The Shepherds Keeping Watch
A messy, thankless job
I once sat through a Christmas sermon about first-century sheep herding. I'm not sure why it has stuck with me for over 20 years— maybe because it was such a weird take on the holiday.
Or maybe it's because that pastor ended up wandering off with his secretary, leaving his own flock in chaos.
Either way, that was the year that I started rethinking the whole narrative.
The shepherds in every Christmas story I'd heard before were soft pastels under a starry sky. They were fuzzy silhouettes in fields as they lay— that centuries-old nostalgia.
But it actually turns out that keeping sheep is a nightmare profession.
If we're literal, the announcement of the Christ-child demands that we wade through parasitic eye infections and matted, poo-stained wool, bot-fly maggots and fleece rot. Those holiday shepherds would have been considered unclean and untouchable. They smelled like campfire and afterbirth. They had ticks and fleas. The only reason they were awake that First Noël was because their job demanded the night shift.
“Sheep are dumb,” the pastor told us. “They require constant supervision.”
Given the chance, an entire flock will chase one foolish leader straight off a cliff. If left alone, sheep will wander off oblivious and vulnerable, becoming ensnared in a thicket where they pathetically bleat and strain themselves into dehydration and near-death.
It is the shepherd who comes to pluck that helpless, stubborn animal out of the brambles every time.
I actually think Mary gave birth to one of the most underrated comedians of all time.
Jesus repeatedly picked the sheep metaphor to describe humans. It is completely diabolical that he called his contemporaries a ‘little flock.’ What an irony that a bunch of ungrateful, herd-minded jerks slaughtered him for saying hurty-words to the powers of the day.
My favorite Jesus story of all time is The Parable of the Lost Sheep. You know, the one where he explained (to a bunch of holier-than-thou elitists) why he ate dinner with prostitutes and sinners— a good shepherd leaves the 99 rule-followers to go after the one rebel who wandered off, you fools.
I can so relate.
My oldest son beamed when he showed me his second tattoo, the one they put just above the barbs previously inked into his skin. He hopped out of the truck and lifted his sleeve and I was grateful that he had, at least, waited until the age of 18 when I could confidently say that his decision making was out of my hands and pass any ‘regerts’ onto him.
It read ‘Black Sheep’ in an old English font.
It actually looked more like Black Skeep, but we got the point. He had long been the identified client, the enigma, the prodigal. He still is, as you might suspect. A fact that has never diminished my love for him. Bring the fattened calf!, I will announce someday upon his arrival home.
While I am adamant that I do not have favorites, the others in my flock might disagree. His being different and difficult from birth has required a special vigilance and many trips out to find him. The problem has never been reconciling my own black sheep back into the fold but rather tending to the pious townspeople on the hill.
They've lots of opinions on the job I've been doing.
I'm too attached, I have rescued too often, I need to take better care of myself. Some even think that I should have ignored the bleating in the brambles and let him go off wandering over the cliff-face years ago. They even warned me about sparing the rod, but time in the field has taught me valuable lessons.
Any shepherd worth their salt knows you never strike a lamb because it risks injuring them, making them into damaged goods. The rod was actually designed to beat back the lions and wolves prowling on the periphery.
It is the staff that is used for correction, but not the kind that American Christians favor. Tending sheep means gently guiding your flock back to the safest path with a nudge and your presence. I have always found it odd that advocates of spanking miss that whole Psalms thing that says “your rod and staff, they comfort me.”
A shepherd does not bring fear. They make it their life's mission to stay put, watching, through the darkest of nights.
Someone recently asked me if my son has any friends who have kept in touch through these years, and that question always makes me sad.
No, they haven’t. Not one. His friends were sheep too. Many of them have wandered off into their own pricker bushes of drugs, bad relationships, bar hopping, and DUIs. Some jumped off a cliff to their needless deaths.
But, I'm still here.
Me and his grandma and his sister and a few other family members who have stayed in this nighttime desert. It is a full time job between us, and a full day’s travel to the thicket, too.
This month I have declined invites without telling people that I will be out shepherding that day instead of eating cheese and crackers at their Christmas party. Shepherds don't get days off, and this time of year we're navigating around Alberta Clippers and lake-effect weather as best we can. Because the Gods only open the visiting schedule up seven days in advance and we have to register at least three days before arrival, there is a four day window to make our trek.
Logistics aside, seeing him there in those brambles and being unable to free him is the hardest part of my job. Every time I leave, I always glance backward over my shoulder to make sure he knows that I watching. I would lay down along the edge of those mountains to stay and keep watch all night if they would let me. But they won't, so I wander back home without him time and again.
I’ll see you soon, I promise him.
I’ll be here, he says.
There is a reason the shepherd message has stayed with me all of these years, and why I think about it when I pass every plastic nativity scene. The reality is that this holiday has always embraced the outcasts. The miracles weren’t reserved for the people who had it altogether. The sky lit up for the ordinary folk.
And what a gift that truth is to me as I stand out here in the cold— often tired and afraid.
This is a fantastic piece. You just keep shepherding all those who need it. I do the same with my grown children when they let me. They seem perfectly able to take care of themselves but you'll never convince a mother of such things. Thank you for a read I'll not soon forget.
Your words always ring some reality to me, the shepherding is such a good analogy. One never truly understands anyone else's struggles. I think of you often, and will keep you and your black sheep in my thoughts this holiday season.