A Cross-Shaped Calling (1 Peter 5:1-5)
Peter is nearing the close of his letter. He has written much about suffering, hope, and the Christian’s identity as an exile. He has lifted their eyes repeatedly to Christ and His coming glory. Now he turns his attention to the shepherds of the church, those who will carry the weight of leading God’s people through suffering until the return of Christ.
These verses are not a side note or an afterthought, as though Peter suddenly remembered to say a few words to the leaders before closing his letter. They flow directly out of 4:19. The chapter division can make us think a new subject has begun, but in reality, Peter is applying the same principle to the pastors that he just laid on the congregation. Some translations even capture this continuity by beginning chapter 5 with “So” or “Therefore.”
The logic is simple: Because all believers are called to entrust their souls to a faithful Creator while doing good, the shepherds among them must embody that same pattern and lead the flock into it. Pastors are not exceptions to suffering; they are fellow participants in it, thus their calling is not to shield the church from every trial, nor to promise an escape, but to walk with them through it. They lead not by removing the cross but by teaching the flock how to bear it with hope.
This sets Christian leadership in stark contrast to worldly leadership. In the world, leaders promise comfort, prosperity, or success if their followers remain loyal. But shepherds under Christ are called to something different. They lead the flock not by minimizing the reality of suffering, but by faithfully reminding them of the hope anchored in Christ. Their authority is ministerial; they point away from themselves to the faithful Creator, and away from false assurances to the sure promise of glory.
So before Peter ever speaks of feeding, guarding, or serving, he grounds pastoral ministry in this: shepherds are under-shepherds. They lead the flock in the very same path they themselves must walk, the path of trusting God in suffering, the path of the theology of the cross.
Peter unpacks this in four movements: the calling of the shepherds (v.1), the character of the shepherds (vv.2–3), the Chief of the shepherds (v.4), and the clothing of the shepherds (v.5).
The Calling of the Shepherds (v.1)
“The elders which are among you I exhort, who am also an elder, and a witness of the sufferings of Christ, and also a partaker of the glory that shall be revealed.”
Peter begins by identifying both who the shepherds are and who he is.
Who are the shepherds?
They are “among you.” With this phrase, Peter reminds the church that God has not left His flock without care. Shepherds are not distant figures, nor are they imported authorities hovering above the congregation. They are raised up from among the people themselves.
This is significant. In a world enamored with celebrity voices and traveling teachers, Peter directs the exiles’ gaze to the men God has set in their own assembly. The true shepherds are not the political leaders who promise power, nor the charismatic strangers who stir crowds, nor theological geniuses with an online following. They are the elders who share life with the flock, those who pray with them, eat with them, bury their dead, and rejoice in their weddings.
They walk among the sheep, they know the faces, the wounds, the fears, and the hopes of their people. A distant voice cannot bind up a specific wound; a stranger cannot patiently guide a soul through suffering. Only those who live among the sheep can do that.
This means that the sheep should not look first to distant voices, in our age, the endless stream of online preachers and pundits. Those may serve to encourage, but they are not the shepherds God has entrusted to your care. The primary pastoral care God intends for His people comes from the elders He has given in their local church.
There is both comfort and accountability here. Comfort, because God’s design ensures His people are not left shepherdless; He provides leaders who are present. Accountability, because both sheep and shepherds must honor this arrangement. Sheep must not despise the shepherds God has given, and shepherds must remember that they are called to shepherd this flock, not some idealized one.
In short, the church does not flourish by chasing every distant voice, but by receiving the care of the shepherds God has placed among them — men who, in weakness and hope, point the flock to Christ.
Who is Peter?
Notice carefully what he does not say. He does not open this section by asserting his apostolic authority, though he could have. He does not remind the elders that he was one of the Twelve, the one given the keys of the kingdom, the one whose sermon at Pentecost saw thousands converted. Instead, he calls himself a “fellow elder.” He places himself not above them, but beside them.
By identifying as a fellow elder, Peter shows that pastoral ministry is not about rank or prestige but about solidarity. Elders share in the same burdens, the same weaknesses, the same hope, and the same mission.
