“We all like sheep have gone astray; each of us has turned to his or her own way….” Isaiah 53
Eliakim sat on a rock near his small herd of sheep, idly watching the flock grazing on the scrub grass of the Judean hillside. Hardly a breeze tempered the heat of the afternoon, and there remained a brooding stillness in the torrid air that made any physical exertion an effort.
He pondered once again with tolerant amusement the characteristics of these animals he owned. “We are His people and the sheep of His pasture,” Eliakim thought to himself, as he remembered King David’s song. “Jehovah chose the right animal,” he mused as he noticed a lamb wandering over the ridge. Whistling and calling, Eliakim hurried to bring the creature back to the herd. He had already made the rounds of the grazing area, looking for poisonous weeds. He knew his silly sheep couldn’t tell the difference between good grass and noxious plants.
Keeping a vigilant eye out for predators—those rangy, scrawny wolves or jackals of Palestine that lurked behind rocks and waited for any opportunity to seize one of the vulnerable flock—Eliakim continually scanned the vicinity.
Towering cumulus clouds were building up in the west and Eliakim, a seasoned shepherd, lifted his head and sniffed the air. He knew a storm was forming. The sheep seemed to sense it also and began showing signs of restlessness and unease, lifting their heads and circling nervously into a cluster.
Rising quickly to his feet, Eliakim began calling to the sheep in soothing tones, using their individual names and motioning with his staff. The herd milled around but soon followed their loving, expert shepherd’s voice as he led them to the sheepfold. Opening the rustic gate into the piled-up stone enclosure, Eliakim began counting them as, bleating worriedly, they pushed through. He knew them all so well and patted their heads gently as they passed.
“Come on, old One-Eye,” he rumbled to a ewe who had lost an eye to a thorn bush many years before. “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine….”—here the shepherd stopped and looked quickly about him. “Which one is missing? Eliakim scanned the flock crowded into the sheepfold, casting about for the missing animal. There was one that always stood out from the flock . “Where is Blackie?” Eliakim asked himself. “That numbskull of a sheep has gotten lost again.” With anxiety building in his chest Eliakim glanced at the lowering skies and hurried to close the gate. He began searching the gullies and canyons nearby, whistling and calling the young ram’s name.
The wind intensified by the minute, and the rain began coming down in sheets. Increasingly troubled, the shepherd doggedly continued scouring the rocky terrain, the gale tearing at him with claw-like force. His shouts seemed to be snatched from his lips, disappearing into the storm and drowned out by peals of thunder.
Eliakim had a vivid mental image of Blackie—a mostly black sheep who had a penchant for wandering, but was very special to the shepherd. He remembered the way Blackie would butt his head against the shepherd’s leg, wanting his ears rubbed. The memory made Eliakim even more anxious and concerned.
By now, soaked to the skin, the man struggled to catch his breath and wondered if he would have to give up. Then, the tempest brought the faintest of bleats to his ears—so faint, Eliakim thought it might be wishful imagining.
He turned toward a ravine with steep sides and peered down through the driven rain and mist. There, below him, caught on a thorn bush was Blackie, hopelessly trapped. With the greatest of care, effort, and bother, the long-suffering shepherd made his way down and worked against extreme obstacles to free the benighted animal.
Carrying the dripping ram on his shoulders, Eliakim wended the muddy trail back to the sheep fold, very grateful to have found his lost sheep and looking forward to a warm fire in his hut. Maybe, just maybe Blackie would have learned his lesson…but probably not.
______________________________________________________________________
In a modern setting, the reality of sheep and their characteristics arose as a vivid example: A few months ago, Karl, who pastors a church in California, returned from the morning service feeling considerable discouragement over the spiritual state of the congregants.
Karl went before the Lord that afternoon with the weight of the world on his shoulders and a big question. WHY?
Anyone might assume that God’s answer would be, “You’re not praying enough; there’s sin in your life; you’re a weak leader; why aren’t you fasting more; it’s the devil; it’s YOU—whatever made you think you’re called of God, you useless person…”
But God didn’t say any of that.
Karl felt the gentle response of the Lord: “They’re just sheep.”
What a gloriously freeing three-word-answer—not just for pastors in regards to their flocks—but for any of us. I’m just a stupid, ignorant, prone-to-wander-Lord-I-feel-it, stumbling, fluff-headed, over-fed SHEEP.
It’s the perfect analogy for God to use. One has to wonder how this critter ever survived before its domestication several thousand years ago. A few characteristics will surface if one looks up the topic: “Easily panicked, dumb, vulnerable, follow-the-herd-stampeding, no self-defense—easy prey for predators, perverse, creatures of habit, will eat even poisonous plants, wanderers—easily lost, can’t get up if it falls over, totally dependent on the shepherd for ‘rod and staff’ guidance and care. “
Straying and hopelessly lost, we absolutely need our Shepherd—first, to find us in our lost-ness, and then to guide us in paths of righteousness. I fit the description so precisely. “I’m just a sheep.” God knows that full well and, though He may sigh a few times, He loves me as I am and His patience is endless. “They’re just sheep.” We can all be encouraged by that.
