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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The One Who Came Close, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew eight one four. There is something wonderful in tonight's gospel, something that might be the most comforting thing Jesus ever did. He did not just speak kind words from a distance. He reached out his hand and touched someone that everyone else had moved away from, and because of that touch, everything changed. Tonight, back on Shepherd's Hill, Clover is about to discover what it feels like to be the lamb that nobody comes near. The morning had started with a splendid idea. Old Woolley had set out a long table of paints and papers beside the old apple tree, and every lamb was making a banner for the summer meadow gathering. There was laughing and splashing and quite a lot of purple paint in places it was not meant to be. But Clover was not at the table. She was sitting by herself at the far edge of the meadow behind the bramble hedge where she thought nobody could see her. Her blue scarf was wound tightly around her neck. Her clover sprig drooped all the way to her cheek. She had a rash. It had arrived that morning, red and blotchy spreading across her foreleg. Old Wooly had looked at it and said gently, Best to keep away from the others today, just until we know what it is. He had meant it kindly, but kindness and loneliness can feel very much the same when you were the one sitting behind the hedge. She could hear Biscuit laughing from the table, that big, warm, golden laugh, the kind that made you feel like the sun had come out even when it hadn't. She could hear Matt's quiet voice suggesting something, and Biskit saying, Oh yes, that's a good idea. She could smell the paint, and she could imagine the colors. Her sprig drooped lower. She did not hear Jesus coming. He had a way of arriving without sound, like morning. He sat down in the grass beside her, right beside her, not an arm's length away, not a polite distance, but close, and looked at her foreleg without flinching. That looks uncomfortable, he said. Everyone has to stay away from me, Clover said, in a very small voice, in case it's catching. I know, Jesus said. He didn't move. Aren't you going to? she began. No, he said simply, and there was something in his voice that made her feel less cold. She looked down at the rash. It's not very nice to look at. You are not the rash, said Jesus. You are clover, who asks the big questions and wears the blue scarf, and has the clover sprig that tells me how your heart is doing. He looked at the drooping sprig. And right now your heart is doing very hard. She swallowed. Nobody is going to sit with me today. I am, said Jesus. He said it so simply, so without ceremony, that it landed like a warm stone dropped into still water. I am. But what if? I am not afraid of your rash, said Jesus, and very gently, gently as anything, he reached out and placed his hand on her foreleg, right on the blotchy part, and held it there. Clover made a sound she hadn't planned on making, a sort of tiny crumbling sound, like a wall that had been holding something in for a long time. You came close, she whispered. I always come close, said Jesus. That is what I do. They sat together in the warm, quiet, behind the bramble hedge for a while. He didn't fix everything. Old Woolie would still need to look at her foreleg again that evening, and she still couldn't go to the paint table that morning. But something inside her had changed. The cold hollowness was gone. After a while she asked, Why didn't you stay away? Jesus considered this. Because there is no part of you, he said, that I would ever choose to move away from. Her clover sprig lifted just a little, but it lifted. Later that afternoon, Clover saw something from behind her hedge that made her chest fill right up. Biscuit was walking across the meadow, not toward the paint table, not toward the river, but toward the bramble hedge. She was carrying something, a square of paper, painted in yellow and blue, with a slightly wobbly border of stars. She stopped just outside arm's reach, because old Wooly had said arm's reach was the safe distance. I made this for you, Biscuit said. Her golden tuft was sticking up in three directions, which meant she had been thinking hard. It's for your banner. I mean, it's your banner. I made it for you, because you couldn't come to the table. Clover looked at the wobbly stars. You remembered the colors I like, Clover said. Yellow and blue. Biscuit shrugged. Obviously. Did Jesus send you? Biscuit looked surprised. No, I just I saw you weren't there, and I thought she trailed off. Matt's going to bring the painting paste, so you can hang it with yours when you're better. Clover held the banner carefully in her good arm. Thank you, she said. Don't drip on it, said Biscuit. It's still a bit wet on the left side. That evening old Wooly looked at Clover's foreleg and declared it quite ordinary, a plant rash, most likely from the long grass by the hedge. Nothing catching at all. She was welcomed back to the fire circle with great ceremony, and Biscuit immediately shuffled up to make room. Jesus was there too, sitting on the log at the edge of the light. He caught Clover's eye and smiled, the kind of smile that means I told you so, but warmly. She touched the clover sprig behind her ear. It was standing up straight. Tonight, Jesus teaches us something we will carry for a very long time. When we feel too messy or too broken, or too different for anyone to come near, Jesus comes close. Not from a safe distance, not with careful, polite words from the edge. He reaches out his hand, and that touch changes everything. We are never too anything for his love. We are just clover, with our blue scarf and our clover sprig, waiting for the one who always comes close. Lord Jesus, thank you for always coming close. When I feel left out or different or alone, remind me that you are right here beside me. You are not afraid of anything in me. I am never to anything for your love. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.