You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!
Every
year, the fourth Sunday of the Easter season (which is today) is designated as
Good Shepherd Sunday. It is a turning
point in our seeking to understand the resurrection. Today we shift from an historical recounting
of the Easter events– the empty tomb and the appearance stories – and reflect
on its Christology, that is, on the meaning of it all.
And
so, on this Good Shepherd Sunday, we began worship by reading the 23rd
Psalm, and the hymns we sing today will all have a shepherd theme. And we read, as we do most every year, this
passage from the Gospel of John which focuses us on one of the best-loved sayings
of Jesus: “I am the Good Shepherd.”
Of
course, when we hear that label that Jesus gave himself, we tend to conjure up
all sort of bucolic images of our rabbi flitting happily through green meadows,
tending the frolicking springtime lambs.
Often, in our mind’s eye, Jesus is holding one of the darling little
pets on his shoulders.
One
blogger I read this week even went so far as to research images of Jesus as the
Good Shepherd. Here is what he
found: “Painting after painting after painting
after painting, all in a sort of soft focus, with Jesus in the long robe,
immaculate beard standing in the middle of a beautiful field or stunning
valley, shepherd’s crook in one hand, little lamb in the other, being looked on
by adoring and loving sheep and just the hint of a loving smile on the lips of
the Savior. You know the type of image as well as I do. There must be thousands
– if not millions – of pictures like that; what we might call the ‘Sunday
School image’ of Jesus.”
And
the poetry is enough to make you gag:
Tender Shepherd, Tender Shepherd,
Let me help you count your sheep.
One in the meadow, one in the garden,
One in the nursery fast asleep.
` Or
there is this one:
The Good Shepherd
always walks in front
Gently leading the
way,
Never behind
driving or pushing,
But lovingly
guiding each day;
They are both certainly lovely thoughts,
but hardly in keeping with the context of the Gospel narrative. I mean, do you have any idea of the
circumstances during which the Gospel writer said that Jesus spoke these
timeless words– and how his listeners were reacting? Well, first off, he had just healed a blind
man by slapping a couple of mud pies over his eyes – on the Sabbath, no
less. Needless to say, the Pharisees
were jumping all over him.
And Jesus’ response was to call himself
a shepherd, a good one at that. Can you
believe it? When that word “shepherd”
was a common term for rulers/kings across the Middle East? When Yahweh/God was commonly referred to as
the Shepherd of Israel and the Jewish people as God’s sheep? When even the most simple-minded Jew and
certainly every Pharisee knew that the great King David had started out as a
shepherd boy? What was Jesus
thinking? No wonder the Pharisees
thought he was demon-possessed or just raving mad. No wonder they thought he might be dangerous
some day.
Of course, everything Jesus said about
good shepherds was true. They would
put their sheep first above all else, and even sacrifice themselves, if
necessary –
not like a hired
hand who would run off at the first sight of a wolf, a hired hand who was in it
only for the money. A good shepherd would
know his sheep, and the sheep would know the sound of his voice calling them
home.
And there would be no weighing
of the alternatives in good shepherding.
That is, as Reformed Church pastor Scott Hoezee writes, “A cost-benefit
analysis would never cause the shepherd to leave the 99 sheep on their own for
a few minutes in favor of finding the one lost lamb. If the shepherd had a
risk-management committee, they would never advise him to let the wolf kill the
shepherd but would say you could better survive to fight another day even if
for the time being the wolf nabbed a sheep or two.”
Good shepherds had all those
attributes. Everyone knew that. But - to apply that term to himself? Why, healing that blind man on the Sabbath
should have been the least of Jesus’ worries.
It was not rocket science to surmise
that all he had spouted about shepherds was a critique of the Pharisees. After all, they were the ones whom everyone
recognized as the shepherds of the Jewish people. And, as Jesus
expanded his metaphor, they were also the ones who had let down the flock. They were the ones who were in the pocket of
the Roman Empire, like hired hands, in it for the money.
But
what must have really infuriated the Pharisees and Temple leaders was Jesus’
claim about bringing those other sheep – the outsiders – into the fold. Imagine – God’s work not done yet!? That was
unfathomable.
Here
is how Lutheran pastor, Ben Squires, pictured the scene: “Who was this Jesus guy? How could Jesus say
that God’s kingdom would include the Gentiles, the pagans, the unclean, the
uncircumcised? God’s kingdom had been given to the Jews. The Jews were God’s
chosen people. Certainly God wouldn’t defile Himself by letting the Gentiles
come into the kingdom, into the flock. How dare Jesus imply that God would
stoop that low!
(Today
we may have a hard time remembering that such a perspective would be)
scandalous, blasphemous, devilish to the Pharisees – (but it was!). Jesus was
busting their idea of God’s kingdom, and the Pharisees were furious with Him.”
It
is this idea of other sheep (outsiders, if you will) coming into the fold that
I want to focus on for just a few minutes – but not to give you a quick course
on the need for evangelism. I want to
look at it from a different perspective, one that reminds me of a story I read
this past week. It took place in
Washington State where, each day, the writer, a clergy person, passed a field
near a river with a flock of sheep.
