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Articles by Lee Eclov
A Kingdom Paradox
My Dear Shepherds, When Jesus and his 12 newly designated apostles came down from the mountain, Luke says they were surrounded by a large crowd of disciples who’d come from hither and yon “to hear him and be healed of their diseases.” They weren’t disappointed, for “power was coming from him and healing them all” (Luke 6:19). Every week pastors attend to disciples healed more miraculously than any in that crowd. We serve people redeemed and reborn by the dynamis of Jesus.
The Right Accent
My Dear Shepherds, I’ve wondered if I might have made the preaching big leagues if I’d just had an accent. British, say, or better yet, Scottish. We all know those guys have a leg up on the rest of us. That said, there’s hope even for me. Our birth into God’s kingdom gives us an accent every Christian—and certainly every pastor—must nurture. It isn’t our vocabulary so much as it is the tone and inflections of humility.
Prodigies
My Dear Shepherds, Have you read much about prodigies? Kids born with astonishing capacities, like Mozart playing the harpsichord at age four, Blaise Pascal inventing one of the world’s first mechanical calculators at age 18, or Kim Ung Yong who had the highest IQ ever recorded—210. (Einstein’s was 160.) There are Christian prodigies too, but none till they’re born again. And here’s the kicker: we’re their pastors.
Trial Guides
My Dear Shepherds, I’ve been spending time with Pastor James. You know—Jesus’ brother, the blunt one. He’s a fine pastor and mentor although he’s not given to small talk and doesn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor. But when it comes to discipling believers under pressure, well, he knows what he’s talking about. Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.
The Slow Work of God
My Dear Shepherds, In a season long ago, when I was deeply worried about a loved one’s future, a friend sent me this by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin: Above all, trust in the slow work of God. That counsel comes back to me from time to time, like a whisper from behind a door, “Psst. This is the slow work of God.” It is also a timely word now, at the turning of the year. It’s especially fitting for pastors. Slow work is not our cup of tea.
Wisdom from the Other Shepherds
My Dear Shepherds, Shepherd literature is pretty niche, a few books by shepherds who love the land, tend actual sheep, and who know nothing about their distant relatives, us pastors. But I’ve sensed our kinship as I’ve read their books. Helen Whybrow’s book, The Salt Stones: Seasons of a Shepherd’s Life, has earned wide recognition, including The New Yorker Best Books of 2025.
Then Many Will Give Thanks
My Dear Shepherds, Unbeknownst to me, Clarence and Josie prayed for me when I started preparing for the ministry. They were an elderly brother and sister from the country church where I grew up, gentle believers as quiet as church mice. One January, when my wife and I weren’t sure how we’d pay for the next semester, we were stunned to receive a check for $100 from those dear people, along with a note—more precious than the money—saying that they often prayed for me.
Every Time We Remember You
My Dear Shepherds, I had no inkling—when we first unloaded eight sheep into the fields at Knoll Farm nearly twenty-five years ago—of the impact that learning to be a shepherd would have on me.[1] Pastors know that feeling. Now here we are, some of you with only a couple of years under your belt and others of us old shepherds needing our staff to lean on more than we need it to manage the sheep.
Singing to God with Gratitude
My Dear Shepherds, Thanksgiving Day comes for Christians every week. And be thankful. Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. (Col. 3:15–16) I have a tiny harmonica, about an inch long, with one wee octave, eight notes. Even if I really pucker up, my repertoire is very limited. We don’t want one-octave churches.
Pastors Appreciating Month, Part 3
My Dear Shepherds, The first time I led a Communion service, while the trays were passed to the congregation, I tipped over my little cup, leaving a purple stain on the Irish linen tablecloth and the prospect of facing the deaconesses. We all remember our first shaky ministry steps—our first sermon, wedding, funeral, and baptism.
Pastors Appreciating Month, Part 2
My Dear Shepherds, We attended an ordination recently. The two-hour service was rich with Scripture, blessings, vows, and Communion. A whole platoon of pastors attended to lend their support. I wonder what it would’ve been like if, at some point, we had each stood to give this new colleague a heads-up as to some of the particulars entrusted to us all. “Sunday comes every four days,” says one minister with dark circles under his eyes.
Pastors Appreciating Month
My Dear Shepherds, ‘Tis Pastor Appreciation season, which should not go unnoticed, least of all by pastors, because we have much to appreciate. Our esteemed brother could speak for us all, I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has given me strength, that he considered me trustworthy, appointing me to his service. (1 Tim. 1:12) Tim is an associate pastor in his early 60s. About a year and a half ago, his relentless workload was taking a toll.
