February 17-18 -- Counting Sheep - Geist Christian Church

Sometimes God works on my soul in the middle of the night. Every other week or so I have a restless night where I toss and turn, think and dream, fall in and out of consciousness. God bounces back and forth between my dreams and my wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling moments. I had such a night this past week. I was tired but couldn’t fully turn myself over completely to the night. I was thinking. Nothing too deep I suppose…things I needed to get done. I needed a haircut. I remembered someone that I needed to get back to about something. I even chuckled as an image of Peyton Manning doing the tango came back to mind. Thoughts come and go in a strange manner when you’re trying to sleep.

Getting desperate, I turned to the age old remedy for sleeplessness: counting sheep. I’m not sure who thought up this method or how it actually worked for anyone. I imagined it was probably a shepherd somewhere from days ago. He or she counted sheep all day long and it probably got boring to the point of exhaustion. They would fall to sleep counting their sheep. Then I wondered if it went back to the words of Jesus. I thought of the passage you just heard and imagined the Good Shepherd, our Savior, counting his sheep…one by one…those that we might think of being in the flock and those outsiders that we often write off for one reason or another. Jesus didn’t write anyone off…they all were his sheep…everyone was counted. So I started counting sheep hoping I might find some rest for my body…my soul…not so much the wooly kind of sheep jumping over a fence or anything but the Jesus sheep.

I thought of my sister first. She just turned 25 a week ago so that’s maybe why she was on my mind. She is still finding her way in this world but has a heart of gold. I went ahead and counted her. High school days were some tough times for her. She dated a young man in high school who happened to be an African American. Growing up in a pastor’s home, we were taught at a young age that we were all people, all equally loved and cherished by God. It was not unusual to us that she dated someone of a different race and you would think in this day and age that people wouldn’t be bothered by this either. But we found judgment was still running wild. We lived in a small, rural town of 5500 people where there was a literal “other side of the tracks” which separated the black and white make up of our community. I remember a number of parents coming to my dad’s office at the church to ask how he could deal with his daughter dating one of “those” kids. They would never allow their daughters to date “black guys.” I knew the white guys their daughters were dating…they maybe didn’t know it but they had bigger things to worry about than skin color.

I thought about Corey…the young man my sister was dating and the harassment he must have faced. He was living in a single parent home not really ever knowing a father. Nearly everyday I drove across the bridge in that small town where his grandfather met his death years ago as a victim of an act of violence by the KKK. He and my sister’s relationship went the way of most high school romances, they didn’t stay together. I certainly learned some things about people in those years. So, I counted each of them…Corey, his grandfather, those discriminating parents…I figured Jesus would count them all…so I did too.

At that moment, lying in bed, I was startled as my daughter Morgan cried out. We had family in town and Morgan gave up her room for her cousin to use. She was sleeping in a portable crib in our room. Once she was awake and knew mom and dad were close, she was insistent about joining us in the bed. I was awake so didn’t mind having her join us. She curled up to me under the covers and reached up in the dark to feel my face with her hand….a sense of comfort I suppose knowing that her daddy was close. I think I found more comfort in it than she did. Counting sheep, I couldn’t help but think of this tiny sheep that has been entrusted to my care. I had a great responsibility before me to shepherd this little girl to grow into a woman of faith and purpose. She is a bright light in my world. I had to count her and I counted her mother while I was counting those close to me…she is a wonderful woman of God.

Cuddling with this lamb, I thought of her generation and what they might be exposed to in their lifetime. I thought of the heartache she will experience and the joy she might encounter as well. But what would their generation be known for? Would they be loved or seen as a lost cause? My mind jumped to my own generation…Generation X. I was on the very tail end of the X’ers but I am part of their flock. I had read some startling things about my generation that week which may have been why they came to mind. We are the thirteenth American generation. Our predecessors are known as Boomers, and before them, the Silent Generation, and before them, the G.I. Generation. Our mark of the “X” comes from the mathematical symbol used for the unknown. It has been a fitting designation as it seems many haven’t taken the time to get to know us. Studies show that 55 percent of us grew up in broken families, 20 percent raised solely by our mothers; 20 percent growing up in poverty. Unlike the generation on either side of us, no one seemed to know what to do with us.

