The Good Shepherd

John 10:1-10

[Jesus said,] “Very truly I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought them out, he goes ahead of them and they follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him, because they do not know the voice of strangers.”

Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was trying to say to them. So he said to them again, “Very truly I tell you, I am the shepherd of the sheep. Everyone who came before me were thieves and bandits, but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Everyone who hears my voice will be saved, and they will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to kill and to steal and to destroy. I came so that they may have life and have it abundantly.”

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I’ve listened to the first two episodes of Nadia Bolz-Weber’s new podcast. It’s called “The Confessional” and so far – again, just two episodes in – it’s been interesting. It’s not safe for work or if the kids are around, unless your co-workers or kids are okay with foul language, and some very adult themes, so consider that however you need to.

Nadia Bolz-Weber says “The Confessional” is meant to be like a “washing machine for your shame and secrets,” a chance for guests and callers to share experiences from their lives they’re not proud of. She even gives a phone number at the end of each episode which you can call, make a confession of your own, and possibly have that confession played on the podcast for all of her listeners to hear. (The podcast walks this strange, fine line between holy and hokey, for me, so far, because of that, but it’s mostly holy, and pretty compelling.)

Anyway, Nadia’s first guest was Megan Phelps-Roper, who is a former member of the Westboro Baptist Church, which was started by her grandfather and made up, mostly, I believe, of his offspring and members of Megan’s extended family. Westboro Baptist Church, for those of you who don’t know or maybe haven’t heard about in a while, is a congregation of Christians who find it meaningful to protest publicly about how much God hates gay people. They also stage protests at funerals for soldiers by way of chants and signs and songs. They have a pretty active online presence, too, so I went to their website yesterday, just for the heck of it, and found out they’re pretty certain the Coronavirus is God’s wrathful judgment upon an unfaithful people. So, they’re a fun bunch who give Christianity and Church and Faith and Jesus, actually, a bad name, in my opinion.

But, Megan Phelps-Roper was on “The Confessional” podcast – and I’ve heard her speak on other occasions, too – to renounce that part of her life and to explain how she came to see her faith and her God in a different, more gracious, loving sort of light, in spite of how she was raised. Oddly enough, she says what broke the ice for this new way of knowing God, was the concern showed for her – in spite of her harsh and hard-hearted ways – by followers on Twitter, who genuinely worried about someone who could harbor so much hate in their heart, and were willing to engage that with her.

Nadia’s second guest was Lenny Duncan, an African-American pastor in the ELCA, who recently wrote a book called, Dear Church: A Love Letter from a Black Preacher to the Whitest Denomination in the U.S. (A handful of us at Cross of Grace have actually read and discussed his book, as part of our study of race relations.) Pastor Duncan has quite a story to tell about a childhood of abuse, a life of addiction, prostitution, incarceration, and the ramifications of all of that which resulted in the broken – but now mended – relationships between his daughter and her mother. (Duncan and his then-girlfriend became pregnant when he was 19 and she was 17, before he effectively disappeared for about 13 years, before getting his you-know-what together, and working to restore that relationship.)

Lenny Duncan was on “The Confessional” podcast to talk about the moments in his life when he was the most lost and broken (all of that addiction, prostitution, and incarceration, for example), but how he found grace and gentleness and love from others, despite his incapacity to share that same kind of grace and gentleness and love in return. He seems to have found all of that by way of 12-step recovery programs, his sponsors there, and, of course, through the forgiveness of his wife and partner and the daughter they created – and who they now love and care for, together.

So I thought about these two stories and about “The Confessional” as I read this morning’s Gospel and all of Jesus’ words about what it means to hear the voice of the Good Shepherd; to be called by name; to be fully known; to be led out, in safety, by the Shepherd of the sheep; and to follow that lead into a life of faith and joy. Or, as Jesus says it, “Everyone who hears my voice will be saved, and they will come in and go out and find pasture.”

See, I’m inclined to see the leaders of that Westboro Baptist Church as “strangers,” “thieves,” and “bandits” – to use Jesus’ other words. I see them as those who corrupt the grace and good news of God’s love in Jesus and lead people astray, despite their best intentions. Their own people – and anyone else who finds that sort of theology compelling – are being misled and misguided and manipulated into obedience that really isn’t obedience because it comes by way of force and fear, rather than through faith and free will.

On the other hand, remember, it took just a couple of compassionate, curious, patient voices on Twitter, of all things, to tap into the disconnect that Megan Phelps-Roper was feeling about her life in that church and about her experience in the world – and then to lead her out and into a different kind of life and faith, altogether.

Pastor Lenny Duncan talks about having his “then-estranged-girlfriend-now-wife” accept his attempt to make amends for all of the harm he had caused her. She was a voice of grace and compassion and patience, too – over the course of many months and years, I believe – who helped to lead him away from an old way of being in the world to a new one, again a life of “coming and going and finding pasture,” as Jesus would say; and finding peace and forgiveness and mercy and love, too, in a way he hadn’t known before.