Peter reminds them of two things he shares with them: he is “a witness of the sufferings of Christ” and “a partaker of the glory that shall be revealed.” These two anchors — the cross and the crown — shape everything he is about to say. His authority does not rest on his position but on his participation in Christ’s story.
Edmund Clowney observes that this must be true of all elders. They must be men who have seen, with the eyes of faith, the sufferings of Christ as presented in the gospel. They must also be vividly aware of the glory that is coming.
Pastors who lose sight of either reality will falter: if they forget the cross, they will offer shallow comfort; if they forget the crown, they will lead without hope.
This is the heart of pastoral calling: to shepherd God’s people with one eye fixed on Calvary and the other on the coming kingdom. To remind the flock, in every season, that Christ has suffered for them and that Christ will return for them. That balance of suffering now, glory later is what steadies both sheep and shepherds in the theology of the cross.
The Character of the Shepherds (vv.2–3)
“Feed the flock of God which is among you, taking the oversight thereof, not by constraint, but willingly… not for filthy lucre, but of a ready mind; neither as being lords over God’s heritage, but being ensamples to the flock.”
Here Peter moves from the what to the how.
What are shepherds to do? Feed and tend the sheep.
How are they to do it? With Christlike character.
Feeding the Sheep
The first directive is to “feed.”
Peter had heard these words before, from Christ Himself on the shore of Galilee (John 21:15–17), and as Peter was directed, so he now relays to the shepherds to whom he writes: to feed is to give the flock Christ.
Martin Luther was right when he said that feeding the sheep means nothing more and nothing less than preaching the gospel to them. Preaching that entertains, moralizes, or lectures without giving Christ may scratch an itching ear, but it leaves the flock starving. Pastors must feed the sheep with Christ, His person, His work, His finished cross, His present reign, week after week.
But shepherding is more than feeding. It is also tending. The flock must be guarded from wolves, guided toward hope, and bound up when wounded. In Ezekiel 34, God rebuked Israel’s shepherds for feeding themselves while neglecting the flock. They clothed themselves with the sheep’s wool and feasted on their meat while leaving the weak scattered and exposed. God promised that He Himself would come and shepherd His people, and He did so in Christ, the Good Shepherd who lays down His life for the sheep (John 10:11).
Now, Christ’s under-shepherds must be different than their Old Testament predecessors. They cannot use the flock for their own gain, and they must not neglect or abandon them. They serve in the stead of the Good Shepherd, representing His care, His protection, and His compassion.
To feed is to preach Christ. To tend is to embody Christ’s care, to protect from false teaching, to encourage in trials, to weep with the broken, to lead with patience. A faithful shepherd feeds the sheep with Christ and tends them toward Christ.
Willing and Ready-Minded
Peter then describes the manner of oversight. The way shepherds lead is just as important as the fact that they lead.
They are not to serve under compulsion, as though dragged into ministry against their will. Instead, elders are to serve willingly with hearts aligned to their calling. Their pattern is Christ Himself, and if the Good Shepherd willingly laid down His life for the sheep, His under-shepherds must willingly lay down their time, comfort, and energy for the flock entrusted to them.
They are also to serve with a ready mind, not motivated by earthly gain but by eternal hope. Ministry can never be about financial profit, social standing, or personal advancement. To shepherd with an eye fixed on worldly reward is to betray the very nature of the calling. Instead, elders labor for the kingdom that is “not of this world.” Their motivation is the glory that is to be revealed when Christ appears, not the applause that can be gathered in the present age.
This description turns the world’s model of leadership upside down. The world leads for profit; the church’s shepherds lead for Christ. The world demands loyalty to the leader; the church calls leaders to give themselves in loyalty to Christ and His flock. True oversight, then, is joyful service that reflects the heart of the Savior.
Examples, Not Lords
Finally, shepherds are to be examples, not tyrants. Peter draws a hard line here when he states that pastors must not lord authority over the flock. That kind of heavy-handed leadership may belong to the rulers of the world, but has no place in the church of Christ. Yet how often has the church been plagued by shepherds who confuse domineering control with faithful care?