In 1975, Ann Landers, who was a nationally syndicated columnist, conducted a poll asking parents of the day the question, “If you could go back and do it all over again, would you have children?” Having even to ask the question reveals something I suppose. The responses were sad. Over 50,000 responded and 70% answered, “No,” they wouldn’t have had children.” “X” really meant “unwanted” for many of my peers. Roe v. Wade and the national campaign for Zero Population Growth took care of some of this; 30 percent of my generation was aborted. Those of us who weren’t, faced a tough road. We were four times more likely to be incarcerated than the previous generation, three times more likely to run away from home, thirty times more likely to be institutionalized in a mental hospital, and three times more likely to take our own life.[1]

We were the first generation to be computer literate which also made us the first to read that strange message on our fuzzy computer monitors whenever we had a disk failure: Abort, Retry, Ignore, Fail. It’s been said that no other words describe better the plight of Generation X: Abort, Retry, Ignore, Fail.[2] Isn’t that sad? I thought about my friends growing up…wondering where some of them have landed today…wondering if they beat the odds. I thought about my peers that I connect with today. It’s tough to lead a productive life when no one wants to shepherd you. So, I counted each of them as sheep.[3]

My mind jumped again. You can’t hold me responsible for my scattered thoughts…I’m just recounting things as they occurred. I guess thinking of these shepherd-less sheep reminded me of something that happened at youth group earlier that night. As we were concluding our small group session with the high school guys and asking for prayer concerns, one spoke up, a little unsure of his request. He said, “Should we pray for Anna Nicole Smith and her baby?” Several chuckled as it seemed a little strange I guess…she’s never spoken out about having any sort of faith and was not the ideal role model for our youth but including her and her orphaned child in our prayer was certainly something we could do. So I counted them too.

For some reason or another, we don’t like to count everyone as sheep. We say things like, “they have to choose to be a sheep” or “they are not in our fold so we don’t need to be concerned with them” or “let someone else count them…but don’t make me do it.” It reminded me of another story that I heard recently.

It was about a young man named Jonathan. He had a childhood like most of the other kids growing up in his Midwestern town. He was a well rounded kid who loved basketball. His father was an all state basketball player, and while Jonathan was a good player, his dad was never satisfied with his son’s performance. They were a churched family and Jonathan loved his church as much as he did basketball. He quickly became the president of their youth group. His best friend was the pastor’s son and he spent as much time with the pastor’s family as he did his own. He had always found acceptance there.

He dated a lot through high school though it never seemed to work out. Pastor Wilkerson always called him a modern day Casanova—many dates, but few relationships. He just never had feelings for anyone. That all changed his senior year. Basketball was going great. Jonathan, now 6’7” grew into the player his dad never was and made the all-state basketball team. He had an athletic and academic scholarship to a Division I school in Ohio. His dad was finally proud of him.

He met someone that year and for the first time had romantic feelings for someone and the feelings were reciprocated. The only problem? His feelings were not for a girl. He didn’t know what to do or where to turn. He was confused and angry and knew from his religious upbringing that he shouldn’t be feeling this way. He knew his dad would hate him and he didn’t want to tell his friends so he went to his pastor who had always accepted him.

With fear and uncertainty he told Pastor Wilkerson his story and the pastor couldn’t help but interrupt: “Jonathan, do you realize what you’re saying? Don’t you know that goes against your baptismal vows? Don’t you know this can keep you from coming forward for communion? Jonathan, don’t you know you can go to hell for this? You’ve got to repent, you’ve got to get this out of your system!”

Jonathan tried praying, fasting, counseling, and more but continued to live inside his own prison. Before going off to college he knew he had to tell his parents. His dad disowned him. College went down hill fast. His grades suffered to the point of having to leave the basketball team and he lost all of his scholarships. Jonathan considered taking his own life. Having no where to go, he turned back to Rev. Wilkerson saying, “I’ve tried everything and wonder if I just have to accept this about myself.” But Rev. Wilkerson responded, “You can’t do that and still expect God to accept you. Think about what your doing, son. Are you sure you want to live outside of God’s grace? If you do, you’re not welcome here either.”

