the lost sheep

Another one of my favorite images of the spirit of God.

"If a shepherd has one hundred sheep, and one wanders away and is lost, what will he do? Won't he leave the ninety-nine others and go out into the hills to search for the lost one? And if he finds it, he will surely rejoice over it more than over the ninety-nine that didn't wander away!"

I've always grown up with the idea of God having a "Godly" perspective on things. That if natural disasters come up, or people are born deformed, or any other host of terrible things, He knew the reason for that, and it somehow made sense, so in a calm, detached, and non-judgmental fashion, He is weighing all things and simply letting things go, if necessary, as part of a greater plan at work. So, if someone wanders off, and loses his or her soul, it's the same as if a nation is pounded into rubble by an earthquake. It's just the cost of doing business, in Heavenly terms, that is.

But when I first came across this section, years ago, it really hit home. I had wandered through life with no spiritual guidance, having never been brought into a church home or given any positive church experiences. I began to read the bible back then, as a way of finding a way to a home I only had the barest inkling that I was missing. I had a sense that there was something wrong, and it was part of a greater spiritual quest to find an answer for the pain I was enduring by trying to live life on my own terms. Worship always seemed to me to be about drearily losing myself as I payed homage to that God who presided over our pain and suffering so dispassionately, probably moral, and possibly mildly interested in the day to day stuff, but only as it served some greater long-range plan He had already developed.

What I was unprepared for, when I read this section, was the image of joy on the shepherd's face when he found his lost sheep. Of course the lonely, scared sheep was happy, but the shepherd is beaming with joy as he hugs the stray sheep to his chest. Feeling so lost at the time, I definitely identified more with the stray than the other ninety-nine who did not stray, and so I imagined the scene of the man looking all over and finally finding the sheep and rejoicing. Rejoicing! Giving thanks for finding the stray and bringing him back into the herd. The happiness of that reunion! Needless to say, I wept when I read this the first time. Remembering that still makes it hard to hold back tears.

That's why I have so much interest in deconstructionist thought and accountability. It seems like once the sheep goes back into the flock, he has to learn how to behave the "right way" in order to belong to the flock, so he doesn't get lost again. And in order to behave the "right way," then there are some "sheep-ly" interpretations which may or may not be, in fact, what the shepherd intends for the flock, but being sheep, we don't understand it all. Instead, we lean on our own understanding, maybe getting it "right," maybe getting it "wrong," but at the end of the day creating a set of rules and regulations that distinguish our flock from other flocks, so we don't get "lost" again.

Soon, then, we lose sight of the shepherd, and huddle around the "sheep rulebook" and use our interpretations of the rules to tell other flocks how they are doing it wrong and how they will not find favor with the shepherd because they are not doing it the way us "correct" sheep are doing it.

Eventually, the sheep go to war over issues of "sheep doctrine." There's a "sheep inquisition," and soon maybe even a wholesale slaughter of other, weaker herds, while the shepherd just looks at us from the hill with tears in his eyes because we forgot something vital.

We forgot the joy of being "found." And not just our joy, but the real joy of the shepherd. We lost sight of that simple moment of pure love when it all happens, and we are reunited with the shepherd. We don't remember that moment, and instead life's moments crowd around, and we forget.

There is a yin-yang between ideals espoused in the critical thinking of the deconstructionist versus the legalist's approach to accountability. In that to-and-fro of meaning versus non-meaning, a psychic pain can develop. What's right? What's wrong? How much is too much, and how little is not enough? The pain of those arguments always, always chases me back to the only answer I have ever found for myself.

The moment of joy when I was found. I find that if I stay in that moment, the rest of the questions don't really matter. And I remember the moment of joy was not only my joy, but also was God's joy for my being found. Because that reminds me of what He feels when the opposite occurs, and someone goes missing, or a nation is pounded to rubble. His joy of finding someone reminds me of the flip side, His anguish and pain on losing a person or a nation. And that reminds me never to get too far away from that moment in my beliefs.

From an intellectual point of view, if I talk this way, and espouse what some might brand as non-legalism, have I tempted legalists who might be strained in faith to head into a life they might consider "sin" by "sinning" against their cultural identity, and straying away from their church's edicts? And, if in so doing, am I the person that ought to have a large millstone tied around his neck for tempting others to "sin?"

I don't know the answer to that, but I do know that compared to the joy of the finder and the found at that moment of reconciliation, all the rest loses importance. When someone asks me what denomination of Christian I am, I try to answer as honestly as I can.

The very first moment you finally believe, and all the cares go away, and you are filled with joy and forgiveness. I'm that kind. I try to be. I try to remind myself of that, despite the pain of life. I try to be that person I was when I first read this section, and wept on being found.