Encountering the Good Shepherd

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As a spiritual director, I’m always looking for ways to position people to have moments of quality connection with God. 

I want people to not just memorize a list of the character of God, but to see the Faher of the prodigal running towards you on the road, eyes focused on yours, arms waving, yelling in joy. 

As Christians, we become far too content gathering information, but transformation occurs when we we begin to live, knowing we are embraced by Love. 

But, how do we cultivate this intimacy? We come close. We linger. We savor.

Ignatian contemplation is a wonderful way to come close. We walk around in the story. We touch the bark of the olive trees where Jesus is crying out to the Father in the garden of Gethsemane. We watch the drops of blood slowly run down his face. We tenderly hold his stories the way He holds ours. 

Through Ignatian contemplation, we walk into the story and allow the story of Scripture to transform us. 

Today we’re going to enter into the story of the lost sheep so we can experience the rescue of the Good Shepherd.

The tenderness of the Good Shepherd is beautifully described in Isaiah 40:11

He tends his flock like a shepherd:

    He gathers the lambs in his arms

and carries them close to his heart;

    he gently leads those that have young. 

Now, as we enter into Luke 15:4-6, you’ll experience the tending, gathering, carrying and gently leding by your Good Shepherd.

……………………………………………………….

First, let’s pray:

Jesus, control my thoughts and my imagination. Heighten my senses. 

First, here’s the scripture we’re going to walk around in:

Luke 15:4-6

4 “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? 5 And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders 6 and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ 

Let’s set the scene. When we enter the story, you are surrounded by the smell of wool and fresh grass, wild herbs, rosemary and sage. Sheep brush against you as they move from patch to patch. You hear occasional bleets, along with scuffling hooves, rams pawing the ground. Across the flock, mothers call to lambs and lambs call to mothers as they each try to find each other. They’re settling in for the evening, but you feel restless. In the distance, you hear wind tunneling through the steep hills. A stream tumbles over rocks in the distance in the middle of the fold of the hills. 

The air at the top of the hill is dry. Too dry. It was hot that day. Soon, all you can think of is water, water, water. 

Allow yourself to feel the dry heat, the thirst.

Your ears clue into the sound of the stream below. Your need for water overrides every other thought. You skip down a thin trail, zigzagging across the hillside. As you head down the hill, the sun dips under the horizon across from you. The air feels cooler. You can hear the water, smell the water before you arrive. The closer to the stream, the cooler the air.  It tumbles over rocks, one small waterfall at a time.

Here’s a question:

What good, God-given need can so overwhelm you with desire, that you get distracted from where life is truly found?

A deep drink will feel so good after a hot day, you think, and rightly. You walk downstream, searching for a place you can dip into. The grass is thick by the water. You stop to enjoy a meal, then you look around. It’s dusk. 

You look around. Somewhere there’s sand. The flock often passes this way, detouring for a long sip. But, you’re so thirsty. You look at the rock outcropping, the stream crashing over the rocks. Water. It’s all you can think about. Maybe if you get close enough, you can just wet your mouth. Your hooves slide over the rocks, then you gingerly lean towards the water. Just being close to the water feels good on your skin. You’ve got to have more.  You lean forward. Then a little more. 

You’re top-heavy with the wool you’re carrying and as you lose your footing, you tumble into the swift stream. You gulp. Sputter. You ride the current for a hundred yards, maybe two. All of a sudden, the current tosses you against a rock, your body slides slowly into an eddy, turning you around and around. Your wool weighs you down. Gratefully, the current pushes you onto the small beach and you lay down on the sand. 

How are you feeling now? What are you thinking about?

It’s then that you hear a howl. A coyote? A wolf? You shiver, but not from the cold. Your knees are shaking as you try your first step. Now It’s getting dark. With every step you drip. You feel incredibly heavy. You hear the howl again. 

As you hear the answering howl, how do you feel? 

You look around. What are you looking for? Who are you looking for?

When you wander, where do your instincts take you? Where do you hide?

About twenty yards downstream, you see a bank of shrubs. Out of instinct, you push your body into the shrubs. 

As you make your way to the heart of the shrubs, you seem to be caught. You push harder. Tendrils of thorns grasp your wool. Now You’re deep in the tight shrub, stuck. As you try to move, to free yourself, thorns scrape the flesh of your face, your legs, You feel blood trickle down one leg. Now, what are you thinking about?

It’s dark now. You can’t sit down, the arms of the thorns have caught you into a standing position. You’re stuck and uncomfortable. You can’t rest and you can’t make a sound because you don’t want to be found. Soon you start hearing wings beating and birds landing around you. Large red beaks begin to poke into the shrub. 

What are you thinking about?

Suddenly, from downstream, you hear a voice, a familiar voice, the shepherd’s voice. 

What does His voice sound like? 

What does he say?

How do you feel?  

It takes a moment to find your own voice, to yell back from within the shrub.

You hear the shepherd run towards the shrubs, his steps landing heavy, his arms waving. He’s scaring away the vultures, causing them to flap their large wings and fly away.

What enemies of your soul do you need the shepherd to go after?

You hear a rustling in the shrub, twigs broken, branches being pulled apart.

“Oh, there you are, my lamb.” How does he tell you how happy he is to see you? What does He say? 

You look into his eyes. Gaze there. What do you see?  How do you feel?

You hear the joy and kindness in the shepherd’s voice. His hands grasp at the thorn’s tendril’s. 

It cuts into your leg further. You yelp.

How does what you seek as protection, end up harming you?

You whimper in pain.

The shepherd takes a knife from a leather belt and begins cutting one tendril after another, picking up the heft of your body with one arm and setting you free with the other.

You smell his nearness. He continues speaking. What does he say?

Finally free, the shepherd yells in delight. You feel yourself lifted onto the shepherd’s shoulders. He begins singing in a loud voice. What does he sing?

How do you feel as you hear him singing loudly as he takes you home? When he passes his neighbors, he tells them all the story. With each telling, you sense his joy, his celebration.

When you arrive at the shepherd’s hut, He makes a fire, laying you down by its warmth. 

How do you feel now? Take a few deep breaths, receive this gift.

Later, the shepherd gets out a warm, wet rag, sets you on his lap, and begins cleaning your wounds one at a time, speaking tenderly to you. 

What wounds do you need Jesus to tend to? 

Which of your wounds have been smarting lately?

What would you like to tell him about your wounds?

How does Jesus give his compassion?  

How do you feel as you receive his tenderness?

Allow yourself to enjoy being cared for by the shepherd, nuzzle into his warmth. Linger there.

Now I’m going to ask you a few questions:

• How did you feel during this time of prayer?
• What struck you the most?
• What was the most tender moment of your prayer? The most challenging?
• When did I feel closest to God?

What feels most important to remember about your time with the Shepherd?

Luke 15:4-64 “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? 5 And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders 6 and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’