All of this is to say, I think the voice of Christ, our Good Shepherd, shows up in a lot of surprising ways in this world. Lenny Duncan heard it from AA and sponsors and his family, in the end. Megan Phelps-Roper heard it from strangers on social media, for goodness’ sake. And I imagine – I hope – we’ve all heard it at some point along the way, too. In the forgiveness offered from a parent or a child. In a lesson learned by way of a teacher or boss or coach. In the mercy shared by a friend. In the forgiveness and second chances that come from the spouses, lovers, and partners who share our lives.

And I hope you hear it here, too. At church, I mean. From your pastors, in worship.

See, the really cool thing Nadia Bolz-Weber does at the end of each podcast, is she offers a blessing… a benediction… tailor-made for her guest. These blessings are personal and beautiful and heartfelt and holy, even if they are offered so publicly by way of a podcast. They are blessings that address the story of each person’s life in a way that it’s clear they have been heard and that they are known – in all of their flaws, and failings, and faithfulness – and that they are understood and worthy of such a blessing… worthy of such a confirmation of grace… worthy of such an expression of loving-kindness.

It’s what we’re meant to hear and feel every time we make our confession as a community of believers and receive our forgiveness, here. It’s what we’re meant to hear and feel every time we touch the waters of our baptism and remember the grace and welcome that are ours because of it. And it’s what we’re meant to hear and feel every time we eat the bread and drink the wine of Holy Communion, and are filled up with our forgiveness and promised redemption because of it.

I think it’s how we’re supposed to hear and understand God’s voice, in Jesus, finding us when we need it, most. It’s a voice that knows our story in all of its fullness – the sinful and the saintly; the broken and the beautiful – all of our flaws and our faithfulness. Because once we’ve followed the sound of that voice; once we’ve heard that kind of grace and mercy and forgiveness and love for ourselves – and believed it – we can become and we can be that voice for others – for the likes of Megan or Lenny or for that classmate or co-worker or neighbor or friend, just the same. And then we will walk, together with more of God’s children, along paths and into pastures of abundant life.

Amen

Master Class on the Emmaus Road

Luke 24:13-35

That same day two of his disciples were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem and they were talking about all the things that had taken place there. Suddenly, Jesus himself came near and went with them but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. He said to them, “What are you discussing as you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him saying, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know about the things that have taken place there in these days?” Jesus said to him, “What things?”

They said, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in word and deed before God and all the people. And about how our chief priests and leaders had him handed over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped he would be the one to redeem Israel. Moreover, some women from our group went to the tomb early this morning and when they did not find his body there, they came back and said that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some men from our group went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not find him.”

Jesus said to them, “How foolish you are and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets had declared. Was it not necessary for the Messiah to suffer in this way and then enter into his glory?” Then, beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted for them the things about himself in all the scriptures.

When they came near the village to which they were going, Jesus walked ahead of them as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay here with us. For the day is almost over and night has come.” So Jesus went in and stayed with them. While he was at the table with them, he took bread, broke it and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him. And he vanished from their sight.

That very hour, they got up and returned to Jerusalem. They found the eleven and their friends and they were saying, “He is alive and he has appeared to Peter.” Then they told them about what had happened on the road and about how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

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I love this walk to Emmaus story. It might be one of my favorites and I’ve talked about it before as a microcosm or a snapshot of our faith’s journey in the world because it just holds so much emotion and theology and references to the Scriptural narrative. I mean, we don’t get to hear it all, but we’re told that Jesus interprets for his friends the things about himself in ALL of Scripture, it happens just after the resurrection, and right before “he is made known to them in the breaking of bread.” There’s just so much to chew on and to choose from and to wonder about in this story.

Again, all of this takes place just after Easter’s resurrection with these two sad, broken, pitiful souls leaving Jerusalem with their tails between their legs, spiritually decimated by what they witnessed on Good Friday and because they hadn’t yet heard the rest of the story.

And then he shows up, unannounced and unrecognizable to their weary eyes and broken spirits. Maybe Jesus was in disguise, afraid of what might happen if the wrong people recognized him. Maybe their eyes were swollen shut and filled with tears. Maybe they were all wearing masks, covering their mouths and noses, to keep from spreading a virus, who knows?

Whatever the case, they tell this supposed stranger what they know and how they feel about all that had just happened to their friend, Jesus, from Nazareth – how he was crucified, died and was buried, even though they thought he was going to be the one to redeem Israel; to fix everything and save the day. And then he tells them what he knows – and what they should have remembered – if they’d been paying attention: all the prophecies and predictions and promises about the coming of the Messiah, from throughout the Hebrew Scriptures. And then they invite him over for dinner and ask him to stick around for the night, rather than to keep walking to wherever he may have gone next.

And that’s when they recognize him – at the table… over dinner… in the breaking of the bread and, presumably, in the sharing of some wine. Jesus breaks bread with them and they finally see him for who he is – their Messiah, their salvation, their forgiveness, their redemption, their reason for living in this life and for the next.

