7. Sheep

7. Sheep.

Psalm 23.

I heard the preacher-man say that Jesus is my Shepherd, and that I am a sheep. The thing is, he said, sheep are dumb. Dumb sheep wander off, and they get themselves in all kinds of trouble, and it’s a good job that our Jesus-shepherd has a rod and a staff that He can use to correct our dumb-sheep tendencies. I learnt that His mercy is His patience in the face of my foolishness, and His kindness is a rod that wounds me to rescue me from my own nature.

So, I concluded somewhere inside, this is who I am: a poor dumb sheep. And this is what love looks like: correction and long-suffering in the face of my wandering self. This story, this voice, this reading, were the glasses that shaped everything I understood about everything, until the day I wandered past the words of the preacher-man to encounter the words The Good Shepherd wrote about me. As His voice read to me He traded the glasses I had been given for eyes to see.

The Lord, He said, is your Shepherd, and you shall lack nothing. There He stopped me, and gently reminded me that the function of a sheep is to provide for the Shepherd food and clothing, to serve the Shepherd so that he and his family lack nothing. In that moment I realised I was reading a revolution against the words that had formed me. In this Psalm I am served by the Shepherd. He has initiated a great exchange of function and purpose, and because of this I have everything.

I do not yet know this Shepherd.

He makes me lie down in green pastures, and leads me beside quiet waters. I see that the first thing He tends to is my rest. He finds the sweetest places for me in a dry land. For me, who thought my first function and priority was to serve, to suffer, to sacrifice, this was a mystery. You make me rest in a place where I am fed, where there is water, where my physical needs are not denied, but are provided for. Then in that place, fully fed, you make me rest, and in that rest you restore my soul. I think of all the times I have cried that no one sees that secret part of me, that no one tends to my deepest needs and longings. Here you name it as the place we begin.

He guides me along right paths for his name’s sake: now this I think I understand. The Shepherd has reputation to protect. If I wander off onto wrong paths it looks bad on him, and my behaviour might bring shame by association, so he pulls me back. As soon as that thought takes shape, gently He takes the glasses back off, and He says it’s not so. He shows me the gift the His names are to me – father, provider, protector, healer, and many more. In His names is the revelation of His nature, and He leads me on right paths because it is His nature to have only good for me. He will not lead me onto any path that would cause me pain for any lesson, or any reason, because that would be to act against His very nature. He is for me.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff they comfort me. See how this flows, He said, see how the darkest valley follows the promise of right paths. Dark places, valleys of the shadow of death, are not evidence that you have wandered, they are places of my continued presence. Here you will find me with you and here you need not fear evil because I am armed. Do you see? My rod and my staff are not weapons against you, but a comfort for you. I see your enemies, I see your fear, and I am ready to protect you.

Then, just when I thought I couldn’t be more unraveled or more undone by this new knowing, I read on:

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. I suddenly see that my enemies don’t scare you, and the rod and staff that comfort me are there to calm my fears, not yours. Here in this place where death casts its shadow, you stop. You lay a table for me. Me, the sheep that was the feast, is now served a banquet whilst my enemies watch.

You anoint my head with oil and my cup overflows. Am I anointed here, at a feast in my honour? Are you saying I am royalty? You, Shepherd-king, here serving me, with oil on my head and over-flowing wine in my cup. You are oiling me up so I never get stuck again. Are we celebrating today as I see who you are? There is a lightness and a joy growing inside. My enemies are watching and I don’t fear them because my Shepherd is also my protector.

Even in the joy of this revelation the one that serves me sees the lingering question in me: can this joy remain? And He speaks into the root of my fear to burn it with kindness:

Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life. The fear of myself was deeply rooted in me. I thought myself a fool prone to wander out of the reach of goodness and mercy, and that I would soon lose all I had gained in this encounter. Love burnt that root as I read and reread that goodness and mercy follow me – they follow? Slowly I understood that these are not the elusive gifts I am seeking, but that they have been fully given to me. They are mine, so they go where I go.

.… and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. These final words came to me as a gift and an invitation.  My position is secure: I am His forever. The final fear that I will be lost, snatched, or act dumb can be put to rest. But then he whispered the words will dwell to me, and I realised that whilst forever is His work and I am eternally safe, will dwell is my response. I can pick up my dumb-sheep glasses and work to scrub the floors in the house, or let him lead me, restore me, protect me, guide me, feed me, lavish me with goodness, and rest in that place. Forever.

So I turn to the voice of the preacher-man and the inner critic that sometime became one, and I kiss them goodbye with a blessing, handing back the glasses they gave. A feast, a table, a friend and a Shepherd-king are waiting for me.

Where else would I go?