Tales of a Sheepdog

This little story was passed on to me 

today and I can't get the truth of it out of my mind. 

Please read.

1 Corinthians 1:18

 For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God. 

   

The pastor of a large church was troubled over the lifelessness of his church members. Every Sunday he preached the Word of God faithfully, but he perceived that his people were bored with the saving gospel of Christ. He watched them doze off to sleep Sunday after Sunday under the preaching of the cross.

   So one Sunday, in the middle of his sermon, he departed from his outline and from his imagination he 
wove a tale about a sheepdog, a sheepdog in Scotland long ago. The tale he told had no basis in fact. 

It was a fairy tale he made up as he went along. His powers of description were such that he woke up the
 sleepy saints and wooed them into the web he wove. He told of the sheep that grazed safely on the moors,
 totally unaware of the storm clouds on the horizon. Not even the shepherd in his cottage knew that the cold rain, or that it would soon turn to snow, driven by fierce winds.    

   Suddenly, the storm struck and the sheep were driven before it, blinded by the snow, their fleeces soaked and cold and heavy. The poor old shepherd watched as snow flurries blotted out his view of the flock. 

He feared the loss every one of them. He called his faithful old sheepdog to his side and pointed him out into the storm with a command to bring the sheep to the fold. “Bring them in, Sheep! Bring them all in!” 
And away flew the old dog, into the teeth of the storm, snow blinded, running by memory, with his nose high, sniffing for the sheep and his ears up, hoping to hear them bleating for help.

   (As he told his tale the old pastor saw that every eye was upon him now and every ear attentive. Still he 
led them on, into the snare he laid for them...) Sheep raced down the lane and leapt over the fence 
expecting to find the flock waiting, but the wind had driven them away. Quartering back and forth he searched the paddock until he came to the gate that was left open to the moors. He paused to look back 
at the house, but it was lost to view. He barked once and again and then bolted 
through the gate and across the snowy fields, searching, searching, searching... 
 then the wind shifted and the snow fell so 
heavily that even the faithful old dog lost his bearings. He wandered nearer and nearer the cliff. 
His head coated with icicles, and his feet bleeding from the cold. Still he sought the sheep, all in vain. 
He could no longer see because of the snow, but he would not give up the search. Had not his master 
commanded him to bring them home? He knew not that he had lost his way or that the cliff was 
near until suddenly the ground fell away beneath him and he fell. Down, down into the darkness, on to the 
rocks, where he lay with his back broken and his hind legs now 
crippled. The snow covered his form, and... But wait, his head moves, and his eyes open, and he whines and tries to stand. He drags his body forward and whimpers. He must find the sheep. 

His master sent him to bring them home. He must find the sheep...." And just here the old pastor paused and swept his eyes across the congregation. Every eye is on him, the people wait to hear how 
the tale will end.

   But instead of the tale of the sheepdog, the people are stunned to hear their pastor shout,
 "You hypocrites! You despise the gospel of Christ, the power of God unto salvation! 
You sleep through the truth, 
and awake to hear a fable! I tell you a fairy tale that had not a word of truth in it, and you weep and sigh for a sheepdog that never lived! Depart! Come not again to this place of worship until your hearts 
are repentant and broken before God!" The people sat stunned for long minutes, finally arising and creeping out of the church with bowed heads and silent tongues.

 The old pastor left the pulpit and 
locked the doors of the church.  
   It is reported that the church was full of sober and repentant people that night, and that they attended
 the preaching of the cross with tender hearts. When the appeal was given, many in that church 
confessed their sins to God and sought His face and that it was the beginning of revival in that church.

   So, we cannot help but wonder if we have come again to the same dire, lifeless boredom with the
 glorious gospel. 
Do we need again a prophet of old to show us our hypocrisy and drive us from our sleepy churches?  

This was told to the congregation of the Baptist Temple church in San Angelo, Texas sixty years ago
 by our pastor, A. V. Henderson. -
Pastor  Buddy

It really hits home, doesn't it? 

How often are we lulled to sleep by the preaching

of the gospel, having heard it all before?

But a fairy tale awakens us out of our slumber,

and has us on the edge of our seats, begging

for more. 

Oh that our hearts would burn for the gospel

like they burn for fairy tales. 

How guilty are we of the same lukewarmness

this congregation showed? 

How often does a missionary come into our 

comfortable, lukewarm churches, and everyone

sits up attentively, listening to every word, the 

stories of faraway lands gripping them and holding 

them in an almost trance like state,

yet the faithful pastor, week after week, 

expounds the Word of God, with not even a 

head nod of agreement or a hearty amen! 

Shame on us! We listen every week to 

what the Lord has laid on the heart of 

God's faithful men, yet our callousness to the Word

of God shows us to be hypocrites! 

We say we believe, we say we trust,

we say we love,

yet we fail to be swayed by the preaching of the cross! 

Hebrews 4:12 

For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.