Flock My Life
Jesus asked a second time, “Simon son of John, do you love Me?” “Yes, Lord,” he answered, “You know I love You.” Jesus told him, “Shepherd My sheep” John 21:16
Why do so many new pastors seem to have no idea how to shepherd digital immigrants?
Lately, I’ve been attending a large seeker-friendly church. It’s big, polished, and slick. Everyone smiles. Everyone wears the church branding. The welcome team is overly enthusiastic, like greeters at a themed resort. The music is loud—deafening, even—with fog machines and choreographed lights. Every musician is modestly dressed, and the worship leader always wears that deep, emotional expression. Everything is clearly designed to be inviting, modern, and accessible.
Then the pastor steps up. And like clockwork, he opens with a joke: “Before you sit down, make eye contact with someone near you… and say nothing.” The crowd laughs—every time.
I’ve been attending, off and on, for years. And while the sermons are clever and well-presented—more like spiritual TED Talks—they rarely feel personal. The illustrations are sharp, the delivery smooth, the transitions seamless. But I’ve never once seen a Bible opened on the platform.
I understand the strategy. They’re reaching digital natives. And honestly, they’re doing a great job of it. But I’m not a digital native—I’m a digital immigrant. So are many of my peers. This style isn’t for us, and I wouldn’t even ask them to change it. They’re meeting the needs of the audience they’ve chosen to serve.
But I remember a different kind of church. A different kind of pastor.
Years ago, we found out that our unborn son had spina bifida. It was devastating. And right there, in the middle of a packed Sunday service, our pastor stepped down from the pulpit. He walked through the crowd and placed his hand on my pregnant wife’s head, with tears in his eyes, and called the entire church to pray. That moment is etched into my soul. That man was a shepherd.
Later, as we sat with surgeons, trying to figure out what to do, he answered my calls. He prayed with me over the phone, again and again. He carried our burden with us. That’s what a shepherd does.
Today, we get lights, music, messages, and smiles. But I miss the shepherds.
In life’s darkest moments, Jesus didn’t promise us performances—He gave us shepherds. When we are scattered, wounded, and weary, He wants us to be known, to be gathered, to be cared for. And now, I find myself asking:
Where are the shepherds?
I don’t need more clever illustrations or upbeat playlists. I need someone to flock my life.