Luke 15:5 “And when he has found [the lost sheep], he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing.”

I can’t remember when I first heard about the supposed tradition of shepherds in the Middle East in dealing with a wayward sheep which continually wanders away from the flock on its own. The story goes that, if a sheep persists in leaving the shepherd’s protection and attempting to be self-reliant, the shepherd will find the sheep, break one of its legs so that it can no longer wander off, and then bandage it. Then, as the leg is healing, the shepherd carries the sheep on his shoulders until it learns total dependence and trust in him. By the time it has healed, the sheep becomes so dependent on the shepherd and so close to him that it no longer wanders off.

I do remember always seeing this story  as a very poignant one showing that God uses our brokenness. It reminds me of another verse I love, Job 5:17-18: “Behold, blessed is the one whom God reproves; therefore, despise not the discipline of the Almighty. For He wounds, but He binds up; He shatters, but His hands heal.” I think my meditations on the broken sheep previously only extended to reflecting on how gentle and sweet it must be to be carried and how loved the sheep must feel so close to the shepherd’s heart. When I came across Luke 15:5 in my devotions a few years ago, I again had this idyllic, pastoral picture in mind.

In recent years, however, I have begun to realize that the process of being broken and forced into dependence is not actually a romantic or nostalgic experience. Because of my own uncertain circumstances in life for the past several years, I have been forced to realize how incapable I am of controlling the factors necessary to provide for myself—health insurance, gainful employment, reliable income, etc. I have also realized that even what I do have—my health, my possessions, a functioning car, etc.—I have no control to keep. Everything I tend to find security in is completely vulnerable to breaking down due to circumstances beyond my control. I used to think I recognized my dependence on God’s provision and was grateful for my blessings, but these past years have shown me that I really had no clue how dependent on God I really am or how much I trusted in circumstances rather than Him. So, I have been meditating a lot on the wandering sheep with the broken leg with some new insight.

Here’s what I have discovered: Having your leg broken and then being carried is not a very pleasant experience. Broken bones hurt! And, honestly, the shepherd is the last person a sheep would expect to inflict injury. (This sheep’s initial reaction to having her leg broken is distrust, betrayal, and confusion, not deeper intimacy with the Shepherd.) Then, to add insult to injury, the wounded sheep must be carried around by the person who just inflicted pain and injury. It cannot flee its attacker because it can’t walk. The shepherd, of course, provides for the sheep during the healing process—tending the wound, bringing it food and water, protecting it from predators. However, it must take some time for the sheep to realize that the shepherd has its best interests at heart and is trustworthy. (This sheep tends to spend a certain amount of time cringing, anticipating another blow or injury, after a forced reminder of dependence; although, by God’s grace and with repeated practice, I don’t stay cringed as long as I used to.)

Even once the sheep realizes that the shepherd is not angry but demonstrating love, it must still be uncomfortable to be atop the shepherd’s shoulders. It can’t just graze when it’s hungry anymore. It has to wait for the shepherd to stop the herd and put it down. Meanwhile, it gets to watch all its fellow flock enjoy snacks as often as they choose, as they walk along. This might be stretching the cognitive powers of sheep a bit, but I imagine the broken sheep feels somewhat isolated from the flock, unable to commune on the same level. It may even feel embarrassed by public spectacle as its brokenness is on display on the shepherd’s shoulder—for all the world to see. Maybe it wonders if the rest of the flock pities it, despises it for its helplessness, or just tolerates it. Even when it has regained its trust in the shepherd, the sheep must wonder if it will ever be able to walk on its own again without pain. Will it ever be able to function as a normal, contributing member of the flock again? Will it ever be able to prove to the shepherd that it has learned its lesson and desires to be faithful by not running away again? Does it feel guilty that it is burdening the shepherd and taking his time and attention? It must feel useless, helpless, and pathetic; not to mention uneasy, sore, and apprehensive about the future.

In the midst of all this tumult of emotion and confusion, however, the sheep is close enough to hear the shepherd’s heartbeat. It constantly feels his shoulders and arms bearing it up. And, for the first time, it is able to see the world from the shepherd’s perspective rather than from the ground. Perhaps it is able to see some of the dangerous cliffs or other hazards that make it dangerous to wander off. Perhaps it sees where the shepherd is leading the flock. Perhaps it realizes how much smaller the sheep are than the shepherd. And all the while, according to Luke 15:5, the shepherd is “rejoicing” over the sheep on his shoulders, not resenting the burden or begrudging the necessity. The shepherd doesn’t just take care of the sheep; He cares for the sheep as well.

After almost five years of practice now living in forced dependence on God, I am overjoyed to report that it is possible to function as a member of the flock—even while my legs are broken, and while I’m begin carried. In fact, one of the greatest treasures I have found in this time is the gift of community with the body of Christ. As I have learned to lean on and be vulnerable with my Shepherd, even when it hurts, I have also learned to be vulnerable with my flock. And I have often felt His arms bearing me up through my church community. I have been richly blessed with brothers and sisters in Christ who do not despise, tolerate, or even pity me; instead, as I have been brave enough to show them my broken legs, they have responded by actually valuing me—finding strengths and gifts I didn’t think I had, and drawing them out for the strength of the body. They have encouraged me, enjoyed me, prayed with me, cried with me, and perhaps the most life-giving thing of all—they have believed rock-solidly in God’s perfect love and plan for me, especially when I can’t muster the strength to believe it for myself. This is a priceless treasure, worth more than any job, or paycheck, or 5-year-plan. Jesus has been faithful to His promises in Psalm 23 to make me lie down in green pastures, to lead me by still waters, and to restore my soul–even while He’s carrying me.

I am also happy to report, that I have come to know Jesus and to fellowship with Him on levels of intimacy I never would have imagined possible before, or known I was missing. I have begun to explore the depths of His heart for lost sheep, the reality of His suffering on every human level while on earth, and His passion to be my partner through every trial I face. I am slowly learning how to let Him love me. I would like to say that I have become the perfectly reformed sheep—who never wanders off or loses focus on the Shepherd, who always feels her Savior’s presence close by her side, who no longer cringes when some fragment of independence is snatched out from under her again. Unfortunately, I am still a sheep. Even when I think I’ve learned to walk in reliance on God and fully trust His plan, some new upset throws me into panic again, despite the fact that I know He’s carrying me. But…that’s okay because even when I’m scared, frustrated, skeptical, or apathetic, He’s still carrying me. The relationship between the sheep and the shepherd does not depend upon the sheep (praise God!), it depends on the faithfulness of the Shepherd. And I know that His love for me and His commitment to His promises never falter even a fraction. If I quiet myself in the midst of the circumstances, I can still feel His arms bearing me up and hear His heartbeat—close, close, close. And eventually, if my five-year-plan ever does work out, I’ll have a better appreciation of the fact that, in reality, I’m still being carried.