He Leads Me

The Shepherd knows an exhausted sheep is a vulnerable sheep. So, God makes us lie down. 

​I’m began this second week of Lent by turning 60. A lot of people last night told me 60 is the new 40.

But one honest friend reminded me it’s the beginning of a "Golden Age." An age of aches and pains I’ve never had before.

But if I’m being honest, turning 60 felt like a deadline I was hoping to miss. Instead of embracing a season with grace and calm, I decided to outrun my own mortality.

​Which brings me to my Lenten goal.

Originally, the plan was to take twenty minutes of intentional, silent rest every day. Instead, I replaced that with forty push-ups and forty sit-ups. I literally turned a command to be still into a military-grade calisthenics routine.

What’s that old saying? “I’ll rest when I’m dead.” I’m not so sure God thinks that’s such a good idea. Which takes us to our reading from the 23rd Psalm. 

“The Lord is my shepherd, and I shall not want. 
He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters.
                              ​               ​               ​               ​​Psalm 23:2

Of all the Ten Commandments, taking a day of Sabbath rest is one most of us break with little remorse. We are a culture of workaholics. We tell ourselves if you’re not busy, you’re not important.

I am guilty of working on my days off. We all do, because you got to get things done while you got the time.

I’m not complaining but I actually spent my birthday cleaning the house and doing some serious yard work to get everything ready for our party. It didn’t seem like a lot, until the next morning I woke up with a back ache. I could chalk it up to age. But really, I should’ve jus taken the day off and chill like I had planned.

We live in a world that treats exhaustion as a status symbol. It’s that “No pain, no gain” mentality we’ve built ourselves on.

I think there’s a part of all of us that’s addicted to the grind; even when it’s grinding us into dust. I wonder what this poet was going through to write this psalm about a shepherd whose job is to make sure the sheep are cared for.

Was he inspired by the Belgian Shepherd, a breed used by Navy SEALs … because their drive never shuts off. 

Commonly known as a Malinois, this dog doesn't just "go for a walk"; it patrols. It doesn't "play fetch"; it executes a mission. Left to their own devices, these dogs will run until their heart explodes believing world will collapse if they aren't on high alert.

I have a friend who has a Malinois  named Bree. When she gets too wound up, they have to put her in her crate and cover it with a blanket to calm her down. They call it “enforced rest.” Which feels like what this psalm is talking about.

Notice it doesn’t say God’s sending us a calendar invite to kick it in green pastures. It says God leads us there. And makes us lie down. Enforced rest! Without it, we’d work ourselves to death.

Now there are four conditions that must be met before a sheep will lie down:

• They must be free from fear.
• Free from friction with others in the flock.
• Free from nagging pests and parasites.
• And free from hunger.

If even one of those is off, the sheep will stay on its feet—tense, alert, and eventually exhausted. Does that sound familiar?

Many of us have trouble sleeping because the news has you constantly on-edge. Maybe there’s unresolved anger keeping your up at night. Or maybe you’re being eaten alive by those small but relentless pests; like the constant buzzing of notifications, the biting fear of missing out. Maybe you’re physically hungry because food is becoming too expensive.

The Shepherd knows an exhausted sheep is a vulnerable sheep. So, God makes us lie down. Enforced rest.

I’m starting to believe God uses our “stressors" to bring us to the end of ourselves, until the only thing left to do is collapse into the pasture of God’s peace. And be refreshed in the still waters of God’s grace.

In Hebrew, that phrase, still waters, literally means, "waters of rest." Growing up around water, I learned to swim at an early age. Part of that training was learning not to panic if you accidently fall in. Not so with sheep. If you’ve ever gone swimming fully dressed, you’d know why. Wool soaks up water like a sponge. So sheep avoid the rapids and fast moving water, because if they accidentally fell in, they could drown within minutes.

Sheep know their limits. They need the water to be calm and the space to still before they will kneel down to drink. We, on the other hand, are always trying to drink from a firehose. And we wonder why we’re always thirsty!

Here’s the thing, there will always be strong rapids and white-water trying to pull us down. God doesn’t promise us a storm-free life. Even Jesus faced the wilderness, temptation, and chaos.

But when we find ourselves at the end of our rope, when we can no longer keep our heads above the white-water, our Shepherd leads us to rest, makes us lie down by the quiet pools where we can safely be refreshed without being swept away.

Now, there’s one more thing I want to mention about sheep. A danger they face called “casting.”

This happens when they nestle into a little hollow in the ground. As they move around to relax, their center of gravity shifts. And it’s common for them to roll onto their backs and unable to get up. The weight of their own wool traps them. If the shepherd doesn't find them and physically flip them over, they will  suffocate themselves and die.

Have you ever felt spiritually cast? We settle into our hollows of achievements, approval, or addictions then suddenly find ourselves stuck, looking at the sky, paralyzed. And like sheep, all we can do is cry out for help, hoping the Shepherd hears us before it’s too late.

Maybe you’re in one right now, wondering if God hears you, or  paying attention to your distress.

Jesus tells a parable about a shepherd who owns a hundred sheep. When one goes astray, this shepherd leaves the 99 to find it. Upon finding it, he rejoices.

Like Psalm 23, this parable highlights God’s immense love, care, and willingness to seek us out and bring us home. But there’s something more amazing hidden in this parable. The shepherd leaves the others in the wilderness, on their own,  trusting the sheep are exactly where they need to be.

The wilderness is where God leads those who dare to follow. It’s a time we spend in the grace and mercy of the Shepherd. That is the season of Lent, the 40 days we spend being refreshed and renewed.

Now the Judean wilderness isn’t like the lush, rolling green pastures of Scotland. The place is more like small patches of grass hidden in rocky shadows. The only way a sheep will know how to find them is to follow someone who knows where they are.

Jesus says, “I am the Good Shepherd. My sheep know my voice. They follow me.” This is still true today. To follow Jesus, is to learn to trust the One who went before us, who knows how God provides for us, and where true rest actually exist.

So, if you’re in a season of distress right now, feeling the weight of all that you carry, if your heart is pounding and your soul feels waterlogged, remember this: God isn’t asking you to "tough it out." God is inviting you to lie down. And when we ignore that invitation, God will find ways to make us rest.

We might think we can keep pushing ourselves to achieve more, to keep moving and keep straying out on our own until we drop. When we are only focused on proving our worth to others, we can’t hear God saying, "Stop. Rest. You’re just a thirsty sheep in a wet sweater. Lie down before you fall down and never get up."

Now one last thing about rest that is important for us to remember. When you allow yourself to be refreshed and restored by God, you become someone who can lead others to these green pastures and still waters. We become living testimonies to God’s goodness and glory. That’s the goal.

The Church shouldn't be another rushing torrent of noise or busyness. We are meant to be a place where people can come and actually lie down and find rest for their souls.

To quote Henri Nouwen, “Without solitude it is virtually impossible to live a spiritual life.” We need it. And we the church should be the first place to provide an oasis in the wilderness that God leads others to.

This week, I invite you to identify one area in your life where you are overwhelmed or anxious. Then imagine the Shepherd’s hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you down into the grass.

Don't fight or resist it or make an excuse to stay busy. Just accept God’s tender embrace, and lean into mercy and grace.

I think this is what Jesus means when he says, “Come to me, all who are weary, and you will find rest.”

​May you go to him, our Good Shepherd, The one who lays down his life for his sheep.