Search For The Lost Sheep In The Pasture, Not The Pews
By John W. Fountain
By John W. Fountain
I am your pastor, dear sister. But in all these years that you have been in our midst, I must confess that I have never reached out to your husband to invite him to church. Never called once or even written him a simple letter to introduce myself.
In fact, I’ve not once even inquired about his health and wellbeing. I have never asked you or your children to relay a simple salutation to him for me. Never sought to create an opportunity to exchange handshakes, to tell him face to face how much he would be welcomed here in this branch of Zion, nor expressed to him how this church has a heart for redeeming men who today might feel abandoned and discarded by the church.
So I can understand if he might feel slightly offended. How he might get the sense that neither the church nor I could care one iota about him. That we only want his money and his honey and that as long as we have his wife and children in our pews, we are never coming to search for him. I can even understand how it might feel to be a man whose wife finds so much solace in the midst of another man who doesn’t seem to give a damn about her man.
“…Given the number of black men who silently cry ourselves to sleep at night, it is clear that there is a plentiful harvest for a church really seeking souls.”
So I guess I could kind of understand why he now wants nothing to do with me, or the church. Who could blame him?
After much contemplation and conviction, I have reached a conclusion: That when it comes to embracing, reaching and addressing the needs of black men, the church has failed. No ifs, ands or buts. And we must repent of this sin of omission and commission, ultimately dismantling our internal corporate focus and seeking to regain our “prophetic zeal” as a transformative healing station for the souls of all men. May it begin with me.
I need to at least reach out to my dear brothers. It is a small thing perhaps, though not a negligible one. For I too am only a man. A fellow brother with flaws and foibles also engaged in this war for the black body and soul that consumes far too many brothers. As a pastor, I am charged by the Good Shepherd who would leave the 99 to search for one gone astray to do likewise.
But I have not. And this, I confess, is my dereliction of duty.
I might argue that I have been busy — worrying about finances, busy with “building the ministry,” with Bible study, with meetings and denominational church functions, with anniversary services, various social shindigs and the innumerable never-ending list of pastoral duties. Busy sometimes to the point of exhaustion.
And yet, I have neglected the small thing, though it is a great thing. That which requires neither money nor an expanse of time: To show that I care.
And that, I have found, can be transmitted with a smile, a kind word, a salutation, a note, a card, a letter, a 5-minute visit, a minuscule effort.
It is not my job to “assume” that a woman’s husband, fiancé, son or significant male other would not accept my act of kindness or invitation, which is the extension of my “witness” and love as a Christ follower. Indeed I might just be the instrument that helps restore his soul.
This notion seems to be lost on many a preacher who walk past brothers daily on the street, in coffee shops, and other places in the public square without so much as speaking. And we wonder why they perceive some of us as arrogant, aristocratic and aloof hirelings of some religious fraternity.
We are not. We are servants — called by the Chief Servant to serve and esteem others more than ourselves.
Dear sister, it is incumbent upon me as pastor to do what is good and proper and right. Heavy is my cross. But I need not pity. For He gives grace to bear it. And I am reminded that to whom much is given, much is required.
The stakes are high.
At risk are our communities, our families, our sons, my brothers.
I am wrong to assume that any of my brothers who have been embittered or broken by the church are wounded beyond repair. For that would neglect the true hope and message of the Gospel.
Nor can I pretend that their issues with “the church” are unfounded. For I am also not deaf, not dumb or blind to the dysfunction, corruption and abominable perversion of American Christianity now saturated with prosperity preaching and a bling-bling Gospel that has turned so many black men off. Men who have come to see modern-day preachers as pimps.
We are not all this way.
As a preacher, I acknowledge this crisis and I am deeply saddened and also convicted over our abandonment as the church of our sons, brothers and fathers who find in today’s black church no place for them.
And given the state of black men in America, given the number in prison or jail or headed that way; given the thousands who find our way to early graves and the black men on the other side of the guns who send us there; given the number of us who seek solace in a bottle of liquor or in illegal drugs; given the number who silently cry ourselves to sleep at night, it is clear that there is a plentiful harvest for a church really seeking souls.
I vow to do more, beginning with seeking brothers out, introducing myself and telling them, for starters, that I care. It is a worthwhile gesture that might be a first step with potential immeasurable mortal and eternal benefit for the Kingdom of God, for our church, but most importantly for your families.
If I am truly a shepherd, how can I not demonstrate, even if only in some infinitesimal way, to the most important man in your life, that as a pastor I stand as a representative of God’s love and redemptive plan for all of His children?
Have I not been commanded and also forewarned?
Jeremiah 21 says: “‘What sorrow awaits the leaders of my people — the shepherds of my sheep — for they have destroyed and scattered the very ones they were expected to care for,’ says the LORD.”
I ask myself, “Ain’t black men also the sheep of his pasture?”
And I respond in the affirmative and also with tears as I lift my eyes upon the fields and see them — us — scattered. And I weep. For I am a pastor.
Email: Author@johnwfountain.com
Website: www.author.johnwfountain.com
