As I left the farmhouse one morning, a guest quickly approached. ‘There are sheep in the car park!’ she said, excitedly.
I immediately headed to the car park, and indeed, there I discovered half a dozen sheep lazily munching on the grass near the top of the drive. They had somehow escaped a neighbouring field, as sheep are prone to do, and now seemed very content with the grass from the ‘King’s Sheepfold’.
There was a field gate partly down the drive, so I figured if I could shepherd them down the drive to the gate, I could guide them through and into safety. So for a few minutes, I slowly walked behind them, and they were happy to keep their distance from me, as together, we paraded our way down the lane.
But then nearing the gate, our lovely stroll devolved into chaos as I frustratingly (and comically to anyone watching) attempted to turn them through the gate. They kept scattering in every direction like I was herding chickens.
I tried to gently encourage them:
‘Come with me, you can do it…’
‘This way…’
‘No, not that way…’
‘Come along…’
‘No, not that way!’
‘Please just listen to me!’
But alas, they would not listen. They didn’t know my voice, and they didn’t trust me. Eventually, they tired of my futile game and ran desperately away from me, heading down the drive and toward the valley.
Photo: Patrick Borders
I threw up my hands and returned to the farmhouse and did what I should have done originally: I called Robert—the farmer next door and the owner of the sheep. Robert was over in five minutes and within seconds had coaxed the sheep into a lower field.
The sheep knew Robert. They knew his presence. They knew his voice. What had unfolded as a complicated, messy, failed operation on my part had turned into something simple and clear when the true shepherd guided it.
Jesus said that his sheep—his disciples—will follow him into the sheep pen ‘because they know his voice.’ Because of His voice, they would know how to get to where they belonged.
Today, however, it can be difficult to hear the Lord’s voice. We live in such a noisy world. Much of the noise comes unsolicited from the environments around us, but some of it we generate ourselves: television, podcasts, even music. We listen to a lot of voices. They tell us what to think and do, and sometimes, they can have us running in every direction except through the gate that’s been positioned for us.
It can be hard to nurture a good environment to hear the voice of our Good Shepherd. But in many ways, that is what Ffald y Brenin does. It curates that environment and protects its boundaries—hosting thin spaces; maintaining a slow pace; facilitating reflective times of prayer. It gives us permission to slow down, take deep breaths, settle into the pace of God—and to listen.
To serve on the team at Ffald y Brenin is to bear witness to the countless times and ways that the Lord communicates. We may have come from places of metaphorical winds, earthquakes, and fires, but here, we can hear the gentle whisper. We sense the nudges, the visions, the felt senses, the divinely inspired words of fellow travellers.
Day after day, guests hear from Jesus in all sorts of ways—they hear Him reminding them of His love, His care, His guidance and direction.
Jesus said, ‘I am the good shepherd…and I lay down my life for the sheep.’ Our Good Sheperd laid down His life on the cross, and He continues to offer His life for us, giving us the full abundance of His presence and love.
Here, in the quiet of the chapel, or the prayer room, or an outdoor bench, or anywhere, we can hear the whispers of God: ‘Be still. Know that I am God. Know that I love you.’
And as we leave, we can continue to hear his voice: ‘This is the way. Come with me, you can do it…’