Sheep

I’m in Israel.

Just outside my hotel window is the mighty Jerusalem. Over the past three days, my eyes, hands and brain have taken in the very real places and structures that I’ve read about and believed in my whole life.

There are mezuzahs everywhere (totally going to buy one in Bethlehem tomorrow). I have floated in the Dead Sea, pressed my hands and forehead against the Western Wall in prayer amid hundreds of other pilgrims and gazed upon places where my Jesus actually walked with His holy, yet human, feet.

Tomorrow’s agenda promises to be even more mind blowing and tonight I am praying for God to expand the capacity of my heart and mind because it’s almost more than I can handle. In the most wonderful way.

I remember proclaiming 2016 to be the year that everything in my world changed forever, but it appears 2017 will be incredibly close in competition.

I began the year with a whirlwind trip to Haiti, the closest place to hell on earth I could imagine, the disaster magnet of the world and a place where I swore I would never go. It took only two days for the country to brand itself onto my soul and I was forever changed. Currently saving up to get back as quickly as possible.

And closing in on my 38^th birthday, here I sit in the land I have yearned to see since I first opened the Bible as a small child. My adopted homeland, my Canaan. And though I am merely a grafted-in branch (Romans 11), I am nonetheless a daughter of Abraham and co-heir with Christ.

In 2016, my world changed. And in 2017, my world expanded. And I was reminded yet again that it is not my world at all, and He’s got the whole world in His hands.

It will take me months, if not years, to process all I’ve seen and our trip is not yet halfway over. But I saw something the very first day that I know will be an image I will never forget.

We were riding through the Judean countryside on a large bus, jetlagged and bleary eyed and not entirely sure what day it was. I was staring out the window at this wildly foreign landscape, trying to force my brain to work by sheer will.

Suddenly I saw something I had pictured a hundred times.

It was a flock of sheep walking in a tight group and right in front was the shepherd. I only saw him for a moment, but from what I could tell, he could have only been about 12 or 13. He glanced behind him and said something to the flock and then kept walking, perfectly clear on direction and purpose.

The sheep were so close to him, they were almost underfoot. And yet, they knew not to get ahead of him because they would have no idea where to go.

I gasped to myself, “It’s real.”

Of all the books of the Bible, I am probably most familiar with the gospel of John and the short book of Philippians. John 10 is Jesus’ description of Himself as the Good Shepherd.

Here’s the thing: The people He was talking to would have seen the image of a shepherd with his sheep a zillion times. Very normal part of the landscape for them.

But I grew up as a cowgirl on a ranch. To herd cows, we saddled up on horseback, cracked whips, released cow dogs, surrounded them and basically bullied them into going the direction we wanted them to go, wherever that was.

I’m not sure which animal is dumber, a sheep or a cow, but here’s what I know about herding sheep: You lead them from the front instead of pushing from behind.

And it works. The sheep actually follow.

Very truly I tell you Pharisees, anyone who does not enter the sheep pen by the gate, but climbs in by some other way, is a thief and a robber. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice. But they will never follow a stranger; in fact, they will run away from him because they do not recognize a stranger’s voice. John 10:1-5

Again, this was common knowledge to the people of the day, but somehow the most educated of men of their time were not making the connection.

Years ago I read about an American city-dwelling author who wanted to get a feel for the whole sheep-herding thing. He traveled out into the countryside and spent the whole day with a shepherd and his sheep, taking copious notes about everything he saw.

The shepherd had a different name (sound) for every single sheep. They were not just a mass of wandering wool to him. He knew every. Single. One. By name. And somehow, they each KNEW their name and when he would call to them, they would come.

The author listened to the shepherd carefully and finally toward the end of the day, he was feeling confident that he could lead the flock just as well. After all, they were just stupid sheep. He had enough of the sounds figured out that he thought he could do a good enough impression.

Not so much, it turned out.

The shepherd stepped aside, the rookie stood in front of the herd and gave his best round-em-up call.

The sheep scattered. Bolted. Literally ran away, as if running for their lives.

Wanna know why?

He was a stranger. The sheep didn’t know much, but they knew their shepherd’s voice. And this wasn’t it.

Who knew sheep could be so stupid, yet so discerning?

These verses flooded my foggy mind as I watched the shepherd boy with his sheep. I only saw him for a moment, didn’t even have time to snap a picture. But I saw it.

I saw how closely his flock followed him. They stayed together in a tight group, matching their leader’s pace, step for step. I saw him turn and say something to them to encourage them forward and I saw them respond with renewed energy.

Who would have thought a simple agriculture metaphor could be so profound?

And who would have thought that I would ever want to be as smart as a sheep?

It’s true. All of it.