My wife tells me a story about when she was in the mall with her kids and one of them got lost. Six kids, one of them let go of a hand, and within seconds that child was lost. Never mind which mall or which child. They might be reading this and I don’t want them to get embarrassed. We’ll call him/her Dusty.
When she discovered Dusty was missing, she called out for Dusty. In that noisy mall, with hundreds of people within earshot, Dusty recognized Mom’s voice and came back.
There’s another story about a rural man visiting New York City. That’s one of the noisiest cities in the world. Walking down the sidewalk with his friend, he suddenly stopped. “I hear a grasshopper.” When asked how in the world he heard a grasshopper among all the traffic and construction and people talking on cell phones, he pulled out a dime and dropped it. “Did you hear that?” The friend nodded. “We hear what we’re familiar with.”
Back in ancient Israel there were a lot of sheep herders. Because there were so many sheep, there were a lot of predators, too. After sunset there was always the risk of a critter looking for a midnight snack. It was the shepherd’s job to protect the sheep. One of the ways was to find an enclosure in the wilderness made of thorn bushes, and bring the sheep inside. The trouble is, there might already be another herd or two inside. And all sheep look alike, right?
SIDEBAR:
The thorns on these bushes were razor sharp and a couple of inches long. Remember the bit in the Gospels where the Romans rammed a crown of thorns on Jesus’ head? Yeah. Those thorns. Then they beat him about the head. Imagine a two-inch thorn ripping into your skull. Now imagine a dozen of them.
After the sheep spent the night, their shepherd would pull (carefully) open the enclosure and call to his sheep. “Yo! Sheep! Time to graze!” And the sheep would come running. They knew who was calling them, and by dawn they were ready to get out of the confining space. The sheep of other flocks would shy away. “Who’re you? I don’t know you.”
There’s not much a sheep will know. They’re usually pretty stupid. They’ll graze an area devoid of greenery and not have the sense to move to the other side of the valley for more. They’ll stand there, wondering where all the food went. That’s why they need a shepherd.
All through the bible people are compared to sheep. We’re stupid. But we know what we’re familiar with. If the theme music from The Wrath of Kahn is playing in a crowded mall with a jackhammer running, and an interstate highway running through the middle of it, I’ll hear it. I know it. And it brings me pleasure.
When Jesus calls out to you, does it make you happy? Will you hear it like the dime dropped on concrete? Or will you be more interested in the dime and forget about the one calling your name?
There’s a story about a herd of sheep rushing off a cliff. Something like fifteen hundred sheep fell and died simply because they were doing an impression of lemmings.
Humanity is doing that impression. Jesus is calling.
Can you hear the grasshopper, or are you distracted by your cell phone?
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