Shalom. My name is Emanuel. I am a shepherd in the
countryside of Galilee, near Jerusalem in the country of Israel. I wear
a white robe, although the dust and the wind often make it less than white. Usually
I wear this with a blue or indigo headband and a red sash. These are my
favorite colors, and they are the colors my father wore. My father is my hero.
When I was twelve, my father put me in charge of a small
flock of sheep. I wish to tell you of an experience I had with one of them. He
was my favorite. His name was Matthew.
When Matthew was born, he was the 23rd in the
flock. As I said, the flock was not large. I had only had my flock for a few
weeks when I began to notice that every sheep and every lamb had a personality.
Some were very submissive to me and yet rather aggressive to the other sheep;
some were loners; still others were always in groups with other particular lambs
and sheep, almost like they had their favorite friends. Eventually, during that
summer, I gave them all names. I knew each of them well, even how much each one
ate and in what position they slept. Thomas, I knew, had a persistent cough
when the temperature was frosty in the morning, but that it usually went away
by late morning, unless it was cold or stormy, and then it could get dangerous
for him. Ruth was an old ewe that was
rather mean to the other adult sheep, but she had the unique trait of mothering
all the lambs, even those that were not her own. When they were in trouble, or
if any of the lambs perceived a problem and bleated out, Ruth would come
running, usually along with the mother of the lamb. She would stand back while
the mother tended to the lamb, but would linger after the mother left, feeding
near him. Tar was my black sheep. He ran and ran all day. In fact, I began to
worry about him because he ran so much. It wasn’t the running alone that
worried me. It was that he was so thin because of his running. I was afraid
that when winter came, he would not have the body fat to make it through. As
summer came to a close, I noticed that he began to run less and eat more. I
think that it was instinct telling him that he was not prepared should a cold
blast come and he settled down and began to eat much more than he had, even
more than some of the full-grown rams. By summer’s end, he was as plump as a
pregnant ewe. I was amused to see this.
Mathew was no different. He also had a personality and a set
of traits. He was intelligent to be sure. He learned his name after only a week
when most of the others took a month or more. When he was young and I called
him, Matthew would come running. He was so cute! I could be clear across the
pasture, a hundred or even two hundred meters away when I would call. He would
lift his head and look my direction to be sure he had heard his name. If I
waved to him or called again, he would come bounding across the pasture towards
me. You would have laughed with me if you had seen! He was all legs, his black
face bobbing as he ran. I would reward his obedience with a sugar cube or some
other treat and more often than not, he would take a nap in my arms, the only
lamb I had that would do something like that. Sometimes I would sit for hours
under the shade of an acacia tree, watching the sun move slowly across the deep
blue sky as my little flock fed in the field with Mathew asleep in my arms. However,
as Matthew grew, he began to develop another trait. He began to be a bit of an
explorer, straying away from the fold. The first time it happened, I had been
preoccupied with a wound that I had been dressing on another young ram. When I
was finished suturing and sterilizing the wound, I looked up and something seemed
out of place. As my father taught me when my instinct warned me, the first
thing I did was count the sheep. There were only 22. It took me only a minute
before I realized that the missing sheep was Matthew. At this point, he had
never run away before. He had always been happy to stay in the expansive meadow
that was our summer home during the day and return to the cave with the flock
at night. I stood and looked carefully at the surrounding landscape. He was
nowhere to be seen. I watched for some movement in the bushes. I listened for a
bleat and heard nothing. Soon I started the search. I looked in the briars and
found nothing. I looked near the rock pile on the edge of the pasture and was
similarly frustrated. I began to worry. What if he had wandered too far and I
would never see my lamb again? What if a wild animal had caught him? I hurried
towards the big stand of cedars at the far bottom side of the pasture and there
I saw him, standing among some lilies, looking back at me. It occurred to me
that he had seen me searching for him, yet he did not come. This angered me. I
called and he took a few tentative steps. I softened my voice and called again
and he came bounding as he always had done, into my arms. I was surprised to
find that my vision was blurry and my cheeks were wet. I scolded him, but I did
not have it in my heart to scold him too hard. I was so happy that he was safe!
But maybe that was a mistake. Maybe I should have scolded him harder because
the next week, he ran again.
I found him this time among the rocks. When I spotted him,
he was standing and looking at me, having seen me again before I saw him. I
don’t know what drew him away from the flock, but there he was. This time I
called and he did not come at all. He simply lay down. I called again and
again; so much so that Ruth came to me, a questioning expression in her eyes. I
decided that I would have to go get my little friend, because as often as he
had come to me in his young life, he was not obeying now. I walked down the
large hill to where he was. I was not so much angry as I was puzzled about what
this new behavior meant and what had caused it. Alas, there are few things as
un-searchable as a lamb’s intentions and reasoning, so as I strode towards him,
I fought feelings of frustration.
