The Single Shoop

The singular of geese is goose. What’s the singular of sheep? Shoop?

Once upon a time, there was a flock of sheep. They all did as they were told. They walked where they were told, they jumped when they were commanded to ump. They moved as one, and the sheepdogs could run across their backs when all one hundred of them were tightly packed in the fold. Of course, the dogs also nipped at their heels when they were a bit slow, or stopped to nibble a bush along the paths.

These sheep had it good. The shepherd led them in green pastures, and beside clear, cool waters. They never shivered on winter nights because they had their thick wool coats and the company of friends and family close by. In the spring, the shepherd relieved them of their wool, and they liked the Chinook breezes that ruffled the tall grass and cooled their bodies.

But in this flock, there was one shoop. He looked just like his relatives in the flock of sheep. But inside he knew he was different. He had ideas, thoughts of his own. When the flock moved to higher pasture, he liked staying on the edge of the group, where he didn’t feel so crowded. That way, he could see the sights, not just the bodies of other sheep. If the dogs didn’t notice, he could sneak along a parallel path, and get really juicy grass, the tender variety that grew in shaded areas, away from heavy foot traffic.

The shoop knew that the shepherd was always close by. He had heard that the shepherd had defended the flock against coyotes, and things that went “bump” in the night. The shepherd had actually cleared the area of carnivorous predators long before the shoop was born. But since the shoop was always on the outskirts of the large flock, he didn’t really know the shepherd very well, except what the other sheep muttered between mouthfuls of grass.

One evening, before dark, the shoop was munching some tender grass between some large boulders. Only he knew about this little haven, and he quite enjoyed the solitude. Who needed all that bleating and baaing, anyway? Those sheep never paid him any attention or tried to integrate him into their society. They never seemed to notice him.

At sunset, he heard the shepherd call the flock, but the shoop figured he’d just rest in his secret pasture and save the walk back tomorrow morning (he thought sheepishly). He lay down on the grass, and dozed a bit under the stars, enjoying the sounds of the birds rustling in the bushes, and the feel of the breeze playing in the tufts of his wool.

When the sliver of moon was at its zenith, the shoop awoke with a shiver along his spine. There it was again—it wasn’t a dream. A thin howl, and some yips, and a small chorus of answering yelps. The shoop had never heard the sound before, but instinct told him it wasn’t a good sign. He stood up and sniffed the air, but it only smelled of grass. He looked around, but the moonlight wasn’t enough to help him see past his nose. He took a few tentative steps. There was the howl again.

He made his decision. He would have to get back to the sheep and shepherd. But to which of the night pastures had they moved? He went uphill, toward the rocky heights, but when he was nearly to the top of the hill, the howl sounded again, from just above him. In panic, he dodged and stumbled, and fell to his knees, but he was able to put a little distance between himself and the terrifying sound. He moved more cautiously, now, trying not to make noise. Step by step, he moved around the hill, trying to see in the dark.

The shoop gingerly stepped on some sandstone at one point in his travels, but he jumped when he heard a howl from only a hundred yards away. The unstable rock gave way beneath him, and he found himself actually sliding toward the howling creature! “It’s mutton time,” he bleated. “I’m a goner. The flock will never notice my absence. What’s the loss of one shoop, when there are ninety-nine real sheep?”

His forward motion was arrested when he tumbled in a heap at the feet of the shepherd. The shepherd stood tall and strong. He put his arms around the shoop, and lifted him up onto broad shoulders. The shoop’s breathing became more normal as he listened to the words of the shepherd. “There you are, my precious lamb. I’ve been seeking you for hours.”

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior… You are precious and honored in my sight, and I love you.” Isa. 43:1-4 NIV

“How wonderful it would be for you to be here among my children. I planned to give you part of this beautiful land, the finest in the world. I looked forward to your calling me ‘Father’ and thought that you would never turn away from me again.” Jer. 3:19 LB

“I long to be gracious to you; I rise to show you compassion. For I am a God of justice. How gracious I will be when you cry for help! As soon as I hear, I will answer you.” Isa. 30:18-19 NIV

The shepherd took long, bold strides as he joyfully brought the shoop back to the fold. The shoop couldn’t tell who was the more overjoyed: he or the shepherd, who had called for a celebration.

The shoop immediately set about waking the flock, and telling them of his terrifying adventure, and what a wonderful shepherd they had. And a few minutes into his story, he realized that he always wanted to stay close to his rescuer, not out of a sense of fear for the unknown, but of gratitude and love for what and who he did know.

He wanted to be in the midst of the flock, side by side with the shepherd. He wanted to be a sheep, not a shoop. He could still retain his individuality, knowing that the shepherd had specifically braved the dangerous wilderness for him. He knew he was special.

“I am his, and he is mine,” he told his fellow sheep. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall lack nothing.” 

The Single Shoop, by Christy K. Robinson, first appeared in ASM Bulletin, May 1989 

Trans-Species Morphing

Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of men. Matthew 4:19 NIV

I have a friend in British Columbia who is an elementary school teacher, but thinks, eats, dreams, breathes--fishing. Particularly salmon. At the birth of his first grandson, he told the weight and length of the newborn, which he described as "nice salmon size."

