"Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.” (Matthew 9:35-38)
It seems like there's so very little that can be done to prevent the walls from closing in, slowly and inexorably. We can maybe keep some things at arms' length, for a while. Perhaps. If everything goes our way. But perhaps not. It feels like we're going to suffocate, to drown in the flood of troubles or be swept away in the manic, ragged race to keep life together.
Matthew's words have the most wonderful encouragement for the harassed and helpless. For us. He tells us that our Lord Jesus, on seeing the people in such need, didn't tut tut their decisions or their tactics for navigating through the choppy seas of life. He didn't despise them for being unable to cope or despair over their inability to come up with a plan to get themselves out of the mess. He had compassion on them. He felt for them deeply and truly. His heart went out to them. He was moved in the depths of his being with genuine care and concern.
And that compassion was not simply on account of the symptoms they were experiencing - the sickness and disease, the poverty and the political oppression, the struggle to make something of themselves, the tensions within the family. All were seen by him and moved him deeply. But he also saw the larger reality: they were like sheep without a shepherd. They had no one to properly care for them, to protect and feed them, to lead them to quiet waters and pasture them in green meadows. No one who loved them and was willing to take full responsibility for them. No one to walk with them through the dark, dark valleys of life (and death).
And so he came, to be the shepherd of the sheep. To be the one whose love and grace are such that he would bear all things for them, to rescue and restore, even to the laying down of his life. To be the shepherd who knows his sheep, personally and intimately. Who calls them by name and whose voice is unmistakable and whose lips have been anointed with grace.
This is our Lord, our Saviour. We belong to him - and not for the years of time alone. What gladness that, through all changing scenes of life, we are his.
Notice that our Lord's words in that paragraph also lay out a part for us to play, in seeing the desperation that's all around us: pray the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into his harvest field. It belongs to him, he has brought it to the point of readiness to reap, but additional labourers are needed. As we respond to the Lord's word, we're praying for more people to be called and set apart for gospel work.
But we can also, haltingly but humbly, ask him to please use us, weak and frail as we are, to be a blessing to others. Not because we have all the answers to their many questions or the supplies for all their needs - but, simply, because our own hearts have been touched by the compassion of the Good Shepherd; as he leads us to "come in and go out and find pasture," our hearts' longing is for all the harassed and helpless around us to hear his shepherd's call.
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O! tell me, Thou life and delight of my soul,
Where the flock of Thy pastures are feeding;
I seek Thy protection, I need Thy control,
I would go where my Shepherd is leading.
O! tell me the place where Thy flocks are at rest,
Where the noontide will find them reposing?
The tempest now rages, my soul is distress'd,
And the pathway of peace I am losing.
O! why should I stray with the flocks of Thy foes,
'Mid the desert where now they are roving,
Where hunger and thirst, where affliction and woes,
And temptations their ruin are proving!
O! when shall my woes and my wandering cease?
And the follies that fill me with weeping!
Thou Shepherd of Israel, restore me that peace
Thou dost give to the flock Thou art keeping.
A voice from the Shepherd now bids thee return
By the way where the footprints are lying:
No longer to wander, no longer to mourn;
O fair one, now homeward be flying!
(Thomas Hastings, 1784-1872)
