The picture accosted me and trapped my eyes. I could not escape its grip and so I gave in and stared at it.
The lamb was black, not white.
Tears, hot and unwanted, forced themselves over my eyelashes and crept down my early morning makeup-less face. I let them. The ache in my chest fueled the flow. I let it.
Only the black sheep of humanity will understand my reaction.
Behind the lamb, blurred but obvious, a Middle Eastern looking man, in a worn shepherd’s tunic, ran in frantic pursuit.
Jesus.
I wanted to sob but I drew the line and took a deep breath. I would set my body free and dam the rivers on my cheeks. Black sheep don’t ask to be black sheep. We just are. The tears will never change that. Those who have spent their lives feeling like outcasts don’t work at it. They are made so by a couple of things: their personalities, often truth tellers who make others mad when they make the obvious, well, obvious; or their choices, deciding things for themselves that are self-destructive, or worse, others destructive. In both cases, they wear the badge of the outcast. Alone in their hearts, even when living with their judges, they are the first to take the hit when things go wrong. It does not matter if they did wrong. No. They are blamed and hurt and attacked no matter what has happened. They live their lives longing to belong; to be understood and accepted for who they are, not what they have done.
And there was Jesus, himself, chasing one down.
He is not stately, slowly walking toward the wayward lamb. He is not holding a noose to drag him home. Consternation does not etch his face. No, it’s blurred, but I think those are tears. Anxious and obviously worried, he is running toward his little one. Cold and laying in the snow, the lamb appears to have given up. Resigned to the loneliness his state forces on him, his expression is hopeless.
He does not seem to have any idea that the God of the universe, his Creator and the One who loves him unconditionally in is truth telling, mess making, self, is about to grab him up and take him home to a warm fire, warm milk, and even warmer arms.
You see, Middle Eastern shepherds do not punish wayward lambs. Not even black ones. Rather, they pick them up gently and carry them in their bosom. They will, sometimes, if the lamb is healthy enough, drape them over their shoulders and hold their feet as they walk. In both places the lamb learns the same thing.
The Shepherd is a safe place. They are made comfortable. Their weariness is alleviated. They hear his heartbeat or his breathing, and they know they don’t have to find their way back. He will find it for them. All they must do is rest on him.
I have been a black sheep made by the judgements of others. Some have hated me for being me . . . some have lied to make me seem to be what I am not for reasons unreasonable. I have been a black sheep of my own making . . . the result of destructive decisions and actions I will ever regret.
In both cases, I have felt the bitter cold snow of hopelessness. In both cases I have felt the swish of Middle eastern robes and the swift lift of strong, loving arms as they pulled me to His chest and wrapped me tightly against the cold winds of other’s rejection and my own destruction.
He carried me home.
He fed me and warmed me and brought me back to hope.
And he kept me near, that I might feel safe.
My fellow black sheep, He is running after you too.
Luke 15:4-7
God loves you as you are, not as you should be.
~Brennan Manning
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