Good shepherds are not born;
they are made…

There’s a story told about Archbishop Rembert Weakland. Many years ago, he found himself disappointed when he heard who had been named as the new archbishop in San Salvador. Weakland had been close to the previous archbishop, had many friends in El Salvador and he was dismayed with the new appointee. There were several reasons why: the man was a Spaniard, which brought up the spectre of colonialism for many; he was a member of Opus Dei, which raised some suspicion with others; finally, he was the Military Ordianariate chaplain, which seemed to place him ‘on the wrong side’ from the people.

Weakland expressed his concern to some close friends there and received back from them a fax. The fax, he said, embarrassed him by showing him his own lack of faith.  In it, the people recognized all the difficulties, but they responded by saying that, just as God had touched the heart of Romero, so God could touch the heart of this new archbishop.  “We will change him,” they said, “Just give us time. It will work out. God is among us.”

The principle they relied on was this: good shepherds are made; they are not born. It is grounded in John’s gospel which calls upon those in positions of leadership and ‘pastors’ to be model shepherds as Jesus was.  However, as these people recognized, that only happens when one allows one’s self to be shaped and formed by those whom one leads.

I see the same principle at work in parenting.  There’s a difference between saying that conception and birth make one a parent and saying that it is parenting that makes you a parent.  Clearly, it is parenting that makes you a parent: the years of sleepless nights, first with a screaming infant and later waiting for an overdue teenager; wiping runny noses and changing messy diapers; sitting in hospital rooms or police stations, with your heart in a knot.  It is proudly celebrating first steps, first teeth and first graduations as well as saying tearful goodbyes as they step out into kindergarten, college, world trips and marriage.

You aren’t born a parent.  You become one as your heart is grabbed fiercely by a tiny bundle and you give your life away, never again to be solo, always bound in the life of another – bound by love, blood, sweat and tears.  It is a truism that children are formed by their parents, but the opposite is also true – parents are formed by their children.

So it is with pastor/shepherds.  One isn’t born a pastor; one becomes one.  At the closing Eucharist of the recent OMI Lacombe Canada Convocation, Provincial Father Ken Forster, OMI spoke of Jesus as the Good Shepherd.  It’s all about relationships between the shepherd and the sheep.  The good shepherd is the one who knows the sheep by name.  They in turn, know the shepherd’s voice.  That’s why they listen and are prepared to follow.  It is a relationship based on reciprocal knowledge; they know one another.  “I know my sheep and my sheep know me,’ Jesus announces, and it is the model for his leadership.

As a model, it is the opposite of the outsider who comes in far removed from the madding crowd, with answers at the ready and opinions pre-formed.  As liturgically correct, theologically astute, and spiritually expert as these leaders may be, they harry and hustle their unwitting flock.  “I know what they NEED – to heck with what they want!” this shepherd asserts and the shepherd stays a stranger and the sheep lost.

Jesus’ model is different.  The shepherd truly ‘knows’ the names of the flock  – but that only happens when one draws near enough to know people, to know their stories of pain, failure, struggle, heartbreak and disappointment as well as their stories of celebration, love, joy, and miracles. You know your flock when you are close enough to hear and see God’s grace breaking into their everyday lives.

And there’s the key: in entering deeply into peoples’ lives, who can remain untouched? To hear and to enter into another’s life is to allow one’s self to be formed by them. Empathy and compassion will break a heart as it stretches to hold it all. To suffer with; to celebrate with; to weep with; to laugh with: the good pastor/shepherd’s heart is shaped by the relationships of caring and compassion that come from knowing one’s people by name.

It is a characteristic for which Oblates and Associates are well known. The mandate is, as Pope Francis puts it, ‘to smell like the sheep.’ Eugene de Mazenod modelled it and Oblates live it. Learning the local language, living with and among the people, Oblates have always drawn near to be formed and shaped by the people. In the words of the OMI Lacombe Canada Mission statement, ‘We are evangelized by the poor with their many faces.’

An Oblate friend speaks with gratitude of his first-hand experience of this. His first ministry as a pastor was in a small Northern community.  He noticed almost immediately the heavy alcohol consumption and the accompanying problems.  Slowly and with the help of a few key people, he started to work with individuals and small groups to address the issues.

There was, he noted, one particular couple, a husband and wife, whom he used to see on the street.  They were always, ‘in their cups’ and since they were not church goers, he never did meet them.   When he saw them around town they were always in rough shape and their paths never really crossed.  He carried out his ministry, going to people’s houses, talking to them about drinking, etc. and found that the ‘one on one’ basis worked pretty well.  Gradually he began to see some good changes in the community and he felt he really had done some good work.

The time came when he was reassigned and the community held a party for him.  At the hall, he was surprised to see this couple, all dressed up and sober, come in.  They were looking around with purpose so he went over to them.  “Father – you’re leaving,” they said.  “Yes, I am, but I’m glad to see you here,” he replied.  “We have something to say to you, Father.  We were wondering: you never came to see us.  We were waiting, but you never came.”  And in a shame-filled, illuminating moment, he had to tell them,

“I didn’t think it would do any good.”  Humiliated, he admitted to himself that he had ‘written them off’,  and furthermore, they knew it.  They spoke, he said, with a gentle chiding, “We know.  But we want to tell you.  We saw what you were doing.  And we wanted to change but we couldn’t.  Then we heard you were leaving – and we made a promise to each other last night – no more drinking.  And we wanted to tell you.”  He apologized for writing them off and they were gracious.  He thanked them for coming to see him that day, and they left.

That encounter changed him. The young priest, so sure of what he was doing, learned a lesson he never forgot.  He tells the story still – 50 years later.  He kept in touch with the old couple after he left. They stayed ‘dry’ and they worked in the community to help others.  He went back many years later for their funerals.  He says, “They gave me more than I ever gave them.”

Good shepherds. They are not born; they are made. . .

By Sandy Prather, HOMI – Provincial Associate