Whenever Psalm 23 comes up in the lectionary, I remember a canoe trip on a long, flat stretch of the Yampa River in northern Colorado. That’s ranching country, so we’d seen a lot of livestock on the river banks, which were mostly a good ten feet higher than the water itself. I sensed vague disapproval from the cattle perched on those high banks surveying two dozen sunburned, bug-bitten paddlers. The sheep staring at us just seemed puzzled.
That impression held when, rounding a river bend, we encountered six sheep huddled on a narrow strip of muddy sand. The bank towered over them, and it didn’t take long to figure out what had happened. Conveniently enough, another sheep demonstrated it for us. No doubt responding to his flock’s pitiful predicament, he took two steps down a steep slick slope, started sliding, then jumped the remaining five feet to the increasingly crowded piece of sodden real estate at river’s edge.
I’ve read about sheep over the years, and they’re not actually as dumb as their reputation suggests. But they do seem to be eager followers and poor decision-makers, so it’s not surprising they are such a common metaphor for human beings.
