The Good Shepherd Who Sees, Knows, and Dies

What kind of shepherd runs into a fire for his sheep?

That’s not a hypothetical. During a California wildfire, Brittany “Cole” Bush—an actual shepherd—did just that. As flames surged across a hillside pasture, she and her team rounded up their flock, leading them through smoke and danger, at times driving straight through fire lines to get them to safety.

Most people would run from a fire. But a shepherd? A real one? A good one? She runs into it.

Jesus once said, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (John 10:11). It’s a familiar image to many—but we should be careful not to confuse “familiar” with “fully understood.” Because what Jesus meant by “the good shepherd” is deeper and more dangerous than we might think.

Not Just Good—God

In the original Greek, Jesus says: “I am the shepherd—the good one” (John 10:11). There are two definite articles in the sentence—“the shepherd,” “the good”—which is a grammatical way of saying: I’m not one of many. I’m the only one.

In Jewish tradition, the word “good” wasn’t used lightly. Rabbis were called “teacher” or “master,” but only God was called truly good (see Psalm 25:8; 34:8; 106:1). That’s why Jesus once challenged a young man who called Him “good teacher”: “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone” (Mark 10:18).

So when Jesus calls Himself “the good shepherd,” He isn’t just offering a comforting metaphor. He’s declaring His divinity.

“He’s not just good—He’s God.”

And that changes everything. Because it means that the One who hung on the cross isn’t just a great moral example. He’s the One who made the universe. The One who holds history in His hands. The One who spoke the world into being... and then stepped into it to lay down His life.

Not Just Watching—Knowing

If we stopped there, that would be enough. But Jesus goes further.

“I know my sheep and my sheep know me—just as the Father knows me and I know the Father” (John 10:14–15).

He doesn’t just see us from a distance. He doesn’t simply observe our struggles or keep a tally of our sins. He knows us.

The Greek word used here is ginosko—a word that implies deep, personal, relational knowledge. This isn’t head knowledge. It’s heart knowledge. It’s the kind of knowing between closest friends. The kind that sees beneath the surface.

It’s one thing to be aware of someone. It’s another to truly know them—and still love them.

“He doesn’t just see you—He knows you.”

Jesus knows the sound of your voice.

He knows the fears you won’t admit.

He knows the shame you try to bury.

He knows what keeps you up at night.

And still—He draws near.

We live in a world desperate to be seen… and yet more disconnected than ever. But the Good Shepherd doesn’t just scroll past your life. He calls you by name (John 10:3). He knows your story. And He stays.

Not Just Moved—Poured Out

Here’s where the image of the shepherd turns from tender to terrifying.

“The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” (John 10:11)

He doesn’t say “loses.”

He doesn’t say “was taken.”

He says “lays down.”

And in case we missed it, He says again:

“No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord.” (John 10:18)

This was no accident.

No tragic miscalculation.

It was a choice—a sovereign, sacrificial, saving choice.

The word Jesus uses for “life” is psyche, meaning His whole self—not just His body, but His soul, His will, His identity. And the word “for” is hyper—on behalf of, in the place of.

This is substitution.

This is atonement.

This is the cross.

“He didn’t just feel something for you. He died for you.”

And He did it knowing everything about you.

Knowing the sin.

Knowing the rebellion.

Knowing the doubts and the failures and the moments we still wish we could erase.

He died not because we were worthy,

but because He is good.

Because He is love.

Ants and Atonement

Here’s a question worth asking: who dies for sheep?

In the ancient world, shepherds didn’t typically die for their flocks. They might fight to protect them, yes. But laying down their life? That wasn’t the plan. They were supposed to live for their sheep—not die in place of them.

Which makes what Jesus says all the more radical. He’s not describing a job description. He’s describing the heart of God.

Imagine this: your house is on fire. Your family is safe. But before the fire department arrives, you suddenly remember—there was an ant on the kitchen counter.

And you turn to your loved ones and say:

“I’m going back in to save it.”

They’d think you’d lost your mind.

Because who risks their life for an ant?

And yet the distance between you and an ant is smaller than the distance between us and God.

And still—He came.

He saw.

He knew.

And He laid down His life.

Come to the Shepherd

What kind of Shepherd does that?

• A hired hand wouldn’t.

• A prophet couldn’t.

• A sinner shouldn’t.

• Only the Good Shepherd—the God Shepherd—would.

And He did.

So what should we do with a Shepherd like this?

We come.

We follow.

We trust.

Not because we understand everything.

Not because we’re strong enough or smart enough or clean enough.

We come because He is enough.

“He’s the Shepherd who laid Himself down… so you could stand up. So you could come in. So you could live.”

So come to the Shepherd who doesn’t just see your need—He moves closer.

Come to the Shepherd who didn’t just feel your pain—He took your place.

Come to the Shepherd who is calling your name.

And follow Him all the way home.