Sermons

"We Are Not The Gate" – John 10:1-10

Three keys to the effective use of metaphors in language is to keep them simple, not read too much into them, and not layer metaphors on top of one another. Or else you end up with sayings like these:
“He’s not the sharpest bulb in the box”
“She’s a wolf in cheap clothing”
“You could have knocked me over with a fender”
“I can read him like the back of my book”
or my favorite, “These hemorrhoids are a real pain in the neck”

The metaphors found in the Gospel of John are not quite as funny as these, but they are every bit as confusing. In the span of just a few verses an elaborate picture is painted involving sheep, a shepherd, a gatekeeper, a gate, and thieves and bandits. Unfortunately, it’s not immediately clear just what exactly this illustration is trying to convey.

There are some epic metaphorical “I am” statements in John’s gospel, such as:
“I am the bread of life”
“I am the light of the world”
“I am the resurrection and the life”
“I am the way, the truth, and the life”
“I am the true vine”
and, “I am the good shepherd”

Most of us are probably familiar with the metaphor of Jesus as the Good Shepherd. The image of a shepherd was common to that time and its repeated use throughout the Hebrew Scriptures almost always referred to a king. We can wrap our minds around the idea of Jesus as a shepherd – someone who guides us, leads us, battles enemies on our behalf, keeps us from running off (or goes after us when we do run off, picking us up in his strong arms and carrying us back to the flock). A preacher can do a lot with the image of Jesus as a shepherd. Unfortunately, in the verses before us today, Jesus doesn’t identify himself as the shepherd (that comes a few verses later). Instead, we hear of one of Jesus’ lesser known “I am” statements – “I am the gate.”

At first glance, this metaphor is the least impressive of the other options. Surely Jesus would not have chosen to include this moniker on his business cards. Not only is it odd-sounding, but it’s confusing. Jesus identifies as both the shepherd and the gate. So we return to verse 2, which reads as follows, “The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep.” So its apparent meaning is, “I enter by myself and I am me.” Or, in the immortal words of Popeye, “I yam who I yam.”

Clear as mud, right?

This metaphor only started making sense to me when I looked at it from a different angle. If Jesus is the gate, that means that we are not the gate. This, I think, is the heart of Jesus’ argument especially in light of the context of the story. His awkward metaphor is directed to the Pharisees, immediately after the episode where Jesus restored the sight of a blind man. Upholding the religious understanding of the time, the Pharisees had argued that the man was blind because of some great sin and that he did not deserve to be healed. If it were up to the Pharisees they would have shut the gate on the blind man. The Pharisees also argued that Jesus had no right to heal the blind man because it was a sabbath day. If it were up to the Pharisees they would have shut the gate on Jesus.

For the Pharisees, seeing a man born blind (which they believed was a punishment for some sin) have his sight restored was inconceivable and against every religious impulse in their body. For the Pharisees, seeing a miraculous event take place on a religiously-mandated day of rest was inconceivable and against every religious impulse in their body. But, as Jesus points out, the reason they thought such miracles inconceivable and against every religious impulse in their body was because they, in fact, were the ones who were blind. Jesus not only accuses them of being blind, but also refers to them as thieves and bandits.

I don’t mean to portray the Pharisees as irrational and unsympathetic villains. Their impulse to shut the gate when they felt threatened is a common impulse we share. If we were to witness an event that went against every religious impulse we had, we would close ranks, become hostile, make sharp distinctions between “us” and “them” and shut the gate in an effort for self-preservation. Unfortunately, this is not a hypothetical situation. In fact, many of you are here today because you experienced this closing of the ranks and gate-shutting in other churches when they felt that their religious or political sensibilities were being threatened. And, truth be told, many of us are the ones who have shut the gates on others.

Into such an environment as this, Jesus boldly declares, “I am the gate.”

We are not the gate. Remember this next time you are tempted to hold someone at arm’s length, next time you are tempted to label someone as unworthy, hopeless, lost, or sinful. We are not the gate. Remember this next time someone holds you at arm’s length, next time someone labels you as unworthy, hopeless, lost, or sinful. We are not the gate.

Is this an excuse to not take a stand on any issue? Are you going to go home and say that your new pastor is advocating for complete tolerance of all behavior, no matter how vile, and that there is never an appropriate time to keep someone or something out? Absolutely not. As the saying goes, “If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.”

But the next time your religious or political or emotional sensibilities feel threatened, listen to the voices vying for your attention. The voice telling you to shut the gate will sound remarkably like your own because it will be the sound of your own fear echoing back at you. But if you manage to stay calm and keep listening you will hear a voice remarkably different from your own; a voice cutting through the clatter like a clarion call. It will be the voice of Jesus, a voice you will know because you are his sheep. And the voice of Jesus will invite you to participate in the abundant life Jesus alone can provide.

Amen.

The "Chuck It" Plan vs. The Grace of God – Luke 24:13-35

This is one of my favorite Gospel stories. I’ve thought for years that this story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus, just days after Jesus’ crucifixion on that first Easter day, as a matter of fact, is a snapshot of our larger faith journey. I see what happens to these two disciples on that road as something like our respective faith journeys all rolled into one compact, microcosm of a story. And it’s a pretty good story.

We have these two virtually anonymous and apparently insignificant followers of Jesus (after all, one of them goes nameless and this is the only time we ever hear of the one named Cleopas). Anyway, as Jesus’ followers, they thought they had it all figured out. They knew who God was. They knew who Jesus was. They’d heard him preach. They’d listened to him teach. They’d seen him heal and work a miracle or two, I imagine. They were on his side and ready to see him redeem Israel and conquer the world and usher in the Kingdom, and all the rest.

