Christ does not say He manages the sheep. He does not say He supervises them. He says He lays down His life for them.
2. Meditatio
It seems I have decided, rather late in life, to become a shepherd.
Which, like most of my better ideas, is both inspiring and mildly ridiculous.
At The Glenn, I have what might be called a “delegated shepherding system”—six Livestock Guardian Dogs, five of them in that most dangerous of theological conditions: adolescence.
They are bred to protect. Designed to guard. Destined, one might say, to be shepherds.
And yet—Rojo and Azul, in particular—have recently displayed a remarkable talent for abandoning their post in pursuit of more interesting possibilities.
Virtual fences, it turns out, are only as strong as the will to obey them.
This past weekend was a lesson in discouragement. Escapes, corrections, returns—repeat as necessary.
I began to suspect that my grand plan of shepherding, particularly of the modern and technological variety, might be less a vocation and more a comedy.
And then, quite unexpectedly, came a moment of grace:
Rojo escaped his physical boundary… and ran back to the sheep.
Not away. Not into mischief. But toward his flock.
And I stood there, somewhat astonished, realizing that something deeper than training had taken hold.
Not compulsion. Not control. But relationship.
And it occurred to me, with uncomfortable clarity:
This is precisely how the Good Shepherd works with me.
For I am not always where I ought to be. I wander, I test boundaries, I pursue my own curiosities.
And yet, something—someone—calls me back.
Not by force. But by knowing.
3. Oratio
Lord Jesus, Good Shepherd, who knows me better than I know myself—
teach me to remain.
I have wandered from Your care, tested the limits of Your patience, and followed lesser paths.
And yet You do not abandon me.
You call me back—not with fear, but with familiarity.
Form in me a heart that recognizes Your voice, a will that returns when I stray, and a love that grows not from obligation, but from belonging.
And if I am to shepherd others in any small way, let it not be by control or technique, but by presence and care.
For You do not merely guard the flock— You give Yourself for it.
Amen.
4. Contemplatio (Chestertonian synthesis)
The modern world believes that a shepherd is a manager.
He organizes, strategizes, optimizes.
But Christ presents a shepherd who does something far more unreasonable:
He dies.
This is, from a practical standpoint, a terrible management strategy.
And yet, from a divine standpoint, it is the only one that works.
For sheep are not convinced by systems. They are not secured by fences alone—virtual or otherwise.
They are held by relationship.
Chesterton would have delighted in this reversal:
The one who loses His life keeps the flock. The one who saves himself loses it.
The hired man runs because the sheep are not his. The Good Shepherd remains because they are.
And here is the great and humbling truth:
I do not become a shepherd by mastering sheep— but by being mastered by love.
5. Actio — In Light of Laudato Si’ and Synodality
This is why the earth herself, burdened and laid waste, is among the most abandoned and maltreated of our poor; she “groans in travail” (Rom 8:22).
Laudato si’ reminds me that care is not domination but relationship—walking with, protecting, and nurturing life entrusted to us.
Action:
Today, I will practice one act of “shepherding” not through control, but through presence—listening, guiding, or simply staying where I might otherwise withdraw.
For Synodality is not driving the flock— it is walking with it.
