Something is wrong but, without orientation, you can only piece things together as others press and jostle you along the way. Some appear more sure-footed than you, some less. Some move deliberately with speed, some passively with the crowd, others reluctantly, resisting. But everyone in the bounded field moves in the same direction. In that way, they are all exactly like you. Now you realize something graver. A growing number of those ahead of you transition from speed to resistance, as they see more clearly what you vaguely recognize to be a sudden drop at the edge toward which everyone progresses. As you look back, you see the mob is not headed that direction of its own accord, but constantly, patiently ushered there by the same figure who, in less patient moments, drove Sodom and the firstborn of Egypt over the cliff pell-mell.
“For he sees that even the wise die; the fool and the stupid alike must perish…Like sheep they are appointed for Sheol; death shall be their shepherd…” (Psalm 49:10, 14).
You seek favor to avoid the inevitable fate, but find none. Fellow travelers share your shoes. The one compelling the crowd forward hears no plea, and if he does, ignores it. But there is word of a different shepherd, promising unfettered life. You believe in him. You believe him. Yet the edge approaches, apparently unfazed by your newfound disrespect for its threat.
The cliff arrives. Perhaps your last step is tremulous, perhaps courageous. Regardless, it is the first step out of what now appears to have been little more than an obscured, bounded dream, and into a fenceless, perspicuous understanding—a lush field with everything in abundance from which the former menace had driven you.
“But God will ransom my soul from the power of Sheol, for he will receive me” (Psalm 49:15).
Our faith declares this week, as every, that cliffs are no danger to those with a good shepherd.