On one of our international journeys, Marilee and I were delighted to find ourselves with a one-day layover in New Zealand. What should we do with those few precious hours in a country we might never see again? The limited timeframe, of course, narrowed our options considerably.
Strangely enough, we decided on visiting a sheep ranch --not just any sheep ranch. It was the largest operation in the world. Resuming our trip the next day, both of us agreed that it might have been the best choice we could have made. To our surprise and delight, the old, veteran shepherd who showed us around was a believer, and wove some unforgettable biblical themes and verses into our tour.
He spoke of being in the mountain highlands for an entire summer with a flock of over 1.500 sheep, fighting off predators with the help of some wonderful, highly-trained sheepdogs. Giving us a visual sample, the shepherd sent four dogs to a distant pasture, and we watched them return with a cohesive band of complaining, but very compliant sheep. In order to move from one side of the flock to the other, the dogs could even run across the backs of the sheep without missing a step.
Raising sheep, presents a number of unique difficulties and challenges. The animals are far weaker and more vulnerable than cattle. For instance, sheep are notoriously short-sighted, and can only see 10 to 12 feet in front of them. And even when they do become aware of danger, sheep are just as likely to run toward the danger rather than away from it. Recognizing this, the New Zealand ranch maintains a close surveillance of their flocks, seeking to identify potential predators on the horizon.
In the process of describing how helpless a sheep can be, our guide pointed out that the animal is actually top-heavy. When a sheep lies down to rest, it may not have the strength or agility to get back on its feet again. So the sheep lies there, upside down and helpless, in what is known as a cast position. Predators, of course, soon take notice and vultures begin to circle. Sadly, the animal has little means of defending itself. The cast sheep’s only hope lies with the shepherd. Unless the shepherd seeks and finds the sheep, lifts it to its feet and rubs its legs to restore circulation, the animal won’t survive.
At this point, our guide paused in his monologue to tell us that this business of cast sheep was very personal to him.
He had been one himself, just a few years before.
“I was a cast, lost soul,” he told our group. He went on to describe his addictions, his homelessness, and his hard, hopeless life on the streets. “There was nothing I could do to save my own life,” he said. “But the Good Shepherd found me, came to me in the person of a concerned Christian, and gave me a new life. He went out of the way for me, strengthening my spiritual legs and finally putting me on my feet so I could stand alone.”
Tears came to his eyes at the memory—and to many of us who listened to his story.
How easily we forget that, apart from the compassion and intervention of the Great Shepherd in our lives, we would have been easy prey for the many predators among us. Someone, somewhere took the risk to speak to us, show kindness to us, step into our lives, explain the way of salvation to us, and show us how to stand again, in Christ.
And now we have the privilege to do the same.
What can we do? We can speak directly to the shepherd about those in danger, we can get our hands dirty as we help people in crisis, and we can remember to stay alert for merciless predators on the horizons of our loved ones and friends.
And on our own horizon, as well.
The old New Zealand shepherd would never forget what it was like to be a cast, helpless sheep—or the grace and kindness of the shepherd who put him on his feet again.