Creature Comforts

Fourth Sunday of Easter; John 10:27-30

On one of our trips, we drove through an agricultural field in Southern California. What I remember is seeing dozens of people out in the field harvesting the crop. My specific reaction was that there would be no way I could do what they were doing. They were all bent over at the waist, never standing as they moved down the line plucking fruit off the vine. My back hurt just to watch them. 

I freely admit that I like my creature comforts. I do enjoy getting out into the wilderness, whether it is travelling or camping or hiking in a woods. But I always enjoy coming home to our comfortable home. So, in addition to being a lousy agricultural laborer, I would have made a lousy shepherd.

There is a fascinating dichotomy with the importance of sheep in the time of Jesus. In a time of no hard currency, a family’s wealth was measured in the quantity of livestock they owned. Large flocks of sheep was a clear sign of wealth. 

But the person assigned to watch over this source of family wealth was often the least important person in family. The youngest male (and occasionally, if rarely, a female) was typically designated to be the shepherd. The land would go to the eldest, the daughters would get married off, the other brothers would find jobs or work for their older brother. The youngest was deadwood. In a time before the Catholic priesthood, which benefited from many youngest family males, the best thing for these guys to do was to watch over the sheep. The most well-known example in the Bible, of course, is David.

But there was a major downside to being a shepherd. There were no creature comforts. The shepherd lived in the fields all day and all night. Shepherds protected their flocks from predators, led them to pastures and water, moved them seasonally, and sheltered them at night. They counted the sheep regularly and endured harsh weather, isolation, and danger. Though vital, shepherds held a low social status and faced many physical and environmental challenges. And they smelled like the sheep.

And, after many years being a shepherd, the individual might even become, shall we say, “peculiar?” Being alone with the sheep would not provide much feedback in a conversation. Loneliness does terrible things to a person’s mind. And then “normal” people do not want to be around the “peculiar” people. And so, they were excluded, shunned, and avoided. Shepherds were among the first of the marginalized in society. 

Not all that different from today:

•    I am the good migrant farm laborer.

•    I am the good gas station attendant.

•    I am the good night security guard.

•    I am the good construction worker.

•    I am the good sanitation worker.

•    I am the good landscaper.

•    I am the good shepherd.

While the value of the sheep is clear, focusing solely on them risks missing the deeper message: Jesus identified not with the powerful, but with the shepherd, a role often reserved for society’s outcasts, deemed unworthy of more “respectable” work. In doing so, he uplifted a marginalized labor force, declaring their work as sacred and central to the well-being of the community. By honoring the shepherd, Jesus challenged systems of power and wealth that devalue essential labor and affirmed the dignity of those who quietly sustain others through service and care.

I see clearly that I need to embrace, even more deeply, the marginalized of my world. The challenge is that I need to see them as “normal” and not the “peculiar.” These individuals form the core of our world, and I must honor them as such. With my dependence on creature comforts, I am pushed beyond my comfort zone to see Christ in all and at all times. If, for some reason, my companion has a unique aroma, I’ll know that I am in the presence of someone holy. It might be a shepherd. And I will be blest.

Every Day.

© 2025 by Timothy J. Doppel

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