What I Appreciate
My Dear Shepherds, I love pastors. In recognition of Pastor Appreciation Month (which your people may forget), I want to tell you what I admire most about my fellow Wordworkers. Pastoring, as we all know too well, can sometimes be a brutal business. Paul warned us about that, and so did Jesus. For most of us, ministry has been deeply gratifying but occasionally it can kick the stuffing out of a person.
The Night Before
My Dear Shepherds, Two friends were dying. Both in their 40s. Kids at home. Leaders. Wonderful Christians. And too, too young. I grieved and thought of a night long ago. I was 18. The next day my family would take me to college—700 miles away, to a city I'd never seen and where I knew no one. I'd outgrown my little hometown and was excited to go. A whole new world was waiting. But that night I stood alone out on the front porch and sobbed.
Satisfied Souls
My Dear Shepherds, Souls age in ways not measured by years. Sometimes a rare young person is described as an “old soul,” suggesting they have an aged sage’s sensibilities, belying their youth. But often, old souls are more likely to simply be tired, lonely, and disappointed. Like children who never knew their parents, souls constantly try to find what they’re missing—security, the comforting love of mealtimes and bedtimes, and knowing who they are and where they belong. Orphaned souls age quickly.
Garlands of Grace
My Dear Shepherds, Kathy was born again but she was like a spiritual preemie. She trusted that Jesus had forgiven her sins, but she didn’t grasp the other benefits of her God-given salvation. She was in our young adult group when I was a rookie pastor and, while I knew how emotionally and spiritually frail she was, I didn’t understand what she was missing.
Redeemed from the Pit
My Dear Shepherds, The remarkable book, Deep Down Dark, told the true story of 33 Chilean miners trapped in a large space 2,300 feet underground for 69 days before they were all rescued. Half that time they were completely cut off, with no idea if anyone even knew they’d survived. Their leader turned to one man named José Henríquez and said: “Don José, we know you are a Christian man, and we need you to lead us in prayer.
The Cure of Souls
My Dear Shepherds, One of David’s great gospel songs begins, Praise the LORD, my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the LORD, my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases . . . (Ps. 103:1–3) That second benefit tends to give believers pause but David was speaking to his soul not his body. It is the diseases of our “inmost being” that God heals when he saves us.
Our Soul's Song
My Dear Shepherds, John Bunyan, author of The Pilgrim’s Progress, wrote, “The soul is such a thing, so rich and valuable in its nature, that scarce one in twenty thousand counts of it as they should.” It is our job as pastors to know and nurture our own souls and the souls of those entrusted to us. David tutors us this way: Praise the LORD, my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name.
The Mother Lode of Wisdom
My Dear Shepherds, Most people don’t expect to strike it rich by pursuing wisdom but that’s God’s promise: How much better to get wisdom than gold, to get insight rather than silver! (Prov. 16:16) Pastors work the mines of wisdom day in and day out without realizing just how rich we’re getting. Studying, contemplating, and applying Scripture as we do takes us deep into the treasures of God in Christ.
When the Elder Brother Celebrates
My Dear Shepherds, When I first came to one of our churches, our worship leader was a wonderful guy whom everyone loved—warm, earnest, smiling, and gifted. But inside, where none of us could see, he was dealing with explosive anger. As I recall, when it finally got the best of him, he saw a Christian counselor who led home to God’s grace. It turned out that the poor man was exhausted by all his efforts to be good—to do everything expected of him, everything he expected of himself.
Pitch Perfect Compassion
My Dear Shepherds, There’s a moment before every orchestra concert, before the conductor walks out from the wings to the applause of the audience, when the concertmaster—the first violin—stands and everyone grows quiet. Then the oboe plays an A and each section, in turn, fine-tunes to that pitch. It’s not music but when the concert starts, even if every note was played correctly, the symphony wouldn’t be acceptable without that step.
Compassion Fatigue
My Dear Shepherds, Ministry compassion takes a toll. Frederick Buechner wrote, “Compassion is the sometimes fatal capacity for feeling what it’s like to live inside somebody else’s skin.”[i] Every pastor knows the slump of compassion fatigue. Ellis Peters, in her Brother Cadfael mystery, The Raven in the Foregate, tells about a funeral eulogy for a beloved monk, Father Adam. “A sad, kind man,” said Cynric . . .
One Thing Leads to Another
My Dear Shepherds, Compassion is a gateway grace. It is often someone’s first taste of Jesus. We tell them something good and true. We give them a glimpse into the kingdom where God reigns. We offer something healing—a balm of kindness or listening. We offer to pray for someone who has never had anyone pray for them before.
