Who is Watching the Sheep?

1829564-a-group-of-curious-sheep-needing-to-be-shornNo one can blame the hired hands.
They’re contractors.
We’ve paid them to come and watch the sheep,
to teach them to frolic and play and to keep an eye out for wolves.

But we really can’t expect the hired hands
who have charge of so many sheep
to pay special attention to OURs,
even if we offer to pay them a bit more.

Our sheep belong to us.
We are their shepherds.
Not hired, but chosen.

Our sheep are ours to teach about the flock,
about minding the hired hand,
about staying in the safety of the fold,
about eating only the grass from this pasture,
about waiting their turn for sheering even when they’re really hot and bothered.

We are the shepherds of our own sheep.
We would die for them, wouldn’t we?

Or would we fire the hired hand
hoping to find one who will keep a better watch,
use a louder voice,
and wield a firmer staff?

Only the shepherd of the sheep will lay down his life for his sheep.
When we do what absolutely kills us,
when we love them enough to let them go,
to wander, to be lost, to explore,

then, in the quiet, they may listen for the voice they have learned is love.
If they follow it they will find pasture
where they can frolic and play,
freely, powerfully, joyfully.

That will be home.

I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.  He who is a hireling and not a shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees; and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. He flees because he is a hireling and cares nothing for the sheep. 

I am the good shepherd; I know my own and my own know me,  as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep. ~ John 10: 11-15

About wlebolt

Life comes at you fast. I like to catch it and toss it back. Or toss it up to see where it lands. I do my best thinking when I'm moving. And my best writing when I am tapping my foot to a beat no one else hears. Kinesthetic to the core.

Posted on April 3, 2015, in God, Lent, Life, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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