My Dear Shepherds,
Recently we attended some friends’ graduation from medical school. After the degrees were conferred the presiding dean asked the class and any other physicians in the audience to stand and affirm their commitment to each of the nine promises of the Hippocratic Oath. We were witnesses to as they each vowed their commitment to those weighty words.
We stand to make even more weighty promises when Paul addresses all of us as pastors, along with Timothy:
In the sight of God, who gives life to everything, and of Christ Jesus, who while testifying before Pontius Pilate made the good confession, I charge you to keep this command without spot or blame until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ, which God will bring about in his own time ….” (1 Tim. 6:13-15a)
Surely, we are sobered to hear that God and Christ Jesus stand as witnesses to the charge set before each and all of us as pastors. God, upon whom I and all else are dependent for life itself, listened. Christ Jesus, who affirmed his kingship in the face of this world’s hostile judgment, listened. Father and Son, in the quiet company of the Holy Spirit, were present and attentive when you and I were charged with our calling as pastors, as messengers of God.
So, there we stand, right hands raised, as Paul intones, “I charge you to keep this command,” meaning, I think, this commission spelled out in what he’s written to us, with all the privileges and responsibilities appertaining thereto. “I charge you to obey your orders without fault or failure” (REB). And each of us, in one way or another, have responded, “I will.”
Mercifully, the Lord doesn’t expect us to serve sinlessly, dusty and damaged as we are, but we simply must not sully the gospel; we must not disgrace—dis-grace—this sacred trust. Usually, no one knows better than we ourselves how terribly vulnerable we are. I cast myself on Jude’s doxology, “To him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy ….”
What’s more, the end, “the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ,” is near. We will not forever be keeping watch over our flock by night. The frustrating, frail people we’ve shepherded will be transformed in the twinkling of an eye, their progress in Christ to be rewarded. We will enjoy everlasting satisfaction in having had a hand in what they’ve become. On that bright day we will leave our beloved Bibles behind. The Communion trays and elements will be left to gather dust. Last Sunday’s songs will be subsumed in the hymns of heaven. We ourselves will be refitted for eternal service. Perhaps we will somehow still serve God’s flock alongside the great Shepherd of the sheep.
Paul’s solemn charge is not intended to frighten us, for the Triune God is our mighty friend and ally in both life and ministry. He is, as always, the LORD, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in love and faithfulness. I’ve learned that he is far more interested in inviting me into his tent of meeting than to the woodshed to face his discipline. Paul concluded his charge in verses 15-16 by pulling back the canopy of heaven so that we might see the glorious God we serve.
God, the blessed and only Ruler, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone is immortal and who lives in unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see. To him be honor and might forever. Amen.
Be ye glad!
