Ed McLaughlin was a man who loved to listen to pan flutes, feel the soft spring grass with his rough hands, and smell newly turned earth in his large, Irish nose. He often called me “Lad” when offering instruction, and I was always happy to receive Ed’s instruction. He was wise and I enjoyed spending time with him.
One day, Ed was reminiscing about his younger years and emptying boxes of pictures he’d taken over the years. The stack of photos in my lap revealed woods and fields, barns and greenhouses, flowers and streams and sheep; lots of pictures of sheep.
I asked about the flock and he became solemn. He laid down the photographs in his own hand and took a deep breath. He looked up to the ceiling and said nothing for a long while. He turned his head to look out a window and began to tell me a story. As he spoke, his voice grew thick and tears formed in the corner of his eyes.
As a younger man, Ed tended the estate of a successful inventor of a well-known brand of tooth paste. Ed maintained the flower gardens, manicured the lawn, developed wooded paths, and preserved flowing streambeds. He was caretaker of the estate and with a pick and shovel, Ed revealed that he was also an artist.
While looking over the property, Ed determined that one quiet meadow needed some grazing sheep to make the picture complete. It started with just a few sheep but over time grew to a flock of many wooly beasts. Now Ed was caretaker, artist and shepherd.
He took them to the barn each night and led them to the pasture each morning. He was present at each lamb’s birth and comforted every ewe when a baby would die. He nurtured the flock’s growth and ministered to their injuries. Ed was their sole caregiver and he loved them deeply. Everywhere that Ed would go, the sheep were sure to follow.
In fact, most of the pictures I held in my hand illustrated this truth. So many shots contained Ed walking down a path, up a road, through a meadow; and the sheep were directly behind, single file, following the one they loved, their shepherd.
He paused to wipe a tear from his cheek and take a drink of hot tea. After a moment, he continued his story.
There came a day when the estate changed hands and the new owner hired his nephew to manage the property. It took less than a year for the nephew to lose all patience with the flock. They became stubborn and he became furious. The sheep had lost their shepherd and instead of following this new hired hand, they would wander off on their own. Instead of leading, he would drive them with sticks and blows. Instead of speaking soft words of love, he would curse them with every breath.
By the end of the first year, the flock was scattered. Some went to area farms but most went to market and were destroyed.
John recorded Jesus’ words, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep”.
Despite Ed’s devotion to his flock, his love for them, his heartache at their suffering. He could not lay down his life for them. He was truly a shepherd and he loved them dearly, but offering himself in their place was not a possibility. It has only happened once in history and it changed the world and Ed’s life forever.
Ed stopped talking. The silence in the room became painful for us both. When I looked up from the pictures, the old man was crying, brokenhearted at the thought of his beloved sheep and their tragic end.
Ed died a few years ago. The news of his passing brought back a flood of happy memories with my neighbor, mentor and friend. I pulled out my copies of his pictures and began reviewing each one. A tear fell from my cheek as I flipped through the familiar shots of the bridges, the gardens and the sheep. As I put away the photos, I was satisfied, knowing that this dear member of the flock was quietly sitting in the presence of his Shepherd, safe and secure for all eternity.
