Our Great Shepherd

Our Great Shepherd

Once upon a time, high on a stunning lush-green hilltop in the county of Seaside Serenity, a flock of sheep grazed. Their safety assured, their world contained, some 40 of them chewed upon perfect grasses, their heads down, their eyes focused, their stubby tails twitching. There was nothing tastier or more relaxing than a mouthful of that juicy emerald veggie, kissed by the crisp air of a nearby ocean that went on, forever, into unreachable lands.

With a jump of his tail against a vagrant gnat, one of the sheep spoke up. “I sure do love the simplicity of our lives.”

Next to him, a second sheep smiled and nodded. “I do as well. I have no desire to see anything unpleasant. Therefore, these beautiful hills on which we graze must represent all of creation.”

That relaxed comment escorted into being another, from an excited third sheep: “I’m so glad we all agree! Our existence is good!”

“Yes,” said many in the flock, in unison. “Life is good!”

With a shift that began with one and gradually swam between them all, the massive herd moved farther up the hill. There were clovers up there, delicious clovers, and although a bitter wind was picking up, their bodies were protected by thick coats. A benevolent shepherd always allowed them to build up a little extra during the spring months - the time of year the clovers happened to be tastiest while the wind remained chilly.

It was as if time had come to a standstill in the sleepy county of Seaside Serenity. Many lifespans of sheep had been spent here over the years. Every new lamb that was born quickly learned the history of all those who came before, and with each birth there was a strengthened sense of family.

There was great harmony among the flock. Disputes were rare and short-lived. A few of the older, more clever ones attributed it to the great overseer, who was rumored to provide special herbs and minerals to the pastures during the winter, enhancing both their nutritional components as well as their overall taste. The sheep swore the grass was growing sweeter by the year, and it was all thanks to their master, an apparent magician capable of incredible feats.

The shepherd’s name was George, and he was chronicled throughout the county as among the kindest and wisest from his ancient, mysterious bloodline. A man fastened of equal parts strength and love, he guided and watched over the flock from dawn to dusk, every day, regardless of the weather and of his own health. On days like this he might be prone to sniffling and sneezing, and yet he could still be counted on to guide the group up towards their favorite patch, despite valiantly sacrificing his body in the process.

However, a few times his more raw nature had also been called upon to defend the sheep from predators as well. 

Once, six or seven coy-wolves had ambushed them in broad daylight, and with tragic consequence. Three sheep were lost that day, including one lamb, but it was only because of George’s quick reaction and the use of that strange tool of his that the rest of the flock was saved.

That tool he carried. Wondrous! Miraculous!

Shiny and cylindrical, there was no measuring its origin or function. In fact, when put to use, it wrought terror, for it emitted a ferocious report and spouted, without warning, a brilliant flash of bitter-smelling, unexplainable fumes. 

The first time Shepherd George used his Magic Staff, it was at a distance from the flock, and no sooner had he employed its powers than a raven fell from the sky, lifeless. Chatter had quickly spread among the sheep that if Shepherd George were to raise the Staff to his shoulder, he would summon magical thunder, and all who were doing or thinking evil would have their life forces removed from their bodies.

Soon after, George began carrying the terrifying but just Staff with him to the pastures, and when the coy-wolves next attacked, the opportunity arose once more to drive home the point. Sprinting in all directions, wild with panic, the sheep heard three or four booms of magical thunder and, motivated by the desperate scramble of those around them, each set forth a soul’s plea within their frenzied, awestruck minds that they too might not be judged as wayward and have their lives ended, alongside the obviously evil coy-wolves.

Following this dramatic turn, the word was spread that two additional coy-wolves had faced fatal but fair judgement for their transgressions against the peaceful flock. And while three sheep lay lifeless as well, the compassionate herder showed them extraordinary kindness, picking them up and taking them back to the barn himself for proper burial. Apparently even wayward sheep in need of judgement deserved respect, and as the rest of the flock watched the somber procession, their minds awakened to the unsurpassable wisdom, power, and mercy of their minder.

As a result, the wide sheep family respected Good Shepherd George’s untouchable, unknowable nature even more. He could take away a life with his mysterious Magic Staff, and at the same time he could lead his chosen followers to a clover patch that was profoundly potent in its deliciousness. Wow.

Unfortunately, several of the younger lambs had been so startled by that initial, shockingly bombastic use of Gracious Good Shepherd George’s Magical Staff of Righteousness that they considered momentary resistance to Him - a phenomenon never before identified by the flock. Afraid of wolves and cougars and occasional lightning? Certainly. But afraid of His Excellent Guardian of Unlimited Peace? The thought itself felt wrong, almost like an insult. Worrisome. Dangerous. Subversive.

Fearing that the lambs may be judged for their thoughts and considerations alone, and that they themselves may be judged for allowing such a phenomenon to flourish among them, the elder sheep gathered together all the lambs in the family one night and offered counter-balance to the tension with legends of Wonderful Guardian George’s limitless mercy. 

They sang songs and danced, held hooves and led the lambs in chants exalting their Good Shepherd’s name. They swayed and laughed together all night long, repeating extensive yet necessarily memorizable testaments to the value and greatness of He Who Loves Us. And when the celebration was over, they slept close to one another, reinforcing their collective faith, both in the will of self-devotion to the flock and in the Singular Infallible Wisdom of His Infinite Judgement. They were a family. They were together. And they would never again distrust or have doubts about He Who Cares for Us More Than We Could Ever Possibly Care for Ourselves.

The horrors of social complexity, exploratory self-study, and individual responsibility were all defeated.

“Life is good, life is good,” they chanted, rocking next to one another in the darkness of their closed eyelids as they wished to be deserving of future protection from the unknown.