Listening when we can't see!

There I was, at the corner of 45th St. and Lamar Blvd., waiting for a bus. And it was hot—92 degrees hot! When I decided to make the trip by bus and on foot, instead of enlisting a driver, it was still mild spring weather, and I was planning to enjoy the walk along Lamar and through Central Park over to 38th Street. But the weather didn’t cooperate. That afternoon, spring seemed to be over, and summer was upon us. I was standing in the sun, squinting through two layers of dark glasses, trying to see, in the steady stream of traffic, if a bus was coming, when I heard a voice calling my name: “Kath-a-leen, do you want a ride?”

I had been to see Dr. Dooner, my retina specialist, and had had all sorts of things involving bright lights and medications done to my eyes. I couldn’t see who it was that was calling to me; I couldn’t recognize the car, on the inside lane, well away from the curb. But the voice sounded familiar, and even though I couldn’t think who it belonged to, even though I couldn’t see who it was, I followed the voice across the outside lane of cars to the one carrying my rescuer. In the act of opening the car door, I was beginning to explain, “I can’t see—I don’t know who it is,” as the driver said, “It’s David—from church.” I’m pretty sure I recognized him before I actually got into the car. He interrupted the errand he was doing to drive me home, several miles out of his way. And of course he told the story when he got back to the church, so I have taken a fair amount of teasing about standing on street corners waiting to be picked up by strange men.

Before I go any further, let me say that you must never ever get into a car with a strange person (except possibly prearranged cab or limousine drivers, etc.). People used to do that in the olden days, but it’s not safe anymore. Do not get in a strange car with a stranger. The thing that made it safe for me was that I recognized the voice. Even though I couldn’t think who it was, at first, I knew the voice belonged to someone I could trust.

Gerald Borchert, a Bible scholar who lived for a time in Israel, learned about how sheep learn to recognize the voice of their shepherd. He describes two incidents illustrating this. In the first, he watched a shepherd lead his sheep through the busy traffic in Jerusalem, singing and whistling to keep the sheep together in the midst of many distractions. In the second, he was in a village where four shepherds shared a sheepfold—the enclosure where the sheep were taken in the evening, after a day of grazing. In the morning, each shepherd in turn would sing and call his sheep, who, he said, “dutifully separated from the larger flock and began to follow him to the hills for their daylight feeding.” The sheep knew the shepherd’s voice, and they trusted the bearer of that voice to keep them safe in the midst of traffic, and to lead them to a safe place for grazing.

There are lots of voices that come to us—and at us—every day. Some are from the media, relentlessly urging us to buy, to go, to do, to believe what they are saying. Some are from people we know and love or tolerate or don’t love at all; some are from our own critical selves. They bombard us with messages, many of which are not helpful.

In the midst of all the voices, how good it is to hear one saying, “I know you…I love you…follow me.” That is the voice of the Good Shepherd, the one who wants to get us out the heat of too much of everything, and into the place of green pastures and cool water. When you can't see exactly where you're going or what you need to do(and even when you can!), listen for that voice, and trust it! It will lead you to the place you’re supposed to be.