After years of struggling to understand himself and God…after years of avoiding the church who had not counted him any longer as a sheep of the flock…he accepted an invitation from a friend to go to a retreat his church was putting on that was led by a pastor and author who had written a book called, Healing Our Image of God. He was nervous, especially when the retreat opened by having each person share their personal spiritual journeys. They were to have communion once all had shared. Jonathan waited until the very end. He was nervous but he told everything…about his personal struggles, about those who abandoned him, about being unwelcome at the communion table. Not a dry eye remained. When he finished, no one said a word. After a few seconds, the pastor stepped over to the table. He broke the bread, raised the cup, said the words we always say and with bread and wine in hand, he walked over to Jonathan, kneeled before him, and said, “Tonight, you will be the first to share in this feast, for this is Christ’s table, and all are welcome.” Tears ran down Jonathan’s face and he thought for the first time in four years that maybe, just maybe, Jesus loved him.[4] So I counted Jonathan too.

His story reminded me of the 23^rd Psalm. As I lay in bed those words passed over my lips… “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He leads me…he is with me…he comforts me…he prepares a table for me…he anoints me…he restores my soul.” And when I stopped I thought, “My, he really is a Good Shepherd.” Why would he care so much for me? Another question popped into my head, “Why don’t I shepherd like that?” I thought of a friend I haven’t talked with in a while…I need to check in, I thought. I remembered an elderly woman who I knew was praying for me every day that I hadn’t seen for a time. I thought of someone who I hadn’t forgiven yet for the hurt they had caused. I pictured a neighbor boy just a few houses down the street that I have virtually watched grow up over the last seven years but have never even talked to. I wondered why I hadn’t done more to connect…to shepherd them. I took a moment to count each of them.

There are so many that we don’t want to count. I kept thinking about all of those people in my life that I have written off…those that I didn’t want to count as sheep. They were wrong. They were mean. They were different. They didn’t care about me. They were some on that list who I really struggled to like let alone love. Yet, I decided I better count them too…so I did. It led me to think of myself…my strengths and weaknesses. I began to wonder what really made me worth counting. I’m not always sure what makes me worthy but because some people cared enough to shepherd me along the way I know God loves me…so I counted myself.

You know it’s funny how God visits me this way at night sometimes. To be honest, I was a little scared to share this restless night with you. I was tossing and turning as these thoughts kept crossing my mind. I wondered who you would be counting as sheep…if you’d count all of these people too; if you would count sheep like Jesus counted. When we turn our backs and run away like hired hands that don’t care about the sheep, Jesus keeps counting…keeps calling. He knows each voice and they know his. He’s counting them all. I don’t know who you’re counting but it was my dream and I just had to tell it as it was. Daylight was coming soon…it was just around the corner and I knew I needed some rest…for my body…my soul…but I just couldn’t shake all of the sheep that needed to be counted. Perhaps I couldn’t rest until I had recovered them all. So I kept thinking…kept counting…and then it hit me; I remembered so many faces; some joyful, others hurting, some thriving, others struggling, some temporarily lost, others newly found, some at peace, others full of painful regret, some sick, some broken-hearted, some holding grudges, some learning to forgive, others too proud to admit they need support…so many faces all counted by the Good Shepherd as precious, irreplaceable, gifts of God to the world. My eyes already closed, strangely now heavier with rest on the cusp…I had made it. I counted you too.

[1] See Geoffrey Holtz, Welcome to the Jungle: The Why Behind Generation X (New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 1995).

[2] Neil Howe and Bill Strauss, 13^th Gen: Abort, Retry, Ignore, Fail? (New York: Vintage Books, 1993).

[3] Stats and Gen X info found in book; Testimony to the Exiles by Mark R. Feldmeir. Chalice Press. 2003.

[4] Slightly modified but basically as told by Rev. Phil Snider in his sermon “Getting to Jesus, Despite the Crowds.”