“Mathew”, I said, not feeling the need to conceal my
frustration since he was apparently not obeying anyway, “what are you doing?
Why did you not come when I called?”
He continued to lay and looked at me. I wondered for a
moment if he were ill. I picked him up, scooping a lily out of the dirt under
his belly as I did so, and carried him back to the flock.
From then on I found that although I still loved little
Mathew, I could not completely trust him. This I noted with a degree of
sadness. I had liked it better when I could trust Mathew, when I could call him
from far away and he would come any time. I remembered these times fondly. As
that summer progressed, Mathew ran away often. I always found him, but each
time it happened, I trusted him less and less, although the bulk of the time he
was fine, grazing and playing with the rest of the sheep. It was just that
sometimes I guess he felt he had to stray. This was little more than an
annoyance to me until the day the storm came.
The day the storm came started out as usual. I awoke in the
mouth of the cave when I slept, guarding my father’s sheep. The sky was blue
with pink and red clouds. As I was making myself some breakfast and preparing
to let the sheep out to pasture for the day, a stiff wind began to blow,
followed by dark clouds. I knew that it would be important for the sheep to
remain close to me throughout the day in case a lightning storm came upon us. If
that happened I would need to get them back into the cave and wait the storm
out. This didn’t scare me. Actually, I usually enjoyed the storms themselves
from the inside of my cave with a crackling fire behind me. From the cave I had
a wonderful view of the valley below and beyond that, the town of Galilee. So sitting in
the mouth of the cave watching a summer storm was more like a day off than real
danger. However, my father had told me stories of men that had lost whole
flocks in storms that had seemed innocuous at first, but that had proven
otherwise. There was father’s friend, Abraham, who left his flock out for too
long in such a storm instead of gathering them in to safety. In his defense, he
had felt that the storm would pass and that it was not an electrical storm.
Unfortunately for Abraham, he was wrong on both accounts. By the time he
decided to act on his instinct, his sheep were already terrified and beginning
to scatter. One old prized ram that held sway on most of the flock began
running towards a gully that led to a stream. Most of Abraham’s flock followed
the prized ram before Abraham could get to them. Down in the gully they were
safer from the storm, at least the lightning. However, just as Abraham was
beginning to be close enough to call to this part of the flock, all huddled
together around the old ram, a flash flood came and swept them all away in
front of his eyes. All Abraham could do was watch as his prized ram and the
sheep that were with him were bandied about by the swift current, with its dead
trees and debris, and then they were gone.
Another of father’s friends, Rahim, had his only son was
tending his flocks when such a storm had come. Rahim’s son had unfortunately
been sleeping and hadn’t noticed the approaching storm until the first crack of
thunder. By then it was too late. Almost the whole flock, which had been
huddled under a tree in the middle of a meadow much like mine, were either
crushed or electrocuted when that first bolt of lightning hit the huge tree
under which they were huddled for protection. I remembered that story very well
because Rahim’s son was thereafter known as lazy and selfish in the village
where we lived. They called him “Sleepy” and “Sloth”. His father had lost much
of his fortune. Whenever I felt too sleepy to watch the flock, I remembered
this story and it kept me awake. Well, most of the time.
I decided on the morning of the storm to let the flock out, but
keep them close.
The storm moved in as quickly as a fox. They had only been
out for a few hours when the rain came with such torrential force that the
raindrops actually hurt my face and even my shoulders through my clothes. One
moment there had been only wind and a dark sky and then came a deceptively
sweet smell of clean rain and then it was here.
Most of my little flock bunched together from all over the
meadow even as I began running towards them. I had to get around them to head
them off; I didn’t want them to panic and begin running as a group towards
danger like Abraham’s flock had. However, as you might have guessed in such an
event, there were some that were missing. I got eighteen of my sheep in the
cave, and the entrance blocked before I could go and look for the missing five.
I went to the edge of the pasture near the cedar grove and called the names of
the missing five. None came. The rain stung my eyes and I was already wet to
the skin.
I went to a small ravine on the other side of the stand of
cedars and called again. I had never had a sheep or lamb – any of them, even
Mathew - wander this far. I called again. Ruth, Tar and Mary, a prized and
sweet young lamb, came running towards me. They followed me through the cedar
forest and then up the long, steep and grassy hill to the cave. The other sheep
called us all as we neared. I moved the brush aside that was the gate and
ushered them in, the others bleating, seemingly pleased to see them.
I stood in the entrance of the cave and looked out at great
buckets of rain. Lightning flashed followed by a boom that shook the entrance
to my cave and made my ears hurt. My insides knotted up. I wished my father
were here. But as a young man, these sheep were my responsibility. I had two more
out there. I shouted their names again.