The last time I cast a line into Minnesota’s Rainy Lake, I was nine. My uncle David baited the hook with something squishy, and I caught a Northern pike, which my Aunt Helen cleaned. We ate it for dinner, and I choked on a bone. Ever since, I’ve disliked fishy-tasting food.

Recently, I attended a professional development seminar on fishing. It wasn’t about trout, bass, or salmon. It was about marketing. So often, we drop a line into the water and expect fish to fight each other for the honor of taking the hook (the hook being our product, donating to our ministry, or joining our cause). That’s absurd!

Christians who want to share the gospel and motivate others to join in service to humanity, should think like the fish we’re targeting. Go where the fish are. Use the lures the fish like, not what the fishermen like.

My pastor once taught that fishers are hunters, not agriculturalists. They know how to prepare nets, where to cast them, what kind of lure is needed, and where and when to expect the best results. They cooperate with other fishers. They know how to harvest and process the catch.

Those skills mastered, Jesus transformed His disciples from aggressive fish hunters to protective, providing shepherds, when He called Peter and his disciples to feed His sheep.

A church sign said: “Be ye fishers of men. You catch them—He’ll clean them.” That’s right. Catch new people for God’s kingdom. But don’t even think about reforming them to your image of a proper Christian. Let the Holy Spirit have His way with them and transform them from fish to sheep!

I’ve drawn strange metaphors here: fishermen morph into shepherds and fish morph into sheep. But it points up our inability to change anything or anyone. Only the Creator can do that work. By the way, where are you on the road from fish to sheep?

Come. Sit. Stay. Stand. Shake hands.Fetch. Play dead.(Stuff you do at church)

You might think I’m continuing the saga of dog behavior. But last month’s message was actually about God’s unfathomable love for us. And this one isn’t about dogs at all.

I grew up in a church-involved family. When I was little, our congregation met in the Christian school’s gymnasium, and we sat on taupe metal folding chairs. My brother and I could not talk or fidget. Those services seemed to take hours, considering our stubby little legs were dangling above the floor. The services seemed more interesting after I was elected a church pianist at age 10, because I was actively involved instead of a spectator.

Our web site coordinator, Laura, said that the last time she sat in the church transept (the families-with-fidgety-kids section), her five-year-old and a little friend, instead of going on a sanctioned mission to help with the offering collection or to listen to a story, actually ran downstairs to play tag. Laura figuratively collared and leashed them, and walked the naughty puppies back upstairs to obedience class.

Sometimes church attendance is like an obedience class. We learn the rules, like where not to be seen doing bad things like chewing on the pew (or, um, a church member). We learned to come every week on time, bathed and brushed. To sit. To stay and not fidget. To fetch an offering check to the deacon. To shake hands at the greeting time. To howl on command during the music. To play dead during the sermon—oops, not during the sermon, but certainly on Tuesday night, when someone wants help at a committee meeting.

Is any of that “proper” behavior meaningful to the Lord? Is that what He wants: churchy acts? We’ve kept the commandments and lived morally pure and physically healthy, without even a traffic violation. We’ve volunteered for the church in many roles, attended every meeting through the week, contributed offerings and service year after year. We’ve got catechismic responses, when the doctrines are discussed. We’re pretty good then, right? Exceptionally good, compared to many folks that spring to mind.

When the rich young man (Matthew 19) came to Jesus and said that he’d kept all the commandments since his youth, and asked what more needed to be done for salvation, Jesus commended him, but said to go and sell his possessions to benefit the poor, and then come and follow Jesus. So was salvation earned by behaving well plus helping the poor? Or was Jesus saying to throw—even waste!—every self-saving act and self-preserving resource to the winds, and fall at His feet in utter dependence on His sovereign mercy?

Being “good” without divinely-inspired love is unnecessary noise (1 Corinthians 13). All my “righteousness,” because it is of my own devising, is meaningless. It’s worse than that, really, because I’m so blinded by my own lack of “badness” and so full of pride in my respectability and all the points I’ve won, that I can’t see how truly arrogant and needy I am. Jesus told a parable of a man who accumulated much wealth, but when the man congratulated himself, there was no one to listen. Family and friends had been discarded or tossed away.

Being good is not the opposite of being bad. On a bar chart, you’d put badness at the bottom and paint it black; and moral, respectable behavior fractionally above it, painted dark gray. But where’s the pure white marker, the divine nature? It’s off the scale. Won’t fit on the paper. Because that goodness is nothing we can work for or even aspire to on our own. Only God is good. Only God gives the “goodness” that counts. When He creates a new heart within us (Psalm 51), He pronounces it “Good,” in the same way that He did of all His work at the Creation. That is grace.

To “sit pretty” in church or live a moral, respectable life is only a false sacrifice. “Hath the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice.” 1 Samuel 15:22 KJV.

What does God require of us? To obey His law of agape love for God and man, certainly. “ Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.” Deuteronomy 6:4-5 NIV. To be like Him: humble, merciful, generous in giving and forgiving, loving, compassionate (Micah 6:8). To reflect His light not only to those around us, but even to our own worst critics—ourselves. To worship Him not in the way we think it ought to be, in a “worship service” of tasteful music and an educational sermon, but the way He modeled: in loving service to His people—all the people He died for, even the ones we don’t approve of.

What are you doing at church? Sitting pretty, or helping the Shepherd round up those strays?