John 10:11-18

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the good shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and runs away – and the wolf snatches and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because the hired hand does not care about the sheep.

“I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. I lay down my life for the sheep. There are other sheep who are not part of this fold. I must bring them along also and they will listen to my voice. So that there will be one flock, one shepherd.

“For this reason the Father loves me, because I am willing to lay down my life and take it up again. No one takes it from me. I lay it down of my own accord. I have the power to lay it down and I have the power to take it up again. I have received this command from my father.”

In addition to it being the Fourth Sunday of Easter, today is also, often called, in many places “Good Shepherd Sunday,” where churches all over the world hear some bit of this portion of John’s Gospel where Jesus waxes poetic about his identity as “the Good Shepherd.”

It’s a popular image, I suspect most of us have seen or heard of before: Jesus, with livestock draped over his shoulders. There are paintings and stained glass windows showing as much. There are a few “Good Shepherd” and “Our Shepherd” Lutheran Churches right here in Indianapolis. I was baptized at a Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, in Vickery, Ohio. But I often struggle with what to say about it – or what new thing to say about it – I guess. On one hand it seems like such an obvious cliché. On the other hand, I’ve never met a shepherd, so…

So, today might seem like a stretch. It’s not the first time you’ve heard that from me, and it won’t be the last, but I found myself wondering about “the hired hand” that Jesus mentions in this morning’s Gospel, this time around, as a way of wondering differently about “the Good Shepherd,” too.

Well, here’s “the stretch.” Jesus’ mention of how “the hired hand” doesn’t know or care about the sheep…? How the “hired hand” sees the wolf coming and runs away – leaving the sheep to be snatched and scattered because the “hired hand” doesn’t care about the sheep, in the same way the Good Shepherd does…?

All of that reminded me of George Costanza. (I told you it was a stretch, but after last week – with Jeannie’s fall and all of my waterworks about my Father-in-Law – I thought we could use a laugh this morning, so I’m going with it.) Jesus’ talk about the “hired hand” made me think of this ridiculous bit of Seinfeld, where George Costanza is at a child’s birthday party.

In the show, George smells fire, sees smoke in the kitchen, and runs out of the party, knocking over a clown, an elderly woman with a walker, and pushes several children out of his way, trying to get to the door and escape to safety. He gets accosted by the clown, the party’s host, and emergency workers afterward where he tries, shamefully, to explain himself and defend his actions.

“The hired hand, who is not the good shepherd … sees the wolf coming and runs away…” “The hired hand runs away because the hired hand does not care about the sheep.” Okay. Funny stuff aside.

Part of what Jesus is saying – and had been trying to prove throughout his ministry – is that the world was and is filled with too many “George Costanzas.” I mean, too many “hired hands.” There were and are, it seems to me, too many pretending to share grace, to do God’s bidding, to be Messiah, Savior, GOD … but too many who can’t… who won’t… who don’t… none who could ever measure up to the fullness of love we know in Jesus, the one and only, real, Good Shepherd – which Good Friday’s cross and Easter’s empty tomb prove to be true. The Good Shepherd lays down his life, of his own accord, and takes it back up again, at the Father’s command – all to bring the whole wide world into the flock.

And it’s always helpful to notice where we are in the Bible (John, Chapter 10, remember) in relation to where we are in the church calendar on a day like today. I mean, we’re a few weeks after the resurrection – on the other side of that empty tomb – with the cross and crucifixion in the review mirror and the good news of Easter, hopefully, still ringing in our ears. But today’s Gospel reading takes us back a bit in the life and times of Jesus, just about halfway through John’s version of the story.

When Jesus was talking about the Good Shepherd, he was in the thick of things, but hadn’t made it to Calvary and the cross, just yet. At this point he was still pointing ahead to all of that, and the resurrection was just a pipe dream. Nevertheless, he had been busy…

He’d reluctantly turned water into wine at that wedding in Cana. He’d met secretly with Nicodemus and tried to answer all kinds of questions and curiosities about his status as the Son of Man, sent to save, not condemn, the world. He’d been baptizing like crazy, even more prolifically than John the Baptist, and attracted the suspicious attention of the Pharisees because of it. He’d had that conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well – the one who’d been married five times? – which raised a lot of eyebrows, in and of itself.

He’d saved the life of a royal official’s son, helped a lame man walk out of the healing pool in Jerusalem, fed 5,000 people on the side of a hill, saved the life of that woman who’d been caught in adultery, given sight back to a blind beggar, and, of course, there was all sorts of preaching and teaching and more in the meantime.

And THEN, today, he gets to this talk about sheep and hired hands and what it means to be a – to be THE – Good Shepherd.

All of this is to say, I think that – in the midst of his very prolific life and ministry but long before his death and resurrection – Jesus is still trying to prove who he is and how he came to be in the world. And he’s still trying to convince people – in advance of the crucifixion and long before the resurrection – that he was different … better … up to the challenge … faithful … the one they were waiting for, whether they knew it or not.

He was no hired hand. He was the real deal. He would not leave them orphaned, or scattered, or snatched from the grip of God’s grace. He wasn’t in this for himself. He was following God’s lead. He would answer God’s call. He was the one and only, Good Shepherd who could be trusted above all else.

And what was supposed to be their hope in advance of the resurrection is our hope, still, on the other side of the empty tomb. Jesus stands over and above the politicians, the pundits, the pastors, the powers-that-be – and even Tay Tay and all of her tortured poets.

What we have in this good and gracious shepherd is one who comes down, into our world and down into our lives with a love and a loyalty like the world doesn’t offer – a love and a loyalty none of us deserves. When we let that love guide us and when we follow where it leads, we’ll find ourselves never lost, but found; never scattered but gathered together; never snatched away or trampled underfoot, but lifted up, welcomed back, carried home to safety, joy, hope and peace in the very presence of God – no matter what tries to snatch us or scatter us along the way.

Amen

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.”

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