The Helpful Sheep
A parable of calling, posture, purpose and the reality of right sized ministry.
Once upon a time there was a young sheep.
The sheep lived on a farm with the other sheep, and the Shepherd.
The young sheep walked with his herd and, on occasion, would get confused as to where he fit, sometimes on his own and sometimes with the other sheep. He would get stuck, or lost, with the Shepherd helping him find his way.
One day, after a particularly rough go of it, the Shepherd came to the young sheep and said, “Come, follow me.”
And so the young sheep did.
He followed the shepherd over hills, through valleys, and across the streams. The Shepherd led him to food and space to rest.
The sheep loved the Shepherd.
The Shepherd loved the sheep.
They walked this way for some time. The sheep always at the Shepherds’ side. It became harder and harder to tell the two apart. It seemed, mostly, as if they were one thing.
The Shepherd would look at the sheep and was pleased.
Here, he thought, was a sheep to point to. Look how it followed him! If only the other sheep would do likewise!
And so thinking this way, it occured to the Shepherd an idea.
So, one day, the Shepherd came to the young sheep and announced, “I have a job for you,” the young sheep entirely focused on his words, “I want you to feed my other sheep.”
And, though it was not visible from the outside, the young sheep was enormously excited.
It was as if stars had burst from joy in the young sheep’s heart.
Small explosions of dopamine fueled certainty that this was it, this was the moment.
It was, truthfully, what he had always wanted.
Everytime he had been stuck. Everytime he had been lost. Everytime he had been frustrated. He had always thought, knew, hoped that he was different.
Special.
Chosen.
He had looked around at the many sheep around him and wondered, “Am I no different than the rest?”
And now, suddenly, he was.
And so he set about it.
And the sheep were fed.
And the sheep followed.
And the Shepherd was pleased.
And time passed.
And then, one day, the Shepherd was called away.
He turned to the young sheep and said, “I will be back. I do not know exactly when.”
He paused, and gave clear instruction, “Remember that I love you. Please remind the others that I love them as well, that I am their shepherd, and that I will be back… and otherwise… please keep doing what you are doing. Be a faithful helpful sheep. Please help me shepherd the flock.”
And, just like that, he left.
Where the Shepherd had stood was only grass, as far as the eye could see.
The young sheep looked around.
And, for the others, nothing much had changed.
But for the young sheep? Everything. Following the Shepherd was his life. And the Shepherd was gone.
But, all in all, the young sheep knew he had a job to do. So he set about doing it.
He told the sheep that the Shepherd loved them.
He told the sheep that the Shepherd would be back.
He told the sheep that the Shepherd was still their shepherd.
But the other sheep didn’t listen.
And they kept getting lost.
And they kept getting stuck.
It was a problem.
So the young sheep helped.
He helped them when they were lost.
He helped them when they were stuck.
He was, all in all, enormously helpful.
He would do anything for the Shepherd. He would do anything to not let him down.
His job became his everything.
All he wanted, he told himself, was to do it better. He racked his mind for ideas, for ways, for things to do.
“Surely,” he thought, “the sheep would listen to me better if I stood on two legs,” and so he stood on two legs.
And the sheep listened.
“Surely,” he thought, “the sheep would eat better if I wore clothes,” and so he wore clothes.
And the sheep ate.
“Surely,” he thought, “the sheep would follow better if I held a shepherds crook,” and so he found and carried a crook.
And the sheep followed.
And all the while, he never noticed that he had begun to talk and think about ‘the’ sheep rather than ‘us’ sheep, or ‘we’ sheep or even, maybe, ‘me’ sheep.
He was trying to be the Shepherd.
But he wasn’t.
He was a sheep.
Dressed up in shepherd’s clothing.
“These sheep don’t listen to me!” he thought in frustration, “These sheep are ba-a-a-a-d. The Shepherd will be angry! This must stop!”
“Surely,” he thought, “they would be ready to follow the Shepherd better if the believed I spoke with his voice?”
“Surely,” he thought, “they would believe that easier if I looked more impressive and had a nicer cloak?”
“Surely,” he thought, “it is understandable I would need to embellish, just a bit?”
And so he stood up tall with his shepherd’s staff in his hand and he told the sheep that he spoke with the Shepherd’s voice. He told them about the anger of the Shepherd, and they were made to be afraid.
He asked them to make him robes of golden wool, and to always follow his words with scripted responses.
And, for a while, things were better.
The sheep followed.
The sheep ate.
But the young sheep was restless… it was all so… unsatisfactory. He worked all the time and it was never done. All of his time went into helping the other sheep eat! How was he supposed to take care of himself? “What,” he thought, “about me?”
“Surely,” he thought, “I would lead the sheep better if I didn’t need to think or worry about food?”
“Surely,” he thought, “the Shepherd would want me to not just feed the sheep today but help prevent tomorrow’s problems too?”
“Surely,” he thought, “the sheep and Shepherd will all be best served if all of the food comes through me… after all, am I not the only one thinking of both?”
And so he stood tall in his shepherds outfit, with his shepherd’s crook, upon two legs and he spoke in the Shepherd’s name and told the sheep that he should have control of the food, as much as they could bring.