But I want to back up for a minute – or maybe about seven miles, according to the story – and I want to wonder, in a different way, about this bit of Luke’s Gospel and this experience with Jesus, outside of Jerusalem, with those two, otherwise unknown disciples. I don’t want to wonder so much about the broad scope of this story and all it may have to say about the sweeping narrative of Scripture or about how it may apply to the grand experience of our faith’s journey. I don’t even want to talk about what I THOUGHT I was going to talk about today – how it speaks to the significance of Holy Communion for the practice of our faith. I’ve done that before a handful of times, and we’ll share communion later, because of it.

But I found myself wondering instead, this time around, about the simple act and example of patience, humility, and compassion Jesus showed to those disciples on the road that day. And how that’s a pretty practical, holy lesson for all of us, still.

See, these two friends Jesus meets on the Road to Emmaus weren’t part of the original twelve, closest followers of Jesus. All of them, those twelve, I mean – minus Judas Iscariot, of course – were holed-up in a room somewhere, back in Jerusalem. So these two – Cleopas who isn’t mentioned anywhere else in all of Scripture and his pal who isn’t even worthy of a name, apparently – couldn’t have been a part of that inner circle.

So maybe these two are followers on the fringe; late-comers to the Jesus movement. Maybe they didn’t get to sit at the table with the cool kids, like Peter, James, John, or Mary.

Maybe these two weren’t all-in on this Jesus of Nazareth thing, yet … you know, they’d been curious, found him interesting, showed up to check things out, but hadn’t made an offering, or signed up for a class, just yet. Maybe they weren’t full-on Partners in Mission.

Maybe they were from Emmaus, and maybe Emmaus was on the wrong side of the tracks, full of subsidized housing or something…  maybe they drank too much…  maybe they voted differently than the rest of the disciples…  maybe not everyone approved of their relationship or their living arrangement or whatever.

The point is, they weren’t part of the movers and shakers in Jesus’ core of disciples – or they would have been in Jerusalem, and we would have known their names. But they were just as broken and dismayed by the hopes that had been dashed. They were just as lost and alone and afraid of what they’d witnessed and they were just as unsure about what was coming next. And Jesus showed up for them, just as surely as he did for the eleven, back in Jerusalem.

And this is what I love about the Jesus I see on the Road to Emmaus this time around: just like he did for Mary outside the tomb… just like he did for Peter, sometime before he set out for the Emmaus Road… Jesus shows up for those on the fringes; on the outside; for the “least of these,” you might say. And so should we.

If I were Jesus, I might have gone to have a word Pontius Pilate. I might have showed myself to the Chief Priest. I might have made myself known to the soldiers who crucified me. I would have certainly surprised the hell out of Judas and asked him if his little deal with the Devil was worth it, in the end.

But, true to form, Jesus goes after the lost and alone and broken. And he doesn’t dance or gloat or boast. He very literally, simply walks with them. He listens to their struggle and he hears about their sadness. He tells them what he knows. He reminds them about who they are and of what they believe, deep down in their heart of hearts. And he let’s them remember… and see for themselves... and then he feeds them, just like he had always done and just like he promised he would do.

And that’s how, ultimately, they come to see, again, clearly, what God had done – and was willing to do – for them.

So what if this is nothing more than a Master Class in evangelism and outreach for us in these days after Easter? What if this is God, in Jesus, showing us what it looks like to share grace and good news – no gloating… not boasting… no rubbing their noses in what people don’t know or understand or believe or want, even.

Just walking alongside people who are hurting and lonely and searching for love and purpose in their life…

Just listening to their story. Just acknowledging their struggles and their celebrations. Just sharing in their uncertainty and grief and questions.

Just staying with them – even when we have other places to be or better things to do, sometimes.

Just breaking bread and sharing wine and letting God’s mercy and grace do the heavy lifting of revealing the love we already know and have already received in more ways than we can count.

So, let’s go after the lost and alone and broken with this good news, in a new way, this time around. I mean I love you all – don’t get me wrong – and I’m under no delusion that we have all of this figured out or that there aren’t plenty of lost, lonely, broken souls in our own inner circle. But there is a world full of people whose names we don’t know, yet, who feel lost and hungry for something more than what the world is feeding them.

And we have the Bread of Life to share. We have grace upon grace to offer. We have roads to travel that others refuse to walk. And we are the Body of Christ in the world, you and I, believe it or not. I can make that pretty hard for people to see sometimes, to be honest. But it’s true.

But it’s also true that God’s love will be made known through the bread we break, when we share it freely… God’s love will be made known through the forgiveness we offer… God’s love will be made known through the new life and second chances we promise… God’s love will be made known when we walk this walk with patience, humility, and compassion… and God’s love will be made known when we look for and learn from Jesus who walks with us and shows us this kind of love, every step of the way.

Amen