It is the Christmas story. Mary had a little Lamb. His fleece was white as snow. Everywhere that Mary went. That Lamb was sure to go. And he goes with anyone who will accept, to quote John the Baptist: the Lamb that taketh away the sins of the World. In the Old Testament we are lambs: in the New, Jesus is The Lamb of God. God, the Shepherd, lived the life of the lamb.
It was January 1944. I turned 21 years of age that month. I had married the previous September, and was happy with my new bride. I was the pastor of a little church in Nebraska. Everything was new to me. The boy had to become a man quickly, presumably a man of God. A fellow, not yet well educated, was, even before his majority, the pastor of a small congregation. The dark days of World War II left a pall over everything, limiting whatever one might want to do. The winter was cold, the house was drafty, and without amenities, amenities usually taken for granted. We did have a telephone on the wall that had to be cranked to get an operator’s response for a number. A call came in from a church member, Mr. VanSchooten: Mrs. Reckling is ill and dying, would you go to see her? The family has called and asked if you would.
This was my first solo flight as a pastor dealing with illness, grief and death. The house was crowded with a family of strangers to me. What should I say? How should I conduct myself? I had been given no assurance that anyone had any spiritual orientation that would be supportive. Mrs. Reckling was dying of dropsy. She was old, and loved, and in a partial coma. Family sat waiting and silent. I decided to make it simple, partly because I lacked full confidence. I turned to the 23rd Psalm, and read it aloud. The room seemed to brighten in the gloom. I prayed, and spoke to Mrs. Reckling although doubting that she was alert to all the words. The people in the room appeared to open their drooping, tired eyes. I seemed to be accepted. I went home.
The next day I was called and asked if I would conduct the funeral. Of course, but I should meet with you. When I did meet there was continuance of the warmth I had felt the night before. Would I accept a double funeral for mother – one in Princeton, and one in Grant, about 200 miles west in the sand country? She had been born and had lived in Grant. Yes, I said, what do you wish to have in the service? The eldest son, a business man in Grant spoke: You read something last night that impressed us all. Would you speak from that and prepare whatever service you wish? I discovered that some did not remember having heard the 23rd Psalm before the previous evening. Several did not seem to know it was in the Bible. The words transformed their opinion of a service, perhaps also of me. I was treated as though I was royalty. They listened as though they were sitting at the feet of an apostle. I was well aware of the blessing of the Lord when I turned to this Psalm parable at both services. They grasped something in a parable of a Shepherd, lamb and God that they likely would not have gained with other words. During my life I have been taken by the soul piercing word pictures found throughout the Bible. We can live, and die, by them. During the eighty years since that experience with the Reckling family and the myriads of friends relating to the services and receptions following, I have never forgotten the meaning of a shepherded life, and the identity of the Shepherd who experienced the life/death of a lamb. In that transport the cycles of earthly life and experience were transformed for me, by the grace of God, and enhanced in the realization of how important the context of ending, with a new beginning really means. The lambs are all welcome in the sheepfold of the Shepherd. *Mark W. Lee, Sr. — 2016, 2020