But They Weren’t There
As a shepherd, you prepare the Word, knowing someone desperately needs it. Sunday comes. The Spirit moves. The room empties. But they weren’t there. A reflection on pastoral burden and the quiet cost of absence.
Does this sound familiar to any elders pastoring the sheep of God?
You are laboring to put a sermon together, and the thought crosses your mind that so-and-so really needs to be in church on Sunday to hear this. Yet Sunday comes and goes. The sermon is preached, and God blesses it among many — but that person isn’t there.
Maybe you heard that someone feels their situation or stage in life is being left behind in the preaching ministry. They really want to hear sermons on “that” issue. Finally, the sermon or series you know they said they wanted is coming up. Yet they weren’t there.
Did you not ache in your heart? As a shepherd, you know the spiritual struggle going on in their life. In fact, they would be shocked to hear you articulate it — and how right you would be. Yes, you are convinced the Word of God has the power to discern the thoughts and intents of their heart. You know the Holy Spirit will bring encouragement or conviction to help them.
But they weren’t there.
How many of us shepherds have felt the deep disappointment of such a situation? They were so close to the spiritual and eternal help they needed, yet they cut themselves off from the grace God was ready to bestow upon them.
Yes, you say, that sounds so… so… familiar! And even now you are asking the question you ask yourself every time it happens: “Why?” They said they wanted to hear “this,” yet they missed the whole series. They had called you to pray for them and their situation, yet they were not there when you ministered the Word of the living God and addressed it. Frustrating. Heart-wrenching. And yes, a bit of a gut-punch that the enemy of their soul played them as easily as he did.
And for what? Rarely for anything dramatic. They were tired. Something came up. They were upset about something in the church. The morning unraveled. They didn’t feel like being around people. They were “working through things” and needed space. Ordinary explanations — and yet powerful enough to keep a soul from the very Word meant to steady and restore it.
They just weren’t there.
When you eventually found out what the stated reason was (whether it was the real reason or not), did you not marvel, perhaps lower your head, and even weep? You’ve seen this happen enough times to know that some of the biggest spiritual battles in people’s lives were lost not in some valiant last stand, but to a vanilla-sounding excuse.
Again, we ask, “Why?”
I don’t know why. But here is what I have learned.
Some people heard that message. They heard the series. Their pure minds were stirred by the eternal, powerful, infallible truth of God’s Word. We might be tempted to think, “Yes, but I was preaching to the choir.” Here is what I have learned about that: preach to the choir while they are still there, rather than preaching to those who are not there to hear the message you know would help and heal them.
But they weren’t there.
Now the sermon is over. The room is empty. The week moves on.
And as a shepherd, you still think about that sheep — and about what it missed.
And the reason we cannot seem to let that go is this: a shepherd’s heart never stops caring for the sheep.
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