This
parable was originally told by
Pr. William Weedon. Reprinted from
Much
thanks to Pr. Weedon.
Christ
is Risen! Alleluia!
In
the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Once
upon a time (a real time, mind you, not an imagined one), there was a
wolf. He was a fat old thing. You see, he had it pretty easy.
Whenever he wanted to eat, he only had to walk his door of his cave
and look at the sheep that fed right outside. He’d eye this one or
that one. And then he’d go after it and with a pretty minimal
struggle, he’d bring the sheep down and eat away. And the more that
he ate, the bigger he got, and the bigger he grew, the hungrier he
got. He was a wicked old thing; sometimes he’d just poke his head
out the door and howl. All the sheep began to shiver at the very
sound of him. He’d chuckle to himself. “Yes, you better be
afraid, you stupid sheep because one of these days I am going to eat
you, and it won’t be pleasant, oh no it won’t. Ha! Ha!” This
big, bad wolf, you see, had a name. A name of fear. The sheep had
only to think of his name and they’d get wobbly on their knees and
some would faint outright. His name, you see, was Death.