“Thomas! Mathew!” I shouted again and again, listening for a
clue above the roar of the rain and wind. Another bolt of lightning shook the
ground. I called again. My voice broke with emotion, and for a moment I was
ashamed that I was crying. I didn’t want to go out and look for my lost sheep.
I put a large log on the fire. I knew I would need the warmth when I came back
in. Pausing to listen for just a moment for Thomas’s telltale cough or any visual
sign of him or Mathew, I covered my head and ran into the downpour.
It was 15 minutes before I reached the rocks. I could see
very little, for a low fog was settling into the area where I was. The rain
continued unabated, but the wind had died down a little. Still, I shivered.
“Thomas! Mathew!” I cried. My voice echoed back to me from
across the ravine.
I heard something. Was that a cough?
“Thomas!”
My little sheep came running towards me from across a deep
ravine that could, at any instant, become filled with a raging torrent as big
or bigger that the one that had cost Abraham his fortune. I held my breath as
Thomas crossed it and started up the steep rocks towards me. I noticed that a
small trickle of a stream had started where there was none, and as Thomas
neared me, I saw my beloved Mathew, standing in a small stand of trees almost
exactly where Thomas had been.
Thomas arrived and leapt into my arms. I held him tightly. I
was so glad to see him and to have him safe. I called now for Mathew, holding
Thomas’ warm body against mine. He shivered, as did I.
Mathew would not budge. I called, cajoled, coaxed, plead and
once even cursed. Mathew stood stock still. He would not come. My little lamb,
now almost full-grown on the outside, stubbornly refused to come to me.
I did not give up on him, but I was starting to shiver
violently and Thomas was getting heavy. I made a decision. I had to get Thomas
to safety. I left Mathew in the trees and ran back up the hill as quickly as I
could.
The cave was warm and smelled sweetly of burning cedar. The
fire cracked. I paused for just a moment to throw a spare robe around my
shoulders and eat some flatbread and plunged back into the storm as lightning
cracked and the wind began anew.
“Mathew!” I called. He was in the same spot. He ran a few
steps towards me but stopped when he left the protection of the trees and felt
the full force of the storm. He looked back at me and bawled. He was
frightened. This time, I did not hesitate to go to him. I ran down the steep
ravine, being careful not to slip and make the situation worse than it already
was.
The stream that was small only 45 minutes before was now
almost waist deep. The frigid waters made my legs ache as I waded through it
towards the trees where Mathew was now laying down. I bent down to pick him up.
“Oh Mathew! Why did you not stay close to the flock!” I
yelled above the noise of the rain and wind. “Why must you wander off like
this?”
His big eyes looked up to me and he blinked.
There was no time to waste. I turned and ran towards the
ravine, which was filling rapidly.
When I reached it, my heart sunk. Where I had crossed
moments before was now not navigable; it was at least head- high and full of
branches and bushes that had been washed away by the current. What would I do?
I had to cross this stream or I would be in serious danger myself, let alone my
Mathew. I ran down stream towards an area I called the bridge; a natural rock
bridge across the ravine. When I arrived, I almost began to cry again. It
seemed I was trapped. But I wasn’t. With luck, I could walk across the bridge
to safety. However, on the other side was a long fall over what was now a
waterfall.
I stepped gingerly on the rocks of the bridge as the current
fought to remove my footing. Every step was tested as the current intensified
against my thighs. Twice I almost fell, but a few minutes after I had started I
was safely across. The wind returned and sideways rain stung my face as I began
to run up the long hill to the cave.
Twenty minutes later I stood in the cave by the fire with a
warm blanket wrapped around me, all 23 sheep accounted for. They munched on hay
and a few of them rested quietly by the walls of the cave. Mathew came and
stood by the brush gate and looked at me. I looked at him and then looked away.
What could I do? And yet I knew what had to be done. I had seen my father do it
only twice before, and helped him do it just once. Tears once again filled my
eyes.
Thomas slept near the brush, huddled against the wall of the
cave. He had never strayed before. It appeared that Mathew had led him away
from the flock. I knew that even through he had eventually come, Thomas had
heard my voice long before he chose to come to me. I couldn’t risk having one
sheep teach another his bad habits. Sheep are curious followers by nature;
where one goes another will follow. Those who will not listen to the shepherd
are dangerous to themselves and the flock; and sometimes to the shepherd, as I
just found out. I sighed. Most of the flock had bedded down as another bolt of
lightning flashed through the valley below. Mathew stood by the brush and
looked at me as I prepared twine, linen and two very straight and flat sticks. I
tied these into a bundle. I dreaded what I must do. I looked into the fire and
pushed a few more sticks into the glowing embers. I could see Mathew looking at
me through the corner of my eye and I spoke to him.
