When we traveled in the northern isles into Scotland and Wales, we saw sheep—lots of sheep. They stood around grazing and munching on the green hillside. We used to joke that the sheep were grazing and munching on the green hillsides at night when it got dark and we turned in for the night. In the morning when the sun loomed skyward enough that we could see in the morning light, the first sight we saw were those same sheep still grazing on those same green slopes chewing their cud in the side-to-side way such ruminating ungulates do.
I always looked for shepherds and I never saw any on those hillsides. It led me to believe that sheep really didn’t need shepherds as much as we think, and possibly in the ways we assumed. In fact the locals would spat about the cantankerous, bellicose personalities of the Irish sheep, as opposed to the placid peaceful Scottish sheep. All of this was good humor, possibly to cover up for underlying hostilities between neighbors—the politics.
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And then in Christian churches I heard a lot about Jesus as a—no THE—Good Shepherd, guiding, prodding, cajoling and scolding all the dumb sheep to make sure they followed him, and him alone. At this idea I bleated and balked, and refused to follow.
Then I heard a sermon about the parable of the sheep and the goats presenting an image of Jesus, acting on God’s behalf, sitting on a throne separating sheep from goats. He cast aside the goats, designating them to perish in Hell, and adopted the sheep, designating them for salvation as God’s chosen ones. The Gospel was read. The people in the congregation settled into their pews—some ready to listen, other ready to critique, others settling in for a doze, imagining that no one could notice their drifting off. (A preacher in a pulpit or preaching from the crossing, can see all the dozers, believe me—just as we could see all the nonchalant sheep grazing inattentively day and night.)
This particular sermon began: “Some people think this Good Shepherd image for God is bogus.”
Everyone quickly woke up from dozing or grazing and paid attention. This preacher went on to debunk the “bogus” image of God as Judge. This preacher I fell in love with. I knew he knew how to love everyone equally—goats and sheep—impartially, inclusively, gracefully. This God I loved as well, good goat that I was.
Apparently, so did some members of a search committee, getting a preview of a priest who might be a candidate for their own parish. They were buried, anonymously, in that morning’s congregation. They too wanted a God who embraced both sheep and goats without prejudice. They elected him as their next rector. In time, I followed.
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