Edmund Clowney makes the point plain: pastors are not to add to or take away from Scripture. Their authority is ministerial, not magisterial. They have no right to bind consciences where God has left them free.
This cuts directly against the grain of legalism and fundamentalistic notions of “hard preaching.” How many pulpits thunder not with the voice of Christ, but with the personal hang-ups of a pastor demanding that everyone conform to his scruples? Whether it is the elevation of cultural preferences to divine law, or the addition of extra-biblical rules as marks of holiness, such preaching is spiritual abuse, not shepherding.
Thus, this form of legalistic preaching has no place among Christ’s shepherds. It crushes the sheep under a yoke Christ never laid on them. It breeds fear, hypocrisy, and despair, and worse, it obscures the gospel by shifting the focus from Christ’s finished work to human performance. A pastor who makes himself the standard of holiness is no shepherd at all; he is a wolf in shepherd’s clothing.
Instead, Peter insists that shepherds lead by example, not by coercion. Their authority is declarative: they say what Scripture says, no more and no less. Their lives are to display the freedom of the gospel, not chain others with the shackles of man-made rules. A true shepherd does not stand above the flock, barking orders; he walks among them, modeling what it means to live in union with Christ.
Here is the acid test of pastoral authority: does it point people to Christ or to the pastor?
Does it bind consciences with the Word of God or with the traditions of men?
The church has had enough of authoritarian fundamentalism masquerading as faithfulness. Peter’s vision is utterly different. The shepherd leads not as a tyrant, but as one who himself is following the Good Shepherd, feeding with Christ, tending with Christ, and pointing always to Christ.
The Chief of the Shepherds (v.4)
“And when the chief Shepherd shall appear, ye shall receive a crown of glory that fadeth not away.”
Peter lifts their eyes again, this time from the sheep to the Shepherd of shepherds.
The word he uses here means the “supreme shepherd.” Every human shepherd, no matter how faithful, will stumble in some way. Even the best pastors have blind spots and failings, but the Chief Shepherd never fails. He laid down His life for the sheep when no one else could. He leads them into green pastures and still waters where no other guide can bring them. And one day, He will appear in glory to gather His flock once and for all.
When He does, the apostle states that He will bring a reward, “a crown of glory that fadeth not away.” This is the same inheritance Peter has been pointing to since the opening chapter: the imperishable, undefiled, unfading hope kept in heaven (1:4).
Notice the emphasis: the reward is not contingent on pastoral success, the size of a ministry, or recognition from the world. It is secured in Christ; The Chief Shepherd Himself is the guarantor.
This reshapes how pastors understand their calling.
Shepherding is hard work, it is exhausting, often thankless, and full of suffering alongside the flock. But Peter assures them: their crown is sure, because it is Christ’s crown shared with them.
Gerhardus Vos once described the Christian life as being pulled forward by the magnetic power of future hope. A magnet does not push from behind; it draws from ahead. That is how hope works in the Christian life. We are not stumbling forward in the dark, trying to muster enough strength to keep going. We are being drawn, pulled, even compelled by the certainty of what lies ahead.
For shepherds, this means their labor is not simply gritting their teeth through hardship; it is leaning into the pull of glory; thus, each act of faithfulness, preaching Christ, binding up the wounded, protecting the flock, is energized by that forward pull.
And this is true not only for pastors but for every believer. The Christian life is not propelled by nostalgia for what has been lost, nor by sheer willpower to endure what is, rather, it is pulled by the promise of what will be.
So when Peter speaks of the crown of glory, he is not handing pastors a distant incentive as if to say, “Just hang on.” He is reminding them of the magnetic reality of hope: the future has already reached back into the present, and the Shepherd who will one day appear is already shepherding now, and His promised reward is already pulling us home.
The Clothing of the Shepherds (v.5)
“Likewise, ye younger, submit yourselves unto the elder. Yea, all of you be subject one to another, and be clothed with humility: for God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble.”
Peter now turns from pastors to the younger ones, those who may one day become shepherds themselves, but who are presently younger in age or younger in faith.