“Mathew, my little lamb. Oh Mathew. Why won’t you come to
me? And now you are teaching Thomas to be disobedient as well.”
I looked down and a tear fell with a dull thud in the dirt.
A tiny cloud of dust enveloped it. I picked up my bundle, stood and walked to
Mathew. He sweetly regarded me. How could I do what I had to do? And yet my
father would tell me to do it. He was a prized part of my father’s flock. He
had to be taught.
I picked up Mathew and, stroking his furry face, walked to
the edge of the cave, where I paused. The rain had stopped moments before. A
full double rainbow lit the valley below. Above the rainbow, impossibly dark
clouds remained.
“Well, little Matthew”, I sighed, “at least we don’t have to
do this in the rain.”
Holding Mathew, I walked out of the cave and around the
corner, away from the sight of the other sheep. There was a large stone, maybe
a meter across and very square with sharp edges sticking out of the ground
about thigh – high. Here I sat and held Mathew for a moment. The sobs started
to come; I didn’t want to hurt him! But as my father would have insisted, I
stifled them as I placed his small front leg over the edge and grabbed it with
both hands.
Then I pushed down with all my might.
There was a sickening crack as his font leg broke cleanly in
two. Mathew let out a scream that sounded like that of a small child. He
struggled against my grip, screaming and bawling. Tears streamed down my face
and I held him, just like I had seen my father do, until he stopped screaming
and thrashing. There was no blood. I spoke calm words to him and after what
seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, he stopped thrashing, and
panting heavily, lay into my arms. I laid him on the rock and very carefully
steadied him, laying on him as I set his broken front leg and splinted it with
the flat sticks, the linen and twine. It was the hardest thing I had ever done,
emotionally exhausting and physically as well, but I have to say that it was
done perfectly. I carried my little Mathew back into the cave and lay him down,
not among his peers, but beside my bedroll.
For two months Mathew slept by my side. And for two months
wherever I went, Mathew was on my shoulders. I began to get strong back and
neck muscles where before had been none. I fed Mathew, and he ate voraciously
as he healed. More often than not, he fell asleep in the evenings in my lap. Sometimes
I would let him down and he would hobble around gingerly only a few feet from
where I was. Once I stood up and made as if I was going back to the cave, about
a hundred feet away. He bawled loudly and intensely and made as if to follow on
his splinted leg. I took this as a good sign.
Not long after came the day to remove the splints. I had
been checking them regularly and testing and exercising and stretching his leg
often. His leg was as straight as the one that had not been broken. On the same
rock upon which his leg had been broken, I carefully untied the twine and
removed the sticks. Mathew jumped up and off the rock and ran a few feet and
looked back at me.
I smiled at him and he came bounding back and stood by me
and grazed on a few tender shoots that were growing among a patch of lilies. I
looked down towards the bottom of the hill. Just as I was expecting, my father
started up the hill with my favorite donkey, Cedar. He was coming to bring me a
meal for Passover, which would start the next day. We embraced warmly and he
told me he was proud of me when I told him about Mathew, who was now always
only a few feet away, not because he feared, but because I had feared; feared
losing him. And when I was forced to do the only thing that could save him, I
showed him how dedicated I was to him and how much I loved him as I nursed him
back to health.
Mathew became my most prized ram and he lived a long and
happy life. He brought my father and I many returns in fine, healthy sheep and
lambs. Several times during storms, I actually saw him act like a watch dog,
gathering lambs and sheep up the hill towards me. It was the most difficult thing
I had ever done, breaking my beloved lamb’s little leg. But in the end, as
painful as it was to me and to him, it was worth it because forever, he always
came when I called him, and he never strayed again.
________________________________________________________________________
- How did the young shepherd feel about Mathew before he began to be an “explorer”?
- What terms did he use to describe him? (He was intelligent – learned his name in a week; was obedient at first, and cute – certainly beloved to the shepherd)
- What were Emanuel’s concerns about what might have happened to Mathew when he first became lost? (Wandered too far, wild animal caught him)
- How did Emanuel’s feelings towards Mathew change after Mathew had run away and not returned twice? (Still loved him, couldn’t trust him)
- How did Ruth, Tar and Mary react when the storm hit? (They scattered)
- How did they react when Emanuel found them? (They followed him back up the hill to safety)
- What special danger did Thomas face in the cold? (A cough) (EXPAND ON THIS IN THE STORY)
- Do you think Mathew would have understood the benefits Emanuel breaking his leg if Emanuel would have explained it beforehand? (No!)
- Did the broken leg hurt at the time?
- How did Emanuel feel about breaking his lamb’s leg?
- What was the result of Emanuel’s act of love for his lamb?
