Resurrection 101 - Of Sheep and Shepherds

When I was about eight or nine years old, I went to visit my mom’s family who lived in rural Croatia. My uncle was a shepherd with a large herd of sheep. One day he asked me if I would like to help out by taking the herd out for the pasture. Having lived in the city all my life, I was unaccustomed to being entrusted with any real responsibility,  so I jumped at the opportunity.

His request wasn’t as outlandish as it appears at first. Everyone my uncle ever knew grew up taking care of the sheep. Children as young as six would pasture the flock without adult supervision. They knew their sheep. They even called them by name – no kidding!  They knew their personalities and temperaments,  what they liked and disliked. They knew their heartbeat from the day they were born ‘til  the day they… ...well, shepherds need to eat, too, you know. In my uncle’s eyes, I was old enough to be a pro in the family business. Shepherding was like breathing for him. He couldn't imagine anyone different. It didn’t take long, however, to prove him terribly wrong.

I took the herd that morning, marching proudly ahead, when I realized I didn’t know where I was going.  My aunt assured me that the sheep knew their pasture and I would be just fine.  She guided me in the general direction, and turned around when she thought I could take it from there. I was on my own.

To my dismay, when we reached the grassy area instead of staying all huddled together, the sheep scattered every one whichever way.  I raced around, jumping over the cow patties, yelling at them but they just ignored me. In ones and twos, they wandered off and eventually settled in one particularly lush spot far beyond where I was told we should stay.  They finally seemed content, happy, and most importantly, they were all together, making my job really easy.  

I let them munch away and since everything seemed under control, I sat on a nearby rock, pulled a book out and started to read. Deeply immersed into the story, I was quite startled when I heard my aunt screaming.  She was racing down the field, yelling and flailing her hands as if the house was on fire.  I jumped up and ran towards her.

Get them out of there… Get them out of there right awaaaay!!!!

You didn’t need a degree in psychology to detect panic in her voice.

The sheep lifted their heads at the sound of her voice, their eyes glazed with stupor. Then they turned back and kept grazing as if hypnotized. When she finally reached them, the rod in her hand got their attention.  They started moving, very slowly at first, but eventually we rounded them up and got us on the way.

What happened? I asked, wondering if my aunt had lost her mind, for she kept yelling and cursing under her breath.

They were not supposed to go there.  That #$?%$!! grass is poisonous for them. It could make them sick and even kill them, she said.  They shouldn’t have been allowed to wander off there.

We walked in silence the rest of the way, a moving wreckage of the world views and lifestyles collided on the intersection of ignorance and unrealistic expectations. Next day, over breakfast, I looked at every member of the family with new set of eyes.  To my nine-year-old mind it was clear that their rough shepherd exterior was just a disguise for a rocket scientists hiding underneath.