Sunday, February 27, 2011

Bleating footsteps

Wednesday, 23 February 2011

I’ve often wondered what it would be like to live during biblical times. How much more profoundly would the allusions and allegories of the Bible resonate with me then? How much more would I feel the weight of the Word? Sojourning in Cameroon gives me some idea.

The Bible abounds with references to husbandry, most significantly in relation to shepherds and sheep. The famed 23rd Psalm talks about how the Lord treats His children with the same protectiveness, discipline, and tender affection that a shepherd shows in caring for his flock. In Cameroon, there is plenty of livestock, including hairy (not wooly) sheep. I’m not sure how sentimental shepherd boys and men here feel toward their sheep, but they certainly know the worth of every individual. To let one animal languish or wander away would be to keep food from a family member’s hungry mouth. I pondered this walking home from school one day, stuck behind a boy and his flock. I loved watching his watchful eye as he herded the sheep, using stern words and a switch to prod the bleating strays back into line. I thought of the verse, “thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” That switch wasn’t meant to hurt the boy’s charges; it just served as a measure of discipline so that none would be left behind and all would remain safe. So I’ve been taught that if we are met with merited rebuke, it is not to punish but to guide and protect. Here I saw that principle in action, and it was, indeed, a comfort.

Once, I passed a lone sheep tied up in a median in the road. When I came back that way, its apparent owner loosed it and led it away just in front of me and my post mate. I couldn’t get enough of its throaty “maaaaas” or the idea that this teenager was leading it safely home, as a well loved hymn says our tender, loving Shepherd does with us, His children. And when I see newborn lambs whose coats are still snowy and bright, I’m reminded of a line from another hymn, “white as wool ere they depart, Shepherd wash them clean” (Christian Science Hymnal No. 304).

When I’m traveling, and I spot cattle on the road in front of our bus, I don’t mind stopping for them to pass. They’re beautiful animals with long horns and a hump at the nape of their necks that stores water for dry days. Sitting in the bus keeps me grounded in the 21st century, but pausing on a dirt path for grazing herds takes me back to antediluvian days. So does seeing goats skipping over our school grounds. (The notes of their “ma-aa-aas” are a little higher and more staccato than those of their ovine cousins.)

Eyeing the porkers and their piglets perusing the neighborhood trash pile, I understand why the children of Israel avoided bacon and ham, delicious as they may be. Their diet of detritus notwithstanding, pigs – especially brand-new babies – are my favorite sight in town. One morning on the way to class, I watched six tiny, black piglets rush their waddling mother, nosing her teats until she rolled over in resignation and let them suckle with abandon.

Another celebrated psalm – the 91st – comes to mind when I see hens and ducks guarding their broods. It says, “He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust.” One of my grandmother’s favorite memories from childhood was watching a mother hen spread her wings over her chicks, folding them up in her feathers to protect them from an approaching storm. I think the scene was so stirring because it reminded her, too, of the 91st psalm, which says also that the Lord is our refuge and fortress, just as that hen was a refuge for her little ones.

Walking roads of packed earth takes me back a few ages, too. Foot and moto traffic always kicks up fine dust, which settles in your hair and edges under the doors of houses along the route. But during dry season, the dust grains multiply, collecting in the creases of your skin, in your ears and nostrils, and turning your feet a shade of orange usually seen only when spray-tanning sessions go bad. I get it now why foot washing was such a gesture of hospitality and respect during biblical times. Here, where heels crack and feet feel perpetually chalky, I might bow before anyone who offered even to hose mine down from a distance.

But Jesus didn’t keep his distance. He got right down on the floor with his disciples. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty to cleanse the soles of those he loved best. And none but the most profound affection could have motivated such an act. I wouldn’t go out of my way to touch the feet of someone fresh out of the shower. But to gently wash a pair of feet whereon grime and sweat have left a muddy paste – well, maybe I would do it for my child or the love of my life. I guess all the children of this world were the loves of Jesus’ life. There he was, he who was hailed the King of kings, stooping before some of society’s lowliest misfits to wipe the grit from their lowliest of limbs. Peter protested at first. In the end, though, he gratefully accepted his master’s tender gesture of devotion.

When Jesus laid aside his now soiled towel, he asked the twelve, “Know ye what I have done to you?” “Ye call me Master and Lord,” he added, “and ye say well; for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Master have washed your feet; ye also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example that ye should do as I have done to you” (John 13:12-15).

I now understand much better the significance of this example. I know what a big deal it would be for someone to wash my feet for me. And I get it how much I would have to love someone to do the same for him. But we are to so love the whole world that we would humble ourselves to the utmost to wash away the figurative – and perhaps literal – grunge from the very feet of humanity. To reach the largeness and largess of such love is the journey set before us. My little feet have many paces to go before I get there.

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