The Good Shepherd

Beth Newman
May 14, 2006
The Good Shepherd
John 10:11-18

God of love, whom Jesus knew as a caring parent, remind us of your commandments that it may become our heart’s most earnest desire to pass on your love in truth and action.  Grant us courage to risk even life itself that others may see Christ abiding in us, and thus come to know your goodness and mercy.  Amen.

            Every other Thursday afternoon, Tess and I go over to Miss Genelda’s house.  Miss Genelda has a special room, that she calls her atrium, where she teaches “The Catechesis of the Good Shepherd,” a program developed within the Episcopal Church, designed to teach children some of the core stories of the Christian faith with some of the learning techniques often used in Montessori Kindergarten programs.  It’s very hands on.  Tess and one of her little friends who joins us there often prepare tiny vases with pansies in them for the prayer table.  Miss Genelda will light a candle and read them a simple story out of the Bible.  We’ll sing “Jesus Loves Me,” and then have a simple prayer.  The one story we consistently use, by design, is that of the Good Shepherd.  In fact, Miss Genelda has a wooden play set, with a circular pen, and a gate that swings open, four or five painted sheep on little wooden stands, and a figure of the Good Shepherd, with one more sheep slung over his shoulders, just like we’d imagine a young, innocent David, coming from the fields, unaware that he will soon be anointed King of Israel.  The girls will take the sheep and put them in the pen, and then out of the pen, in and out, in and out, like two year olds will do.  It’s great fun to watch them, through play and interaction, lean what it means to claimed by the one who promises to watch over us like a shepherd watches over his sheep.
            With every generation our culture moves further and further away from our agrarian roots, at yet this image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd still captures our imagination in a palpable way.  “The Lord is My Shepherd, I shall not want.”  We long to lie down in green pastures, be led beside still waters, and have our souls restored.  The promise is, that even when we walk through dark valleys, God will be near to us and care for us.  We will be comforted and know no fear.  Some of us have known dark valleys, and can testify to the presence of God, and the comfort that indeed comes with that presence. 
            When Jesus says that he is the Good Shepherd, he is identifying himself with all the biblical imagery that describes God as the Good Shepherd.  He’s saying “That’s me.  This is who I am.  I care for my sheep, I rescue them when they are lost, I feed them and tend to them.”  Funny, how Jesus often seems to simplify things and then complicate them, both at the same time.  Simple in that Jesus is really not that hard to figure out, complicated in that when we encounter who he truly is, we are changed to the core and know that we can never be the same. 
            Yet, we do this imagery of Jesus as the Good Shepherd an injustice when we keep our understanding of it on a sentimental level, on the level that young children might understand.  We know that the words “I am the Good Shepherd,” would work well on a Hallmark card we might send to someone who is hurting or grieving.  But Jesus doesn’t stop there, with that basic description.  His very next words take the image of the Good Shepherd to new places, for his very next words are these, “The Good Shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”  Well now, if we were dealing with just your run of the mill shepherd, the metaphor would completely fall apart with these words.  What good is a dead shepherd to a flock who would be even more vulnerable to attack once the shepherd is gone?  Not much good.  But of course there is more going on, because this is no ordinary shepherd, is it?  How is he unordinary?  He is not a hired hand for one thing, because the hired hand only thinks about his self-interest.  When the wolves come for the sheep, the hired hand runs away, because all her cares about is what in it for him and saving himself.  The sheep are vulnerable with the hired hand, because the care of the hired hand cannot be trusted. 
            But that is not our Good Shepherd.  “I am the Good Shepherd,” says Jesus.  I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.  And I lay down my life for the sheep.” Jesus knows God, Jesus knows the sheep.  Jesus claims the sheep as his own.  He isn’t talking about the kind of knowing that we do in our heads, the kind of knowing that memorizes multiplication tables or people’s names or how to get there from here.  This knowing is close and personal.  The intimacy that Jesus shares with both God and the sheep means something concrete in the lives of the sheep.  They know to follow the shepherds voice, to trust that voice, and depend on the care that comes from that voice.
            Jesus talks about being the Good Shepherd, and also about laying down his life for the sheep, and we are supposed to think about his crucifixion and resurrection, and understand that because our Good Shepherd is not a hired hand but literally God himself, even the death of the shepherd does not leave the sheep abandoned, because the one who dies has the power to live again.  And to live even in the darkest of our dark valleys.
            So what does this mean for us?  I hope it means for you and for me that we understand and see ourselves as part of Jesus’ flock.  But if I’m in the flock, and I look around, I’m quick to figure out it’s not just about my Jesus, my Good Shepherd.  I’m looking around and seeing that there are other sheep in the flock.  In fact, Jesus says, “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold.  I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice.”  Again, if we cling to the sentimentality of the imagery at work here, we might miss some of the deeper meaning of the text.  There’s one flock, and I may be in it, but so are the others I look around and see, and there are more who are not here, whom Jesus still claims as his own.  I’m in the flock, but it’s Jesus calls the flock, and when it all boils down to it.  I’m not the shepherd.  I don’t get to decide how the flock is called together or who is welcome.  Because, all I am is nothing more nothing more than just a half-witted, dare I say dumb, needy, dependant sheep.
