Minilogue - October 2007

Gathering the Scattered “Flocks” in Our Lives

By the Rev. Bruce Johnson

C.S. Lewis once remarked that writing is like herding sheep down a country road; at every available opportunity, the reader is likely to escape through a gate of their own wandering attention, so the author has to constantly be guiding them along the desired path.

I thought of Lewis’ remark a few weeks ago at, of all places, the Tunbridge World’s Fair.

I had been invited to staff the “Freedom to Marry” booth at the fair, and when my shift was finished, I wandered through the various exhibition areas, admiring pumpkins and hogs and quilts and cows. One thing led to another on my meandering way until, late in the day, I climbed up the ancient wooden stairs of the grandstand to watch the sheep dog trials. I had seen a few clips of these incredibly hardworking dogs on television, but never in real life. I sat there fascinated, hardly touching my maple sugar cotton candy, as the teams - made up of a human handler and a canine runner - tried to herd a small group of sheep through various gates, over a wooden bridge, and finally, into a portable holding pen. It wasn’t easy! I’ve decided that sheep aren’t so dumb after all; they moved as if with a single mind, and seemed to understand and even enjoy the game. They won more often than they lost, evading capture for the length of the four-minute trial. The dogs - mostly border collies, with a few Australian shepherds in the mix - clearly loved what they were doing, too. When the sheep were let out of their fold at the far end of the large corral, the dogs would practically fly down to round them up and drive them ahead. Responding to a variety of signals and whistles from their two-legged teammate, the dogs tried to maneuver the sheep into situations where they had no choice but to go forward in the desired direction - through the gate, over the bridge, into the pen. An announcer standing on the stage overlooking the arena provided a very informative commentary on the action. He seemed to know each of the contestants personally, and felt free to interject helpful bits of advice and gentle teasing during the competition. One thing he said was really interesting to me: “You can’t do anything unless you get your dog to stop.” And it was true. As long as the dog was running, the sheep would just keep racing out ahead. It was when the dog stopped - usually in response to a whistle or a sharp command from its trainer - that the sheep would also pause and begin to look around nervously, waiting for the next move. The dog would hunch down and hold absolutely still, eyes fixed on the sheep. Gradually, they would begin to calm down, to lose their skittishness. Then in response to signals from the trainer, the dog would begin to make little, shuffling moves, and the sheep would start to go in the intended direction. If the dog moved too quickly, the sheep would bolt, and the race would be on again. All the furious energy of the chase was fun to watch, but it was only when the mad pursuit stopped that the real herding took place.

I suppose there’s a moral here somewhere, a lesson for all of us who are trying to gather the scattered “flocks” in our lives - the thoughts, the projects, the wooly dreams, the fragmented or far-flung families. We can’t help but take up the chase; it’s in our nature, just as it is in the nature of the border collie to fly after the sheep. Sometimes, though, it’s necessary to simply stop, sit down on our haunches for awhile, to watch and wait, to meditate. With a lot of patience, determination, and just a little bit of help, the sheep will find their way home.

Bruce