Sheep Without a Shepherd

I saw him on the side of the road as I drove by, holding a sign that read 'Anything Helps.'

I looked away, pretended not to notice. I shoved down feelings of empathy. What did I have to give him, anyway?

I parked, stepped inside of the local Department Store, got what I needed and came back out. I strategically planned the way I would exit the parking lot, so as to avoid an uncomfortable encounter with said man. Much to my surprise, there was another man at the other end of the the parking lot, holding a similar sign.

I did the same thing. Pretended like I was looking for oncoming traffic, all the while fighting knots in my stomach. Should I help? Should I continue driving? Should I pray?

Pan handlers have never been common in my hometown-- its small enough that its just not seen a lot, but it has been increasing over the past year or so. And having lived in a much larger city while I attended University, one would think that I had learned how to interact when I saw them. Perhaps it wasn't as difficult there because I expected it. I don't expect it in my hometown of 25,000.

And quite honestly, it makes me uncomfortable.
It makes me feel awkward.
And it forces me to ask myself hard questions that I'd rather avoid.
I don't like the knots that arise and the tightness in my chest and the conviction to do something.

Its those times that the Lord reminds me of what Jesus' life looked like. It was marked with compassion, empathy and seeing and responding to those around him in need. I sometimes think, if Jesus lived in our world today, how would he live his life? Would he drive by the man or woman on the street corner, asking for help? Or would he look at them and see more than his own discomfort? Would he look at them and have compassion upon them, as sheep without a shepherd?

Yes.
Yes, that is his nature. His heart. His goodness. The good shepherd that lays down his life for his sheep. The one who sees man's heart and loves him anyway. The one who sees the broken mess of humanity and still chose to come, live a sinless life and die in our place.

It astounds me.

It challenges me.

It compels me to respond.

It convicts me to love others well.

I much prefer my comfort. But the Lord, in His goodness, does not allow me to wallow in comfort. He constantly asks me to take His hand as we journey into scary, uncharted territory. And he gives me His perspective to see those around me as beloved sheep, seeking for their shepherd.

And sometimes I have compassion, as He does.

And sometimes I have courage.

And sometimes I can see the marginalized and push past my discomfort, toward action.

And when I fail, He picks me up, wipes off my scraped knees, and takes my hand once again, teaching me about how to love others a whole lot better than I do.

This season I am grateful that He chose to come to this sinful, screwed up, broken world. I am glad that He saw what I often cannot see, and that He had compassion. 

I am grateful that He suffered and died so that me, and the man on the corner, equal at the foot of the cross, could know Him intimately.

"She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins". Matthew 1:21

There is reason to celebrate this marvelous love. The true reason for the season.