THE SLOW WORK OF SHEPHERDING SOULS

(Post by: Lilly Hobbs)

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it actually means to care for people spiritually.

Not from the perspective of a pastor standing behind a pulpit, but simply as someone trying to encourage others to deepen their relationship with Jesus in a world that feels increasingly loud, disconnected, anxious, and exhausted.

We live in a time where information is everywhere. Sermons are everywhere. Podcasts are everywhere. Advice is everywhere. You can open your phone and consume endless conversations about faith, theology, healing, church hurt, purpose, leadership, relationships, or discipleship within minutes.

Yet, people still feel profoundly alone.

I keep wondering if part of the reason for that is because we’ve confused being informed with being shepherded. You see, I think there’s a difference, and not just a minor one.

A person can know all the right Christian “language” and still quietly carry loneliness, grief, confusion, shame, anxiety, or spiritual exhaustion beneath the surface. They can sit through sermons, repost Bible verses and Christian quotes, listen to Christian podcasts, and still deeply wonder if anyone truly sees them.

Maybe that’s why I’ve become so drawn to the image of the shepherd in Scripture lately.

A shepherd does not merely shout instructions from a distance. A shepherd walks closely to his sheep, close enough to protect, comfort, correct, and remain present. There’s something deeply personal about that kind of care. It requires attentiveness. Patience. Nearness.

I think about this often with The Few and even while working with students through LifeWise. So many young people are wrestling with questions they don’t always know how to articulate. Questions about identity, purpose, suffering, truth, loneliness, and whether following Jesus is actually worth it in a culture constantly pulling them in a million other directions.

And I don’t think what they need most is someone pretending to have every answer perfectly packaged. I think they need real, legit honesty.

They need people willing to admit that Christianity is not about becoming untouched by weakness, but about learning to cling to Jesus in the midst of it. They need people who are willing to sit in hard conversations without rushing to produce shallow encouragement or easy solutions.

I believe that modern Christianity has unintentionally trained us to fear vulnerability. We want quick formulas for healing. We want certainty without wrestling, discipleship without sacrifice, encouragement without repentance, and community without inconvenience.

But Jesus never, ever did ministry that way.

He wept with grieving people, He ate with unwanted people, and He lingered with struggling people. He asked questions, listened, and took notice.

However, at the same time, He never abandoned truth in the name of compassion. His love was never detached from holiness. His gentleness was never separated from obedience.

I think that balance matters far more deeply than we realize right now.

Christians tend to swing to one extreme or the other. Some reduce faith to therapy and emotional affirmation, while others reduce it to cold correction and information. One neglects truth. The other neglects tenderness.

Both extremes are wrong. Real spiritual care requires both.

Perhaps one of the greatest challenges for Christians today is learning how to embody both faithfully.

I’ve also been thinking about how easy it is to create the appearance of connection online while still remaining emotionally distant from one another. Content alone cannot fully replace genuine discipleship and community.

People do not only need to hear truth occasionally. They need people who will walk with them consistently. People who will pray for them. Challenge them. Remind them of Scripture when life feels unbearably heavy. Stay when things become messy or inconvenient.

Maybe that’s part of what the Church has been missing.

Maybe people are simply longing for someone willing to stay. Someone willing to care about the condition of their soul and not just the appearance of their life.

And honestly, I don’t write this because I think I’ve figured it out. If anything, these thoughts have convicted me personally. They’ve made me question how often I rush past people while convincing myself I’m helping them. How often I substitute efficiency for presence. How often I want to offer answers before I’ve truly listened.

So, maybe learning how to love people well entails becoming people who are deeply rooted in Scripture, deeply aware of our own need for grace, and deeply willing to walk patiently with others toward Jesus.

Not as perfect people, and certainly not as people who always know what to say. But as people who refuse to abandon one another in the process of becoming more like Jesus.