Carriers of Compassion
My Dear Shepherds, Dr. D. A. Carson wrote about a time as a student when he and a friend were going to the beach for some much-needed peace and quiet. But when they got there, they found a horde of high school kids celebrating graduation with lots of beer, loud music, and (as we say) public displays of affection. He writes, “Deeply disappointed that my evening’s relaxation was being shattered by a raucous party, I was getting ready to cover my disappointment by moral outrage.
What's Become of Us
My Dear Shepherds, It is just so hard for us and our people to remember who we’ve become. It’s no wonder! We don’t merely practice a different religion than other people. We are as distinct from them as light is from darkness. We were actually born again. We are new creations. Pastors are responsible for making sure God’s people, aliens in this dark world, do not forget who we are.
His Very Own
My Dear Shepherds, Coming to a new church is often like an arranged marriage. We arrive knowing little more than a bit of history, some assessments, and a few names. But gradually a miracle happens. To quote the apostle Paul, “Just as a nursing mother cares for her children, so we cared for you. Because we loved you so much, we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well” (1 Thess. 2:7–8). God endows us with such love for his people because he treasures them so.
Pastoring the Holy People
My Dear Shepherds, Several years ago I went with a friend to the federal courthouse in Chicago where he was sworn in as an American citizen. About 130 immigrants from some 30 countries raised their right hands before the judge and vowed the 220-year-old Oath of Allegiance (“I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty . . ..”).
A Royal Priesthood
My Dear Shepherds, Early on, someone taught us pastoral protocols, like how to serve Communion, which side is the bride’s side at a wedding, or how to lead the pallbearers out at funerals. We learned homiletics, how to make hospital calls, and how to give a benediction. We do something like that for our congregation because they are born again into a unique ministry role that requires our pastoral assistance. . . .
Your Elite Congregation
My Dear Shepherds, They’re an elite congregation, that flock of yours, which, I realize, may not have been obvious last Sunday. But Peter describes their highborn pedigree, beginning with . . . You are a chosen people . . .. (1 Pet. 2:9) Peter began that letter, “To God’s elect . . . who have been chosen according to the foreknowledge of God the Father . . ..” Perhaps at the mere mention of such language, your guard just went up. Red warning lights flashed. Ah-OO-gah! Ah-OO-gah! Battle stations! Relax.
Bright Gems
My Dear Shepherds, When he cometh, when he cometh, To make up his jewels, All his jewels, precious jewels, His loved and his own. Like the stars of the morning, His bright crown adorning, They will shine in their beauty, Bright gems for his crown. That old hymn came to my mind a few years ago when I was driving home after church one Sunday. Usually I’d be dissecting my sermon, trying to remember names of visitors I’d met, and recalling the requests for which I’d promised to pray.
'What Is That in Your Hand?'
My Dear Shepherds, Then the LORD said to him, “What is that in your hand?” “A staff,” he replied. The LORD said, “Throw it on the ground.” (Ex. 4:2–3) I know what you’re expecting. You’re expecting me to tell you to throw down whatever ordinary thing you hold so God can work wonders with it. But that’s not the real point here. The point is our credibility when we speak for God.
‘I Will Help You Speak’
My Dear Shepherds, The first draft lottery for the Vietnam War was July 1, 1970. I was 19. I watched it anxiously with some friends on a black and white TV. As each day of the year was announced, a little capsule was drawn assigning a draft number. My birthday, January 17, came up as number 54, a sure ticket except for my college deferment. I most certainly didn’t want to go. God drafted Moses at age 80. He didn’t want to go either. He pleaded for a deferment four times, all for naught.
'I AM Has Sent Me to You'
My Dear Shepherds, Unlike Moses, there was a time when I thought I was well-suited to be a preacher. I liked church life. I was not “slow of speech” nor reluctant to lead. And I had a college degree in Christian Education. But after a couple of humbling failures and God’s merciful instruction, I realized he had never called me to speak for him.
Solid Footing
My Dear Shepherds, The church we attend includes 11 families from Chin State in Myanmar where Christians have been relentlessly hunted down and murdered by the military. Their relatives report brutal beatings, church services bombed, and hiding in the jungle.
The End of Tests and Tears
My Dear Shepherds, Jesus Christ, God’s resurrected Servant, cries to captives, “Come out!” and to those in darkness, “Be free!” We arise from dark dungeons of death, reborn, beloved and adopted, new citizens of the kingdom of God, and begin our heaven-bound procession.
Exceptional Service
My Dear Shepherds, Have you ever thought of Jesus’ first resurrection appearance to his disciples the way Cara Murphy puts it here? Just like that, he walked through the bolted door and back into their wrecked lives. Whatever had been finished, he was just getting started.[1] That’s where pastors come in. Once the resurrected Christ recreates his disciples’ lives, he assigns them to shepherds like us.