            I don’t know about you, but when I think about it, I find that being called a sheep pretty humbling.  Those of you who have been around sheep more than I have have told me that they are not the brightest of God’s creatures.  In fact there pretty much right there at the bottom of the list.  The sheep need the shepherd for pretty much everything.  Hilda Hobson was telling stories the other night at Bible study about growing up on a farm, and how, when it would snow, her dad would have to go out and plow a path through the snow to a creek, and then herd the sheep to the creek so that they would not go thirsty while the snow was on the ground.  Sometimes a big sheep would just simply topple over, and be unable to right itself without outside, human help.  The truth is sheep are pretty helpless without a shepherd, but that shepherd has to know those sheep, understand how they are vulnerable, know what they truly need, not what they might think they need, in order to be a Good Shepherd to them.
            Do I need a shepherd? Absolutely.  Do I act like I need a shepherd?  Nope, not usually.  Because then I’d have to let down the façade that I’d prefer to keep.  I’d have to be known intimately, warts, wounds and all.  I’d have to risk vulnerability, I’d have to trust, instead of trying to control.  But if I am indeed called to live this way, there is no way I can live this way with Jesus and not live out my vulnerability with you, too.  Yet there are both horizontal and vertical implications to this metaphor of the Good Shepherd that we simply cannot ignore.  Jesus lives in relationship to God and too the sheep.  He knows both intimately, and cares for the sheep intimately.  How can we hear how he stands at the intersection of these relationships and not try to do the same? 
            I believe that we are called to know one another intimately and care for one another intimately, the way the Good Shepherd knows us and cares for us.  Knowing, not just our street addresses or phone numbers, or who “your people” are, but rather the kind of knowing that enables us to truly care for one another.  Here is the way one pastor puts it.  “I do not doubt that the members of my congregation love one another; I just want them to say it.  But voicing our commitment is risky and profoundly countercultural.  Our culture runs on fear and disordered desire.  If we aren’t hungry for something, we won’t buy it.  If we aren’t afraid, we won’t work as hard.  What happens if a little congregation breaks the rules and removes the fear by promising to care for one another?  We might reveal the risen Son of God, the Good Shepherd, the one who lays down his life for his sheep.  With a living God loose in the world, we might no longer live in fear, and no longer believe that the world runs only when people look out solely for themselves.  We might start to look out for one another, and violate one of the cardinal rules of our economic order. . . .  That’s what can happen when people believe that the future is not theirs to secure, but belongs in the keeping of the Good Shepherd.  They begin to live without fear.”
            The truth is, I think you are a lot like the congregation described here, you all as a congregation, are pretty good at knowing each other and loving each other and taking care of each other. I have come to treasure that about you.  You all know each other pretty well, know your strengths and shortcomings, you are getting to know me and mine, as well.  Let’s just hope that we can continue to be forgiving and understanding because none of us is perfect.  The gift, I’m beginning to see, in being a small congregation is that, for better or worse, not much goes unnoticed.  It would be very hard to be here, as a part of this church family, and not be known. 
            But I know that this church has lived with some fear, the fear of dying away as a congregation.  One of the reasons I’m called here to be your pastor is to help you grow in numbers, and reverse that trend.  But what I know is that most of that growth will happen, not because of me, but because of us, as we move out of that place of fear and continue to grow as a place where folks can come and explore their sheepiness, if you will, their deep and profound dependence on God, a place where we all can come to care and to be cared for.   If we can continue to do that, then I believe we will grow.  We might not grow real fast, but we will grow well, because it will be the kind of authentic growth that understands that our salvation, our wholeness, is wrapped up in one another.  That none of us is a flock unto ourselves.  And we get to know Jesus in one another, and in the stranger, the new sheep that comes into our midst.  We’ve got to claim one another, and care for one another, but not in a way that closes us down, but rather opens us up to those new folks who come and want to be a part of our family.
            Jesus is telling us again today that he is still the Good Shepherd.  That’s sounds nice and sweet on the surface, but when we plumb the depths of what he means, we begin to understand what a profound statement he makes when he says this.  We are reminded that, yes, we are in his care.  We are reminded that we are also in desperate need of his care, in ways we do not fully even understand, but that we begin to understand when we care for one another, when we let our guard down and acknowledge that we are, indeed, in need.  And when we open our care to those who come, responding to the voice of the shepherd, and long to be a part of our family, we live out our conviction that our Good Shepherd is trust-worth, he knows us deeply and intimately, and that our future is secure with him.