He
writes: “if you have visited northwest Washington, you know that there is
something that happens there a lot. It sort of drizzles for about six months,
rains real raindrops for a few more, threatens to rain for about a
month-and-a-half, and is absolutely gorgeous the rest of the time….
Well,
as I say (he goes on), the sheep lived in a pasture next to a river, and in
December there was an event that happened in that area every year or two: the
river would flood. Warm heavy rains would melt the snow that had accumulated in
the Cascade Mountains, and the rivers would rise. At my church, people would
call in and tell me that one or the other bridges was closed until there was
only one bridge left getting out of town.
One
such time, as I packed up and as I made my way out of the flooding area, I
couldn’t believe my eyes. There were several sheep from the flock that were
stranded on a small hill, the highest point of the pasture. They were
surrounded by water that was quickly rising.
It was then I
saw an even stranger sight. One of the members of my congregation, Jerry, one
of my favorite bachelor farmers, was riding down Main Street. But what was
unusual was that he was not driving his car or tractor, or even his usual
bicycle; he was driving his boat. And inside the boat with him was a sopping
wet sheep.
Jerry was
always up for anything, and so it should have been no surprise to me that he
would go out in his little fishing boat picking up stranded animals. I watched
with fascination as he picked up the stranded sheep a couple at a time and
delivered them to the safety of a nearby pasture on high ground. As I made my
way over to that pasture, I saw a scene that looked like it came out of Noah’s
ark.
Getting out of
the car I was greeted by the vision of some cows that must have made their way
up to the high ground, a couple goats, and now, with Jerry’s addition of a few
more sheep—a flock of sheep. This newly formed flock appeared to be from
several farms. Yet they huddled together as one, keeping warm and
supporting each other with noisy “baaaaaas.’” And I would add moooo’s and
whatever noise goats make – “Mahhh,” I guess.
From different farms, different habits, different species – all jostling
and moving about to make room on the high ground for whatever might show up
next.
The text in
the Gospel about other sheep coming into the fold is not about evangelism. It is about acceptance and inclusion and
common ground.
All the
different animals together on that hill, safe from the rising water, is a
marvelous image, and it raises an important question for me. How good are we at making room for others –
in this church, but also in our own lives?
How good are we at welcoming others who look at life differently, who
experience life in ways we do not? How
good are we at trusting that the high ground is big enough for all of us, that
God’s love is abundant enough to enfold all of us – Christians right, left, and
center, Jews, Muslims? How good are we
at affirming that what has the potential to hold us all together is far greater
than that which seems to drive us apart?
And what could
possibly have that potential to hold us together is our fractured and divided
world, you might ask? Compassion: That compassion which is the foundation of
the greatest commandment that Jesus gave us – and is fundamental to every major
religion: Be compassionate as God is
compassionate.
“Do unto others as you would have them do unto
you.” We know it as Christianity’s
Golden Rule.
“What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor.
This is the whole Torah; all the rest is commentary. Go and learn it.” Judaism
“Not one of you truly believes until you wish for
others
what you wish for yourself.”
Islam
“Regard your neighbor's gain as your own gain and your
neighbor's loss as your own loss.”
Taoism
“This is the sum of duty: do not do to others what
would cause pain if done to you.”
Hinduism
“Treat not others in ways that you yourself would find
hurtful.” Buddhism
And so on and so on.
During our
Lenten Study this year, one evening we looked at “The Charter of
Compassion.” Karen Armstrong, a renowned
writer and former British nun, penned it, drawing on her extensive research and
experience with world religions.
It
begins: “The principle of compassion lies at the heart of
all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, calling us always to treat all
others as we wish to be treated ourselves.”
It continues, “Compassion impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate
the suffering of our fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the center of
our world and put another there, and to honor the inviolable sanctity of every
single human being, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute
justice, equity and respect.” Could our
“good shepherd” at its most basic be the “compassionate” shepherd?
“I
am the compassionate shepherd….I have other sheep that do not belong to this
fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will
be one flock and one shepherd.”
Andrew Bowen is a man who studied and
practiced a different religion for each month of a year. Here is what he wrote in his blog: “Our religions are complicated. Our politics
are complicated. Our relationships are complicated. We are complicated. But
it doesn’t have to be. We can show love and compassion. We can reconcile with
one another. We are capable of removing the walls between us.”
Now
I am not advocating a “one size fits all” global religion. However, I am calling for a recognition that
our survival depends on an interfaith perspective. I am saying that, if we are
truly followers of Jesus, we cannot be exclusive. We cannot be fearful of and
hate Muslims. We can be prejudiced
against Jews. If we are faithful Christians, then we need to take Jesus at his
word. One flock. One shepherd.
Linked by compassion. Enough of
God’s love to enfold everyone. All embracing,
ecumenical, and inter-faithful. One
flock. One shepherd: So move over – and make room.
By Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C.
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