That from it he would bless other sheep that needed it. And that if they did this, the Sheppard would be enormously happy with them. He implied, carefully, it likely that more food for them would result.
And what could the sheep do? The young sheep spoke with the Shepherd’s voice. So they gave him their food.
And for a little while things were better.
The sheep followed.
The sheep ate.
And then, one day, the Shepherd came home.
The Shepherd, joyful, called out to his sheep, but they wouldn’t come.
The Shepherd, joyful, ran to his flock, but they would retreat.
Some would flinch.
Some would turn away.
Most simply paid no attention.
Something had changed.
They no longer knew or trusted the Shepherd.
The Shepherd grew angry, “What has happened to my sheep?” he thought, “And what has happened to the young sheep I left here?” he wondered, concerned for the sheep that he had loved that had loved him so much, sure that something terrible must have happened to him.
And it had.
He found the young sheep nestled in a bed of food, golden robes and shepherds hook cascaded around him.
Seeing him thus the Shepherd quickly understood and he began to weep. He saw and knew that the issues with the other sheep would resolve, but that this one here, his beloved, was in deep and dire pain with so much confusion and good intention all wrapped together.
The Shepherd picked him up, waking him from sleep, the young sheep letting out a loud bleat of surprise and alarm.
“I can explain…” the young sheep started.
“You do not need to. I understand,” the Shepherd said, holding him, then setting him down, the young sheep standing on two feet as he was wont to do.
And, one decision at a time the Shepherd restored him.
The Shepherd took his hook.
The Shepherd took his golden robe.
The Shepherd set him back upon his four feet.
All the while the sheep was in tears, not understanding, not knowing why the Shepherd would take his hook, his robe, or his position.
“Why have you taken my things?” he asked, brokenly, confused and hurt.
“But I haven’t,” the Shepherd said with wonder, “these things are mine.”
The young sheep struggled and realized this was true, but it all seemed so horribly unfair. “Yes… but why have you taken them?” he wondered aloud, “I’ve worked so hard to do as you have asked. I’ve given and learned so much.”
The Shepherd was moved with compassion for the sheep.
“Because it is time for new lessons, new tasks, and new learning. I want good for you, and we will find it.”
The young sheep struggled… “Yes… but it was so hard to care for the sheep. It cost me… everything. I’ve been so lonely. What am I supposed to do?”
He could see that the sheep meant well, which is all he had ever asked for from the sheep.
He smiled.
The Shepherd loved the sheep dearly.
The sheep loved the Shepherd.
“I want you with me, at my side,” he told the sheep. “For all the days of your life, to walk with me, across the meadows and through the valleys. Let me reward you in this way. Be my Helpful Sheep. Help me with my flock, use all you have learned with me here, at your side and as we go.”
The young sheep turned, looking with some odd mixture of longing and disgust at the robes and hook he had worn, remembering the embarrassment of standing on two legs, the good intentions of it all. The ugliness of it all.
He shook his head. “But… I’ve learned and seen so much. I’m different now. I don’t know… I am afraid. I am afraid! I am afraid I will be even more alone than I have been.”
And the Shepherd stopped. He had heard the sheep. And he understood. It touched his heart. And he smiled.
“You do not need to be. I too understand something of loneliness. Till the very end of it, I promise you, we will have each other.”
And the sheep was assured.
Though it didn’t show from the outside, small bonfires of radiance lit in his heart as he realized he was free again to follow the Shepherd.
Tiny explosions of dopamine fueled clarity occured as he let go of knowing how and what would have to happen next and remembered with finality the certainty of mystery.
“But where are we going?” he asked.
“Why don’t we find out together?” The Shepherd said, smiling once more, as the Shepherd and the Helpful Sheep walked forward.
They walked this way for the rest of the Helpful Sheep’s days, until, eventually, he was a very old sheep.
He was always at the Shepherd’s side, though he ranged further and further to the left or the right as he went about the Shepherd’s business, as he would.
Their walk became a journey.
Their journey became a story.
The Shepherd and his Helpful Sheep.
It became harder and harder to tell the two apart. It seemed, mostly, as if they were one thing.
Because they were.
Until one day, when the old sheep, no longer young, lay his head down for the final time.
He looked up at the Shepherd and asked, “Do you remember? When I stood on two legs?”
“Sheep cannot stand on two legs.” The Shepherd replied.
“But I remember…” the old sheep said, “You helped me, again…”
“And I remember,” the shepherd said, “that you helped everyone else.” And the Shepherd smiled, the sort of smile that gets confused with sunlight because it is so simple, so pure. The kind of smile that embarasses the wicked, reminding them of their nakedness.
It was a good smile.
The best.
And the Helpful Sheep breathed his last, contented and at peace, and not at all lonely.
And the Shepherd and all the sheep gathered together to celebrate him, this Helpful Sheep. The other sheep bowed low in honor of this sheep that none of them remembered as walking on two legs, wearing a golden robe or carrying a crook.
But rather, they remembered him as their friend.
But if they had, what tragedy they would have reflected, ‘a sheep that forgets it is a sheep.’
And what glory, they would have mused, with ‘four feet on the ground.’
