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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called Turn and Answer, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew twenty two thirty four forty. There is a question people still ask out loud, out of everything God ever taught, what matters most of all? In the Gospel of Matthew chapter twenty two verses thirty four through forty, someone asked Jesus exactly that, hoping to trip him up. Jesus didn't get flustered, and he didn't pick a winner between two rules. He said loving God with everything you are and loving the person next to you are really one love wearing two faces. Tonight on Shepherd's Hill, a lamb named Clover finds that out in the middle of a song that refuses to finish unless she does both halves. Every evening, just as the sky turned the color of a ripe peach sliding toward purple, the flock gathered in a wide circle for the echo song. Old Wooly had taught it to them years and years of evenings ago, and by now every lamb knew it, the way they knew the smell of warm grass after rain. First came the call, every lamb lifted their chin to the darkening sky and sang out as loud and clear as they could, a song of thanks straight up to Jesus. Then came the answer. Each lamb turned to whoever stood beside them in the circle and sang the second half back, low and close, naming one good thing about that lamb before anyone sat down to supper. Tonight the circle was buzzing before the song had even started, because old Woolley had promised that right after supper, if the cloud stayed away, he would finally tell the story of the very first falling star anyone on the hill had ever seen. Clover had been waiting for that story all week. She wanted to fly through the echo song so there would be more sky left over for watching. When the call came, Clover sang it louder than anyone, chin tipped so far back she could already see one faint star blinking awake above the ridge. She finished a whole breath before biscuit, which felt like winning something. Then she spun to face Matt, who stood on her other side the way he always did, a little outside the circle, as if he'd left himself an inch of room in case nobody wanted him in it. And she gave him the answer in one fast rush. Good at waiting, good job bye, and turned straight back to the sky to keep watching for stars. Her little clover sprig, the one tucked behind her ear that always tipped down when something in her went small, drooped without her even noticing. But the song didn't feel finished. It hung there, the way a hum feels when you stop in the middle of it. Matt didn't say anything, he just looked at his own hooves, the way he did when something hadn't quite landed, and took a small step further from the circle instead of closer to it. Jesus, who always sat right down in the circle with the lambs, instead of off to the side, watching them, noticed too. But it was biscuit, tuft sticking straight up like she'd thought of the question before she'd even finished asking it Who spoke first? Jesus, can I ask you something? If I only have time to get really, really good at one part of the song, the call part, looking up at you, or the answer part, turning to whoever's next to me, which one matters more? Because there's only so much of me to go around, and I want to get the important half right. Jesus didn't answer in words right away. He turned to Clover instead. Sing the call again, he said. Just the call. Nobody answer back this time. Clover tipped her chin up and sang it exactly the way she had the first time. Maybe even better. But nobody turned. Nobody answered. The last note just stopped, hanging in the air like a question nobody was going to finish. Clover felt her stomach drop in the quiet that followed. What did that feel like? Jesus asked her. Clover thought about it for a long moment. Lonely, she said slowly. Like breathing in and never breathing out. You can't just keep the air, it has to go somewhere. That's it exactly, Jesus said. The call and the answer were never two different songs. They're one song, breathed in two parts, loving me with everything you are, and turning all the way around to the lamb beside you. That isn't two rules to choose between. It's one love going in two directions. Singing the first part beautifully and skipping the second doesn't finish the song. It just stops. Clover turned around. Matt was still standing where she'd left him, a little outside the circle, waiting to see if she'd come back for him. Can I try the answer again? she asked. For real this time? Matt blinked, surprised to be asked twice. Okay, he said. This time Clover didn't just glance his way. She turned her whole body toward him, the way you turn toward someone you actually want to see, and she thought about Matt, really thought about him before she sang. You always wait for everyone else to go first, she sang softly. And nobody ever waits for you. Tonight I'm waiting for you. Matt's ears went very still, the way they did when he was trying hard not to show how much something mattered. Nobody's ever sung that part out loud before, he said. Clover's little sprig, the one that had drooped down against her cheek a moment ago, lifted back up a shade greener than before. Jesus watched the two of them. And Clover, he added gently, that goes for you too. The patience you just gave Matt, the waiting, the really looking, you're allowed to give some of that to yourself, especially on the nights you get the words wrong the first time. Loving your neighbor as yourself means the kindness has to travel both ways. By the time the whole circle had turned and answered properly, lamb by lamb, slow and real, the sky overhead had gone fully dark and crowded with stars. Old Wooly kept his promise. He told them about the very first falling star anyone on Shepherd's Hill had ever seen, his voice rising and dipping like the hill itself. And when it came time for supper, Clover noticed she wasn't in a hurry anymore. So that is what Jesus meant when he said Loving God and loving your neighbor make up the greatest commandment, not two rules to rank, but one love with two directions. A love for God that never turns to notice the lamb standing just outside the circle isn't finished yet, and really turning toward your neighbor is how that love reaches all the way to the ground. That kindness belongs to you too. Tonight, think of one person who feels a little like Matt did, standing a step outside and find a way to turn and answer them. Dear Jesus, thank you for loving me first with your whole heart. Help me love you back with all of mine, and help me turn all the way around to really see the people near me, especially the ones who feel left just outside the circle. Help me be as gentle with myself as I try to be with others. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams, sweet.