Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. Then the king will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me. I was in prison and you came to me….Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’… (Mt. 25:32-36, 41-43).
Goats have it tough.
First, they have to deal with the embarrassment of having dangling ears that are easily torn by thorns and thistles. Seriously, if I had ears like that (see above), I would tie them back behind my head so that I don’t accidentally bite one off while grazing in the field.
But even worse, apparently all goats go to Hell. Jesus’ judgment (when it comes to sheep and goats) is strictly made on the basis of gender. Passages like this make me wonder whether a racial reconciliation course at Hebrew University might have been helpful for the Savior of the universe and the Creator of all that exists.
Given the eternal destination of goats, it made sense that I ran into (literally) a gaggle of goats during my visit to Hell. They didn’t seem bothered by their unfortunate circumstances, having no trouble finding grass and olive trees to graze upon:
Their flapping ears tickled my ankles as they rushed by in a clamor of grunting and chewing, unfazed by my presence. They were respectful, minding their own business.
Sheep (as far as I can tell) are decent creatures too. Growing up in the suburbs didn’t afford me many opportunities to hang with the wooly creatures, but whenever I visited the Minnesota State the sheep stood still as I ran my fingers through their white coats.
Matthew twenty-five leaves me thoroughly perplexed. Why does Jesus choose the dividing between sheep and goats as an object lesson for the final judgment?
At the outset, it’s important to understand that in the US, shepherding is something of a novelty. People don’t really do it for a living anymore. In the Middle East, however, shepherding remains (although increasingly obscure) a means through which many survive. Just a few miles West of Jerusalem lies the Judean Wilderness, a place with very few natural resources. Bedouin (Arabic for “nomads”) roam these chalky, golden hills searching for scant patches of grass that appear (hopefully) during the winter and spring months. Shepherding is hard, and has been for thousands of years. Biblical heroes like (well, all of the Patriarchs), Moses and David (to name a few) were shepherds.
Goats grazing on the hillside--looking down into Gehenna.
Most shepherds lead a mixed company of sheep and goats, I’d always wrongly believed that sheep and goats were simply the male and female version of the same species. Goats and sheep are joined and shepherded together simply because of their complementing functions (rather than their genetic commonalities):
Both animals graze. Sheep, however, eat everything: leaf, stem and root. After a herd of sheep eat their way through a field there is nothing left, and won’t be until the following year. Goats on the other hand eat only the leaf. They leave the rest. So, when a shepherd leads his herd, the goats go first, eat the leaves, and the sheep finish the job. Everyone gets fed.
Another reason why the goats lead the way into a grazing field is due to what I like to call the Boomer effect:
My first dog, Boomer, was a massive golden retriever. I love big dogs despite the fact (or perhaps, due to the fact) that they are dumb. The first day we had Boomer, my dad had to sit me down and explain, “You can only feed Boomer two scoops of doggy cereal in the morning and two in the evening. That’s it.” It was important for me to understand this rule, because big dogs are so dumb that, if given the chance by an ignorant and generous nine year old, they will eat themselves to death.
Sheep are dumb. Goats are smart. Goats know their limit, count their Weight Watchers points, and their discipline sets a pace through grazing fields that sheep follow.
Goats are also physically more capable. They can climb hills (which explains the fact that you’ve never heard the term, “mountain sheep”). Sheep are docile, physically awkward, and need to be purposefully guided to water and food.
So, back to Jesus. Sheep go to heaven, goats to go Hell, right? What’s our Messiah getting at?
When I look back over the course of my life (even peering in to my current situation) I find that, spiritually speaking, my gait resembles a sheepish sort of stumbling through the life of faith. I am and ever will be in dire need of a shepherd.
Jesus said,
God blesses those who are poor and realize their need for him, for the Kingdom of Heaven is theirs” (Mt. 5:3, NLT).
A goat, standing on his/her hind legs, and grazing on the branches of an olive tree.
Lord, give me a good shepherd, with a staff and rod for my unfettered heart, which so frequently carries me into dusty fields to fill my belly with bitter fruit!
I stand alongside Paul when he proclaims, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost” (1 Tim. 1:15).
Why does Jesus welcome people like me into the honor and glory of His Kingdom? This is the paradox of the Kingdom of the God who constantly chooses, “what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being can boast in the presence of God” (1 Cor. 1:28-29).
As I stood on the steep hillside, just North of Hell, snapping photos of the grazing goats (oddly, there were no sheep) I found myself looking around for a shepherd. He was there, standing far off in the distance, waiting for his flock to finish up. He was uninvolved, seemingly disinterested, smoking a cigarette.
For so many of us, this is our image of God (minus the cigarette). Problem is, I’m a sheep. We are all sheep. And God is not a distant shepherd atop a lonely hillside; rather, He has broken through the sky, clothed Himself in flesh and tenderly leads us to still waters.
I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep (Jn. 10:14-15).
