They say it is hard to teach old dogs new tricks. So for an old rabbi in his seventies to cast off religious thinking held securely since boyhood, one could wonder if a new faith practice was even possible. Very likely the old man himself wondered the same thing, I mean a change of thinking is one thing, but beliefs and practices are another thing altogether. The rigid protocols of his office over years of faithful adherence made him who he was. He was his thinking, an old sheepdog ready for rest not starting all over.
Surprisingly, starting all over gave him a sense of rest he had never known. His years of tireless work with the flock, while a responsibility he took seriously and endured cheerfully, had left a deep weariness in his soul, and a readiness for the changes that came with him becoming one of the flock. With a new shepherd.
He had heard of the new shepherd some years ago. I mean everyone had, for he had littered the landscape with outrageous claims and ideas so unsettling that he was disposed of. The worst of the littering was around the very religious establishment that was the life-blood of the old rabbi, so not surprisingly, he was pleased the imposter was no more.
Or so he thought. The rabbi’s only child, Hannah, had married a man who claimed the imposter was the real deal, that he walked out of the sealed and guarded tomb alive and undetected. More than that, he had returned to the village where Hannah and her husband live, healed Eli’s gammy leg, and left his followers the assurance they too could live better lives with no fear of death.
Then something happened. Something so profound and life-altering that the old rabbi, or perhaps I should say former rabbi, no longer calls the miracle-man an imposter. The something that happened has not been fully explained, for the central character, the former rabbi was so traumatised by the swift and lethal response from his life-long friends and associates, that he does not go into detail when pressed by the curious and perplexed. The old sheepdog has learnt how to lay low. And also some new tricks.
He has learnt for example, that his view of God, shaped by the only influences he had allowed into his mind, was wrong. Worse than that, it was a view that disallowed a more accurate one coming into focus; one that allowed for relationship instead of religion. A relationship, moreover, while it got him banished from the priestly ranks, it elevated him to the glorious intimacy of sonship. The tired old sheepdog had become a family pet.
I would be lying if I said that the old man adapted to his new faith practices without some misgivings. As he entered his new place of worship, the contrast between what he had known and his new reality could not have been greater. His long-conditioned thinking left him all but overcome by a sense of profound lack; of a priest and the adornments he had always taken as essential part of the sacred process; the scrolls of the law; the candles and incense; the robes and the rituals.
For all that was lacking, however, an overwhelming sense of love, joy and peace, like a flood-tide pushing debris aside, ensured any initial thoughts of lack faded altogether in the former rabbi’s mind. The purity of unadorned simplicity and a coming together of hearts united in their adoration of the new shepherd, convinced him that he was where he belonged – the master’s house. He missed nothing of the high office and welcomed being a fellow believer. In a sense the old sheepdog was now part of the flock.
The flock came together each week in a widow’s simple home. Actually, the boy-hood home of his son-in-law, Eli. It was a single room with a table, several chairs, and a bed that served as a sofa. On the table was a small jug of wine, and pieces of bread broken from a loaf baked that morning. But nothing surprised the old man more than the way he was greeted – a kiss from each one present. And from the widow, a kiss followed by a warm embrace that prompted tears from the old man. He was moved by this simple but heartfelt gesture, and what moved him so, was that despite being a church leader and devoted priest all his adult life, no member of his flock had ever embraced him, let alone a kiss.
He wasn’t aware of how it started, but the singing of one of his favourite Psalms: “The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want”, brought more tears, his head cupped in his hands, his sobs causing a gentle rocking of his shoulders. He was sitting beside Hannah and she placed her hand on her father’s shoulder and rubbed his back. Little Levi was on his father’s lap, and waiting for the crying to stop so he could climb into his grandfather’s arms and bury his face into that soft flowing beard.
The crying did stop at around the ‘my cup overflows’ part and Levi made his move. A coming together of words and actions best initiated and executed without pretence by small children. As for the proceedings, the old man was not sure of what was expected of him, which was just as well, for nothing was. In an atmosphere loaded with love, joy, and peace, all expectation evaporates. Replaced by a beautiful contentment. A present-reality sufficiency rather than the continual striving of meeting expectations. No wonder the weary old sheepdog felt at home, the intensity of what had to be done next replaced with the master’s approval to just be. And rest.
