Pastors Smell Like Sheep
Martyn Lloyd-Jones once said, "To love to preach is one thing, to love those to whom we preach quite another."
Oof.
I saw that quote this morning, and it immediately struck my heart. It reminded me to be a shepherd, not a professional speaker.
I think it's easy to love to write…the study, the craft, the moment when the truth lands just right. It’s encouraging and affirming to hear how the sermon impacted real lives after the service. I have grown to love preaching, although I approach it with fear and trembling. If God decided to remove that weight from me today, I would cry tears of joy. It is a weighty love. I love the discovery in the text, the weight of standing before God's people with God's Word, the sacred privilege of opening Scripture and watching it do its work.
And that's not wrong. That love, when it's rightly ordered, is a gift from God.
But that love can become a trap.
Because it's possible to love the pulpit more than the people. To care more about the delivery than the receiver. To be more concerned with how the message lands than with how the people sitting in front of you are actually doing.
And here's the danger: you can fall in love with preaching and never love a single person you preach to, or only your ‘chosen’ favorites. You can craft brilliant sermons, exegete faithfully, and illustrate memorably… and still be a stranger to your congregation.
Because preaching from a pulpit is easy compared to sitting across from someone whose marriage is falling apart. Preparing a sermon is simpler than walking with someone through the slow collapse of a dream. It's easier to proclaim truth on Sunday than to embody it in the mess of someone's life on Monday. It’s more comfortable to rub shoulders with like-minded people than those you may disagree with theologically.
A true shepherd doesn't just deliver truth from a distance. He lives among the sheep. He knows their names. He knows their struggles, their fears, their joys. He mourns with those who are grieving. He celebrates with those who are rejoicing. He sits in hospital rooms, answers late-night texts, and carries burdens that never make it into a sermon illustration.
A shepherd doesn't just stand in front of the sheep. He walks among them. He leads. He serves. He weeps. He carries. He knows the sheep by name, and they know his voice.
Preaching is a sacred calling. But it's not the whole calling. If I love the act of preaching more than I love the act of loving, I've elevated a gift above a command.
I've become a performer…not a pastor.
Jesus didn't say, "Feed my sermon prep."
He said, "Feed my sheep."
He didn't love the act of teaching. He loved the people He was teaching. And He calls me to do the same.
So...here's what I'm learning: the sermon ends, but the shepherding doesn't. The pulpit is important, but the people are eternal. And in God’s economy, the greatest preachers aren't always the most gifted communicators. They're the ones who smell like sheep.
May I never love preaching more than I love the people my Father has entrusted to my care.
Oof.
I saw that quote this morning, and it immediately struck my heart. It reminded me to be a shepherd, not a professional speaker.
I think it's easy to love to write…the study, the craft, the moment when the truth lands just right. It’s encouraging and affirming to hear how the sermon impacted real lives after the service. I have grown to love preaching, although I approach it with fear and trembling. If God decided to remove that weight from me today, I would cry tears of joy. It is a weighty love. I love the discovery in the text, the weight of standing before God's people with God's Word, the sacred privilege of opening Scripture and watching it do its work.
And that's not wrong. That love, when it's rightly ordered, is a gift from God.
But that love can become a trap.
Because it's possible to love the pulpit more than the people. To care more about the delivery than the receiver. To be more concerned with how the message lands than with how the people sitting in front of you are actually doing.
And here's the danger: you can fall in love with preaching and never love a single person you preach to, or only your ‘chosen’ favorites. You can craft brilliant sermons, exegete faithfully, and illustrate memorably… and still be a stranger to your congregation.
Because preaching from a pulpit is easy compared to sitting across from someone whose marriage is falling apart. Preparing a sermon is simpler than walking with someone through the slow collapse of a dream. It's easier to proclaim truth on Sunday than to embody it in the mess of someone's life on Monday. It’s more comfortable to rub shoulders with like-minded people than those you may disagree with theologically.
A true shepherd doesn't just deliver truth from a distance. He lives among the sheep. He knows their names. He knows their struggles, their fears, their joys. He mourns with those who are grieving. He celebrates with those who are rejoicing. He sits in hospital rooms, answers late-night texts, and carries burdens that never make it into a sermon illustration.
A shepherd doesn't just stand in front of the sheep. He walks among them. He leads. He serves. He weeps. He carries. He knows the sheep by name, and they know his voice.
Preaching is a sacred calling. But it's not the whole calling. If I love the act of preaching more than I love the act of loving, I've elevated a gift above a command.
I've become a performer…not a pastor.
Jesus didn't say, "Feed my sermon prep."
He said, "Feed my sheep."
He didn't love the act of teaching. He loved the people He was teaching. And He calls me to do the same.
So...here's what I'm learning: the sermon ends, but the shepherding doesn't. The pulpit is important, but the people are eternal. And in God’s economy, the greatest preachers aren't always the most gifted communicators. They're the ones who smell like sheep.
May I never love preaching more than I love the people my Father has entrusted to my care.
Recent
Archive
2026
January
February
No Comments