Then Good Friday happened. Their hero, their teacher, their miracle-worker, their Messiah wasn’t going to take on anyone. He was betrayed, he was denied, he was handed over to death and he was crucified for the whole world to see. And after three days, he was still dead, as far as they knew. So, they were leaving Jerusalem with their tails between their legs. Disappointed. Embarrassed. Wrong again. Pitifully sad. Maybe even in danger. So, it seems they opted for the “chuck it” plan, with no alternative but to give up hope and get the heck out of Dodge.

And then they meet Jesus. They don’t recognize him at first, but he asks them how they’re doing. He walks with them and he teaches them, again. He breaks bread with them, again, and they see him for who he is again – their Messiah, their salvation, their forgiveness, their reason for living despite all that had happened.

This is life as we know it, if you ask me.

Have you ever had it all figured out? Have there ever been times when everything was going your way and you just knew that God was on your side? Maybe it was a house. Maybe it was a car. Maybe it was a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a husband or a wife. Maybe it was a career or a diet or a cure or a gift that was going to be the answer to everything we think we need. Have there been times when you knew exactly who and where God was in your life and because of it, you were ready to take on the world?

And have you ever woken up to a Good Friday kind of morning – or maybe even a string of them day after day after day? Days of embarrassment, of disappointment, of shame and of failure? Have you ever fallen off the wagon, crashed the car, missed a mortgage payment or lost a job? Have you ever failed a marriage or lost a love? Have you ever been betrayed or denied or have you ever betrayed or denied in ways that make you want to get out of town? Have you ever been so wrong that you just wanted to chuck it and leave with your tail between your legs?

We all know some of what these disciples were feeling as they made their way to Emmaus. We’ve all wanted to “chuck it” and get out of Dodge. Maybe some of us even have. And sometimes there’s good reason for that, don’t get me wrong.

But sometimes, we get so blinded by our sadness and our frustration and our anger and our disappointment that we miss the very presence of Jesus among us. See, when Jesus sidles up beside these knuckleheads on the road to Emmaus and starts to talk to them about Moses and all those prophets and about how all of it pointed to a Messiah who suffers and then enters into glory, it wasn’t the first time they had heard this. This was old news. This was what Jesus had been preaching and teaching and promising all along.

He had dared them to destroy the temple of his body and then promised that it would be rebuilt in three days. He had commanded them to take up a cross and to follow him. He had told them straight up, flat out, in plain language that he must go to Jerusalem, undergo great suffering at the hands of their elders and chief priests, and be killed – all before being raised on the third day.

So when he shows up on the road that first Easter day, his restraint is almost as unbelievable as his resurrection from the dead! He plays it coy and cool with them, after all, with his questions. “Whatcha talking about as you walk along?” “Oh…did something happen in Jerusalem this weekend? I hadn’t heard.”

I’d sooner picture Jesus tackling them from behind, laughing and cackling, and overcome with joy that this resurrection thing all really did come true. I’d at least expect him to smack them upside the head, like a long lost friend, and say, “Weren’t you watching?” “Weren’t you listening?” “Weren’t you paying attention?” “It’s me, you knuckleheads! I’ve been saying this was how it would be, and here I am!” “I told you so!”

But their grief and their regret had gotten the best of them. They had forgotten that death leads to new life, in the kingdom of God. They had forgotten that God can transform struggle into celebration; brokenness into wholeness; darkness into light; sin into forgiveness; grief into joy; anger into peace; and the list goes on. And don’t we forget that, too, too much of the time?

None of this is easy. Life in the kingdom – even life on the other side of Easter’s empty tomb can still be really, really hard. There was never a promise of cake walks and easy living. “Wasn’t it necessary for the Son of Man to suffer and then enter into his glory?” And if that’s true for Jesus, might it not also be true for you and me?

Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber makes it a practice of inviting people new to her congregation to expect to get their feelings hurt; to expect for someone in the church – to expect even that the pastor – will upset them, hurt their feelings, make them mad at some point or another along the way. And what she invites her people to do – on this side of that anger, disappointment or hurt, before it gets ugly – is to decide to not employ the “chuck it” plan. To not cut and run. To not leave when the going gets tough.

Because if we just up and leave, we will never get the chance to witness the ability of God’s grace to transform all of that bad stuff into something beautiful and new and worthy of our time and energy and devotion.

And that’s as true for churches as it is for every area of our lives, really – families, relationships, careers, whatever. If we just up and leave, we will never get the chance to witness the ability of God’s grace to transform the bad stuff into something beautiful and new and worthy.

I’m not suggesting God relishes our struggles or our suffering or our sadness or puts us through it all, just to teach us a lesson. And I’m not suggesting that there’s never a time to chuck it and get out of Dodge.

But, Easter’s good news is that, in the midst of what hurts; when our hopes are dashed; when it all hits the fan, God still walks with us. Jesus comes and enters into our lives. Jesus breaks bread, blesses it, offers himself to us and reminds us that God’s grace – and the new life that has and will come – is bigger and more powerful than our deepest struggles.

That doesn’t take them away. But it gives us courage to endure. It gives us hope for the more that is to come. It gives us faith to wait and to see, to work, even, to let the worst of it all be changed… to be redeemed… to be transformed right where we live, right before our eyes into something holy and mighty and altogether new by God’s amazing grace.

Amen