Ministry no longer resembles the quiet pasture of Psalm 23—it is now an arduous ascent through cultural ruins, digital distractions, and theological fatigue. The modern shepherd finds himself not only preaching but pleading; not only discipling, but enduring. We live in a dispensation where ecclesial burdens are heavier than ever, and apostolic endurance is no longer optional but essential. The pulpit is now a furnace, not a platform. The call remains, but the context convulses.
And still, the Shepherd calls. Hebrews 13:20–21 assures us it is the God of peace—He who raised the Great Shepherd—who equips us with every good thing. Not some, not seasonal—everything. The grace that appoints also sustains. We are not summoned to curate relevance but to preserve truth. Not entertainers of fickle flocks, but custodians of eternal souls. The terrain is uncertain, but the anointing is immutable.
The lineage of faithful shepherds is forged in fire. Apostle Ayo Babalola warred against ancestral darkness without earthly acclaim. Prophet TB Joshua carried heaven’s balm in seasons of suspicion and silence. These men were not crafted by media—they were carved by consecration. Today, heaven is not mass-producing performers; it is moulding remnants. Those who bleed devotion, who feed souls in famine, who carry the apostolic yoke without applause.
We are confronting more than moral decline—we are shepherding in the shadow of cynicism. Congregants scroll through sermons like content, and skepticism now dresses in Sunday best. Trust has been taxed, and theology diluted. Yet God is not rattled. The Great Shepherd foresaw this unraveling, and still, He commissioned us. The charge was never trend-sensitive; it was timeproof. Apostolic endurance is not convenience—it is covenant.
As Bishop David Oyedepo declares, “No man makes himself; grace makes men.” And this grace is not soft—it is surgical. It breaks to build. It hides to prepare. We must bear scars that speak louder than sermons. Jesus did not argue with Thomas; He showed him wounds. We too must lead with what we’ve survived. Not all revival is loud. Some are rooted in the quiet faithfulness of leaders who refused to resign in seasons of rupture.
So preach again—even if your soul stammers. Stand again—even if alone. Cry, but don’t crumble. This is not the hour of celebrity shepherds but of crucified ones. Apostolic endurance is forged in obscurity, not applause. Let the world shift. Let metrics lie. But as long as the Shepherd still speaks, we must still lead. The age may rupture, but the remnant must remain.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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