Christ often “calls” Himself some inanimate object. At one time He is a stone, at another bread, then water; today He is a door. Each time He compares Himself with an object with which we deal almost constantly. Living without regular “contact” with a door is quite difficult nowadays: anyone who enters a building through an opening not intended for the purpose is a thief and a robber. Our Lord Jesus Christ is precisely the door through which we can enter the house of our heavenly Father. The way to God passes only through Him: “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by Me,” the Lord will say a little later (John 14:6).

One can try to climb through windows or a chimney, or dig a tunnel—but why? Perhaps one can take roundabout ways to God, chase after some “special grace,” try to make oneself out to be something, and pretend that we ourselves can do at least something for our own salvation—but why? Why, when the way is straight? “Make His paths straight” (Matt. 3:3).

Straight does not mean easy. Everything will not instantly become better as if by the wave of a magic wand. But the essential thing is that the Lord “calleth His own sheep by name, and leadeth them out” (John 10:3). He will lead us, blind sheep, “by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them” (Isa. 42:16).

Why climb over the fence when the door is open? Perhaps for fear of being turned away at the door—but then, even after “climbing over,” you will be asked to leave. Or perhaps out of mischief, as in childhood, when it was fun to climb through a window rather than obey tiresome rules of conduct. But mischief is out of place here: matters of the utmost seriousness are at stake.

Behind the denial of Christ there usually lurks a desire to manage without Him, as well as the self-confident notion that one’s own strength is sufficient for a righteous life. If we succumb to the temptation of self-sufficiency, we may fail to notice that what seemed to be “our own strength and resources” is in fact neither our own nor strength at all, but a delusion breathed upon us from a murky source.

Therefore, however harsh the words about the thieves and robbers who came before may seem—and they may also be applied to many who came later—they are just. Leaders and false prophets for whom people are merely a means of carrying out their own plans constantly send them to their deaths, and for now there is no end in sight.

But the good shepherd leads the flock not in order to shear and slaughter it, but to bring it to good pasture. Every comparison has its limits, including the comparison of people to a flock; yet let us not forget that each of us is unique to the Good Shepherd and that He knows each one by name.

Speaking of the Christian life and of Christians, Peter compares the Savior to an overseer or guard who watches over the safety of those entrusted to Him. The corresponding Greek word can, of course, be translated differently, in a more “elevated” way, but its original meaning is exactly this: guard, overseer, watchman. In Gospel times, however, it also had another meaning.

In those days among the Jews there were religious brotherhoods of a special kind, whose members regularly gathered together for common meals, usually connected with one or another feast; the most frequent were the Sabbath meals, celebrated every week. In such brotherhoods there were special ministers who presided over the gatherings, called deacons in Greek, and there were special administrators responsible for organizing the meeting and maintaining order during it. This was especially important when the brotherhood was numerous, and such ministers were called bishops in Greek, that is, overseers.

It is precisely by this word that Peter calls Jesus in his epistle. At first glance such a title may seem strange. Indeed, in the terminology of that time it would have been more logical to call the Savior a deacon, a minister, the head of the fraternal community, and the early Christian Church in its form really did resemble a religious brotherhood. It was the minister-deacon who presided over the assembly, broke the bread, and recited the prayer of blessing over the bread and wine.

But the bishop had, among other things, another duty: he had to remember all the members of the brotherhood by name and take care of them. If, for example, one of the brothers did not appear at the assembly for a fairly long time, usually a month, it was the bishop who had to find out the reason. And if it turned out that this person was ill, for instance, or had some other problems, the bishop had to organize whatever help the brotherhood could provide. The bishop had to keep in mind not only the problems of the brotherhood as a whole, but also the problems of each individual person, caring for concrete people who needed help.

By calling the Savior a bishop, Peter evidently wants to emphasize what Jesus Himself said more than once when describing the meaning of His ministry: each person who can be saved matters to Him, each individual person with all his problems. For in the Kingdom there are no masses and collectives; there are concrete people who love Christ and are loved by Him.