for Koinonia, November 2009

The Ninety-and-Nine

A Parable

A certain group of shepherds had a hundred sheep. They cared for them diligently, but they kept them in their sheep-fold. These sheep were a fine and high-quality breed. The sheep didn’t seem to want to mingle on the pastures with other sheep, anyway. The shepherds sheared the sheep regularly, and supported their operation by the sale of wool. They didn’t send any sheep to the slaughter-house, though. They had put out of their mind that domestic sheep have such a purpose in life. They considered it their duty to care for the sheep, and protect them—within the fold.

As time went by, the sheep had lambs, but nearly all of the lambs found a way out of the fold and into the pastures and hillsides beyond, where they did mingle with and sometimes join other flocks, with other shepherds. Some of the older sheep also escaped the fold, while the shepherds weren’t paying attention. Then, many of the older sheep began to die off. The shepherds were saddened by these losses. They gave the deceased members of their flock magnificent and moving burials. What they lacked in knowledge of barbeque, they made up for in funeral ceremony. The flock dwindled.

It came to pass that, at last, there was only one elderly ewe left in the pen. They offered to take her out to pasture, but she did not want to go. She picked around inside the sheepfold, seemingly reminiscing about the way things were in better times. The shepherds themselves did a lot of pining for earlier times with a large, healthy flock.

Finally Frank, who counted as a radical in this staid group, spoke up.

“This is just sad,” Frank said. “What we need to do is get off our butts and go out into the fields and the valleys and round up our sheep, and bring them home.”

“Who would watch after Alice” asked Ed. “She’s all we have left, and the wolves might get her if we go out. Anyway, she counts on us to sit with her and keep her company.

“And what if the sheep refuse to come back? They’ve had a taste of freedom out there on the open pastures. They might not find life in the fold very exciting anymore, especially the younger ones.”

“If we are patient,” added Melba, “they will come back. We just have to maintain the sheep-fold, and be ready to open the gate and let them in.” Maintaining the sheepfold had been a major preoccupation in recent years. With wool from only Alice, there just wasn’t enough to keep things up like they used to do. But it had been a long time since any sheep had applied for readmission. Frank looked dubious.

“What if the sheep-fold is part of our problem? What if we just give it up and gather the sheep out yonder, where they want to be, anyway?” he challenged, knowing he was on shaky ground now. “Maybe we could have just a simpler, more flexible kind of enclosure that would be easy to move and adapt to new conditions.” He had a desperate look in his eyes.

The others quietly gazed at him as if he had grown a second nose. Everyone knew that the quality and traditional design of the sheep-fold were of paramount importance. This reality hardly needed defending against such lunacy. Frank just needed to settle down and get hold of himself.

In a moment, Ed took up the argument matter-of-factly. “I don’t think I want any of those old sheep back, anyway. They wouldn’t fit in here. Let the other shepherds have them.”

“They have tattoos,” said Melba.

“And have you seen them eat?” said Ed. “It isn’t pretty.”

“I don’t like the noises they make,” added Melba, “They don’t know the old, dignified ‘baa’ of our chosen breed. No class at all.”

“Can you guarantee that if we leave Alice and go out looking for more sheep, it will even work?” asked Ed, with an air of having played the Rook card.

Frank was stumped. He realized that there was risk in what he had suggested. He also had a certain attachment to the old ways. But the old ways were gone! All they had left was sweet old Alice, whom he observed standing obliviously apart, placidly tormenting a tuft of grass with her few remaining teeth. She belched, as genteelly as one can.

Frank knew he had a choice to make, and he must make it soon. Should he stick around with Ed and Melba, reminiscing about the old, familiar days, until poor Alice went the way of all flesh, and the sheep-fold had to be shut down for good? Or should he leave the one sheep on her own,--and his comrades as well, if they chose that-- and head out into the rough, unfamiliar terrain, in search of the ninety-and-nine “lost” sheep of his fold? It would be a scary move.

But, in the shepherding business, doesn’t one need some sheep?