human plunderers or wild animals, for the protection of
his flock. During the continuance of long drought, when the heavens are as
brass and the earth as iron—when the herbage is dried and the sheep go
bleating and pining over the withered pastures—he climbs the rock to the
verdant turf fringing the hidden watercourse, and brings at his own peril a
scant handful for the most needy. At other seasons, when the northern forests
are alive with flocks gathered underneath the trees, the faithful shepherds
mount the branches, and, stripping them of their leaves, cast them down to the
companions of their solitude.
Can we wonder that the sheep follow the Shepherd-that they gather round him as
their friend—love to hear his voice, and implicitly trust his guidance?
Moreover, can we wonder, that to the mind of the Divine Redeemer, this lovely
image, so familiar to every Hebrew, should be touchingly suggestive of the
trustful love—the hallowed interchange of affection between Himself and His
true people? "WHEN HE PUTS FORTH HIS OWN SHEEP HE GOES BEFORE THEM." Let us
gather a few comforting reflections veiled under this symbolism.
There is, first of all, the general truth, that all our pastures—our lots our
positions and spheres of life—are appointed and meted out for us. That the
Gracious Shepherd of Israel precedes us. That He does not put us outside the
wicket-gate of the fold, and then leave us to select our own destiny; but that
all which concerns us is His righteous ordination and decree. "The lot may be
cast into the lap, but the whole disposing thereof is of the Lord." As surely
as the pillar of cloud and fire preceded Israel in their marches, directing
every encampment of the pilgrim army, so have we the Invisible Pillar of
covenant faithfulness going before us in all our journey. True, it is with us,
as with Moses. On his return to the spot in the Sinai desert where he first
saw the bush burning with fire, the bush was probably visible no more. He
would look for it in vain. But the sacred flame in which it formerly was
enveloped, still lived in the spiral column which rose up before him by night,
and in the pillar-cloud by day.
Christ in His human nature—Christ the lowly bush of the desert "the tender
plant"—"the root out of the dry ground;" Christ in His humiliation—"manifest
in the flesh"—we can see no more. But the Pillar of fire still remains. The
Shepherd of the Flock—the invisible Redeemer—is still preceding the camp of
His covenant Israel: and we can say with reference to our spiritual
journeyings, as it was said of old of the Hebrew Exodus, "He led them forth by
the right way, that they might go to a city of habitation."
Oh! it is well for us that we are not left to choose our own pasture—to thread
at will the mazy labyrinths of life! "My Presence", He says, "shall go with
you, and I shall give you rest." It is the Shepherd going armed before His
sheep—not only pointing out the way, but seeing that it is practicable. It is
the Master Husbandman going before with the ploughshare, His servants tracking
His steps and inserting the seed in the upturned furrow. It is the General
going before his soldiers, himself the first to scale the ladder and enter the
opened breach, encouraging his troops to follow after him.
The Great Shepherd asks us to tread no path which has not already been trodden
by Himself. Think of the varied incidents in His life of human love and
sympathy and suffering on earth—and, connecting these with every possible
diversity of circumstance and experience of sorrow among ourselves, remember
"HE goes before us!" Is it infancy? He went before us here, in being Himself
the Babe of Bethlehem! Is it youth? He 'goes before us' in the nurturing home
of Nazareth, sanctifying early toil and filial obedience! Is it hours of
weariness and faintness and poverty? He 'goes before us' an exhausted traveler
to the well of Jacob, 'weary with His journey!' Is it temptation we have to
struggle with? He 'goes before us' to the wilderness of Judea, and to the
awful depths of the olive-groves of Gethsemane, to grapple with the hour and
power of darkness! Is it loss of friends? He 'goes before us' to the grave of
Bethany to weep there! Is it Death (the last enemy) we dread? He 'goes before
us' wrapped in the cerements of the tomb—descending into the region of
Hades—uncrowning the King of Terrors—trampling his diadem in the dust! Is it
entrance into Heaven? He 'goes before us' there. Having overcome the sharpness
of death, He has opened the kingdom of heaven to all believers. He shows us
the path of life leading into His own blessed presence, where there is
fullness of joy, and to His right hand, where there are pleasures for
evermore.
But it is the individual, personal solicitude of the Shepherd in the well
being of each of His people, which forms one of the loveliest inspired touches
in John's parable. "He calls His own sheep by name." As the Oriental Shepherd
has a distinguishing name for each separate member of his flock, so Christ has
His eye on each individual believer, loves him, leads him, feeds him, "names"
him, as if he were the alone object of His care and regard. It is not as with
the husbandman, who can call his field of grain by name, but cannot
discriminate each separate stalk. It is not as with the astronomer, who,
although he can name some stars or groups of stars, leaves myriads unnamed in
the wide field of immensity. It is not as with the general, who, though he can
name a few of the more illustrious of his soldiers and officers, knows the
rest of his brave thousands only in the mass. But as sheep by sheep passes in
review before the Good Shepherd-He knows all their cases—their
circumstances—their trials—their sorrows—their joys. He calls them "friends,"
"brethren," "peculiar treasure"—"I have called you by your name: you are
mine!"
Yes! let us not lose the unutterable comfort of this, by resolving all into
the doctrine of a mere superintending Providence—that God takes a general
oversight and supervision of His creatures and their actions, but that of the
minute circumstances and accidents of their daily life He takes no cognizance.
His is a minute, personal, discriminating love. The individual is not lost in
the mass or the aggregate. Believer! He loves you as if you stood alone in His
world, and as if He had none other but you on whom to lavish His solicitudes!
This same Great Leader, on another occasion takes yet a smaller member of the
lower creation than that spoken of in this parable, to teach the same truth.
He points to one of the sparrows of the housetop, lying with fluttering wing
in the highway or in the furrow—and He says, "Not one of these fall to the
ground without my Father knowing of it. Fear not, therefore; you are of more
value than many sparrows." Most comforting and consoling truth! Jesus—the
Shepherd-Savior—the Brother in my nature—"mighty to save" as God, mighty to
compassionate as man, ever preceding me—marking out all that befalls me;
appointing and controlling the minutest events in my personal history, and
loving me with an affection of which earth's tenderest relationships afford
the feeblest type.
See the mother seated by the couch of her suffering child! Watch her tender
unremitting care—the hours and nights of sleepless vigilance, she bends over
the cherub form—smoothing its pillow, and moistening its fevered lips. What a
picture! It is earth's most touching symbol of love and sacred affection. God
points to that watchful parent and says—"She MAY forget, yet will I not forget
you!"