Little Levi also rested. Fast asleep in his grandfather’s arms in fact. The quiet prayers didn’t wake him, nor did the singing of more Psalms. The grandfather, however, was listening intently. It was all new to him. I mean the listening instead of talking was one thing, but the whole idea of worship being participatory and unstructured – that was a type of worship he had never thought possible. Each person spoke from their heart – no scrolls needed.
His son-in-law Eli, spoke with authority, and the eight others listened eagerly. They were taking the message from the good shepherd to heart, and committing it to memory. Eli’s authority, however, was not absolute, for I am privy to something his attentive listeners were not. They were attentive listeners because, like Eli they could not read. Only the old man and his daughter could read.
There were emerging at the time, written accounts of what the good shepherd had said to his followers. One rare account of a lengthy teaching session on a mountainside was obtained by Hannah by way of women’s secret business or something like that. In any case, she valued it highly and spent hours reading it to her husband so he could speak from memory and with authority.
Eli was not the only speaker of course. In between Eli’s memorised passages, there would often be contemplative pauses, ended by someone offering a simple prayer, or reciting a paraphrase of the shepherd’s words as a type of prayer. Thus was the unstructured flow of people being supervised by a spirit of unity and profound truth.
Then the old man spoke – unscripted and unrehearsed.
“This little boy asleep on my chest has taught me so much. There is a bond of love that is so strong and it occurred to me just now that he doesn’t know me; what I did yesterday nor what I am doing tomorrow; he doesn’t even know my name, and yet he loves me and there is a joy and peace that is all he needs for the present. Now he will get to know much more about me as he grows, but the relationship of love has come first”.
“As you know, I used to be a rabbi, and I know the scrolls of the law intimately. I knew about Yahweh, I can name all the prophets, priests and kings. I know the history of the kingdom, and like many of my people waited for the Messiah, the sent one to restore the kingdom to Israel. And all the while missing the relationship of love. My knowledge came first, and it set me up to miss what matters”.
“This little boy has it the right way around. His heart sets him up to love, then knowledge is added to it. I had it the wrong way around, my knowing about things came first, and only now, as an old man, am I starting a relationship from my heart, not my head. My head told me that dead people, even the greatest of our fathers, don’t speak. Hence the scrolls. But my heart tells me that the one who came back from the dead speaks to us. There is a spirit here that speaks heart-talk; I feel it, and I have never known anything like it. Now can we sing that Psalm again, for Yeshua is truly my shepherd. I am a happy man and I want for nothing”.
It may have been the singing that woke his grandson. Or perhaps he was going to wake anyway. Only Hannah, with that sharp motherly knowing, saw her father’s tears fall on the child’s face and knew they would wake him.
There were many tears shed in that little gathering that morning. Joy-tears, not ones of sorrow or pain. And not tears of grief, for the remembrance of Yeshua’s cruel death by sharing the bread and wine together, has a celebratory aspect to it. Rejoicing in the assurance that Yeshua was divine, the one sent to restore a kingdom that no power on the earth could conquer. The reigning king enthroned in the hearts of those who believe with all their hearts that Yeshua was who he said he was. Simple folk living uncomplicated lives of love for others, and lived by a prompting that everything he taught was true.
The old man was the last to leave, somewhat overwhelmed by the cavalcade of emotions, a succession of new feelings and observations that filled him with awe. Glimpses of heaven that could not be passed over without proper consideration. He needed time to grasp their significance.
The widow, watching the old man and seeing deep into his thinking, held the door open for him. Then she spoke: “God is kind, and he is patient. He waits for us to be ready for steps in faith and uncertainty, for they are his steps for us, and his timing is perfect. Don’t look back in regret, don’t feel guilt for anything. You are loved as a child, always have been, it is just that you know this now. And it is the perfect time for you. Shalom my brother”. She kissed him tenderly and considering the strict protocols of the time, one could say recklessly. But certainly not impulsively, for this widow was purposeful in everything she did, she took her own counsel, and disregarded those known to watch in judgment.
The former rabbi, no stranger to watching and judging in a former life, walked with a lightness of step and, knowing his lunch was prepared for him, a deep gratitude and a wide contented smile. A smile that, were it not for his beard, could be seen by village watchers who have their own ideas of why he is no longer a rabbi.
Once a working animal, now a family pet. An old sheepdog eating at his master’s table. One could call it a new trick, were it not for the fact that his days of performing are over.
Merv Edmunds
December 2024