He calls them to submit to their elders, to receive their guidance rather than resist it. Yet Peter does not stop there. He widens the scope back to the shepherds that have been spoken to up to this point, saying, “All of you… be clothed with humility.”
Just as clothing covers and defines how we appear, so humility must wrap itself around the entire community of believers. It is not an accessory that can be put on occasionally, but the fabric in which the church is to be dressed day by day. And this clothing begins with the shepherds themselves. Elders cannot expect humility from the flock if they themselves are clothed in pride. Their ministry must not be defined by control, manipulation, or self-importance, but by the lowliness of Christ.
To clothe oneself in humility is to clothe oneself in Christ. Psalm 23 pictures God as the Shepherd who bends down to care for His people, leading them gently, restoring their souls, and walking with them through the valley. In Christ, God bent lower still and humbled Himself, not only to wash His disciples’ feet, but to bear their sins on the cross. The eternal Shepherd stooped to the very dust of death for His sheep.
If this is the Shepherd’s heart, how can His under-shepherds be anything but humble? Pastors must bend toward the flock in the same way, lowering themselves to serve rather than lifting themselves up to rule, and the same spirit is to permeate the whole congregation. A church clothed in humility will not be marked by rivalries, jealousies, or factions, but by the aroma of Christ who came “not to be ministered unto, but to minister” (Mark 10:45).
Augustine and Luther both observed that our sinful natures bend us inward, curving us in on ourselves. Left to ourselves, we become what Augustine called “incurvatus in se” – turned inward, consumed with self. Luther later picked up this image and described fallen humanity as spiritual “navel-gazers.” We cannot lift our eyes beyond our own performance, failures, or desires.
This is also why legalism appeals to us so much. Legalism keeps us trapped in self-focus; It gives us a scorecard, a list of do’s and don’ts, and tells us that God’s favor hinges on how well we measure up. It may look rigorous, but in reality, it is just another form of self-absorption. Instead of freeing us, it turns us further inward, making us obsessed with ourselves.
But the gospel does the opposite; the gospel straightens us.
In Christ, we are unbent, lifted from self-absorption, and freed to look up to God in faith and out to others in love. We no longer live under the crushing weight of proving ourselves; Christ has borne that burden. We no longer need to obsess over our performance; Christ’s righteousness is ours. Only then can we actually do what the law truly requires, which is to love God and neighbor.
Ironically, legalism promises law-keeping but produces only pride or despair. The gospel, by freeing us from ourselves, makes true obedience possible. When shepherds and sheep alike are clothed in humility, bent outward by grace, the community of faith begins to display what God has always intended: a people who love Him with all their heart and love their neighbors as themselves.
Peter closes this verse by paraphrasing Proverbs 3:34: “God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble.” At first glance, it might sound conditional: If you humble yourself, then God will give you grace. But Peter is not setting up a transaction; he is declaring a gospel reality.
The whole of 1 Peter has already shown that God’s grace is prior, free, and undeserved. We were chosen, ransomed, and brought near to God all before we had anything to offer. The point, then, is not that humility earns grace, but that humility is the posture that receives grace.
Pride closes its fists, clinging to self-sufficiency. Humility opens its hands to receive what God delights to give. And the reason we can humble ourselves is because Christ humbled Himself for us. He did not cling to His rights but emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant, even to the point of death on a cross.
“Grace flows downhill,” as pastor and author Jack Miller coined, It never pools in the lofty heights of the proud, but it gathers in the low places. That is why the only safe clothing for shepherds and sheep alike is humility.
For pastors, humility guards against domineering pride and self-importance. For congregations, humility guards against suspicion, rivalry, and bitterness. And for all of us, humility is simply living in line with the gospel of a Savior who stooped to lift us up.
The gospel reality is this: your own sin has brought you as low as you can go, you are a sinner saved only by grace, and the work of Christ on your behalf has already lifted you higher than you could ever climb. You are a beloved child of God, destined for glory. With that reality in place, we are free to clothe ourselves in humility and walk in grace together.