Stories Converge at Easter
Introduction Read (Mark 1:1) I started to read Unbroken: A WWII Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption. On the front cover is the title, the subtitle, and the author's name, Laura Hillenbrand, as well as marketing stuff like, "From the #1 New York Times Bestselling author." Then on the inside, there are pages and pages of information before you ever get to the book.
Easter Rehearsal
My Dear Shepherds, In his delightful novel, This Is Happiness, Niall Williams describes the congregation crowding into the Catholic Easter service in the tiny Irish town of Faha: All the pews were filled but they sucked in their breath, concertina-ed closer, and the church became one living sea of the washed, the ironed, and the shampooed. In the time before Easter Mass the congregation participated in one of the characteristic joys of all mankind, looking at itself.
Who’s Counting?
My Dear Shepherds, Numbers aren’t the point; we know that. But if there’s ever a Sunday when we hope for a good turnout, it’s Easter. So we roll out our best music and sermon, the egg hunt for kids, maybe some special advertising. One big church in our neighborhood plans a whole extra service. Small churches would be thrilled if just one new neighborhood family showed up. For us, it really isn’t just about numbers. We want to proclaim our hope of life in Christ to as many people as possible.
Church of the Surefooted
My Dear Shepherds, Church names have changed since I was a kid. It used to be that “First Church” or “Calvary Church” worked fine but now congregations have all kinds of code names. However, I’ve yet to see any called “Shaky Church” even though quite a few pastors have served there. When Paul wrote what we know as Second Corinthians, that church was on shaky ground because of the lingering effects of the sin they’d tolerated and the subsequent trauma of church discipline.
Amen-ers
My Dear Shepherds, Pastors regularly put on boots and wade into the muddy doubts and uncertainties of our people. Sometimes I wearied of saying, “I don’t know; I don’t know why that happened, why God allowed that tragedy, what will happen now, or what you should do next.” Ministry can be a slog through uncertainties. Faith, our most basic Christian necessity, requires forays against sin-soiled thinking and sinkholes of lies. Despite all that, God has called us to the certainty business.
Onward, Christian Farmer
My Dear Shepherds, Right from the beginning, Jesus’ disciples have been unclear about how God’s kingdom grows. It’s just so counterintuitive. Jesus said, This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain—first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head.
With-Under-Work
My Dear Shepherds, During a terribly difficult season, too personal to talk about then or now, I suspected at least some in our congregation knew enough about it to pray for me. There’s a Greek word for that: synypourgounton.
Transfer Agents
My Dear Shepherds, Did anyone tell you at the beginning that suffering would be essential pastoral work? Right up there with preaching, strategic planning, counseling, and administration. Not just unavoidable but essential? Did that come up? If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. (2 Cor.
Sharing in the Sufferings of Christ
My Dear Shepherds, I used to blow past the opening paragraphs of 2 Corinthians, assuming they didn’t apply to me since I’d never faced persecution for the gospel. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. (2 Cor.
Comforters
My Dear Shepherds, There’s nothing quite like personal suffering to round out a pastor’s ministry. And God sees to it that none of us go on for long without gaining this advantage. It isn’t suffering itself that is so valuable, but that our hardships position us to experience the comfort of God.
‘With Prayer and Fasting’
My Dear Shepherds, The other day a Christian friend I saw at our coffee shop was reading Jeremie Rinne’s little book, Church Elders: How to Shepherd God’s People Like Jesus. His pastor had asked him to help train new elders. I wish I’d had some training before I was elected as a deacon at age 25. I don’t remember anyone even praying for me.
‘To Continue in the Faith’
My Dear Shepherds, In John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress, no sooner does Christian rejoice that “his burden loosed from off his shoulders, and fell from off his back … to the mouth of the sepulcher,” than he comes “to the foot of the Hill Difficulty.” There he goes from running to walking, “to clambering upon his hands and his knees, because of the steepness of the place.” And that was just the beginning of his arduous journey to the Celestial City. Sound familiar?
Strong Medicine
My Dear Shepherds, Whenever I get to spend a day with a small group of pastors I begin by asking, “How is shepherding good for your soul and how is it hard on your soul?” How would you answer that? Pastors enjoy some distinct soul advantages, among them “great assurance in [our] faith in Christ Jesus” (1 Tim. 3:13), a wide-angle view of God’s work among our people, and studying and preaching the Word. Plus, a lot of people pray for us. But shepherding can take a toll on us as well.
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