To listen to the sermon preached at the 9:00 am service, click here.
To listen to the sermon preached at the 10:45 am service, click here.
St. Charles Episcopal Church - St. Charles, IL
Easter 4A - May 15, 2011
Acts 2: 42-47, Psalm 23, John 10:1-10
The Rev. Elizabeth Gordon Meade
When King David was a young boy, long before he had been anointed and made king, he was a shepherd. He would be gone for days at a time, sometimes grazing too many miles away to get the sheep back to the barn. He’d play the lyre, or perhaps his pan pipes; it was, and is, a solitary profession. We also heard about shepherds in the Christmas story, about shepherds on the dark hillsides “keeping watch over their flocks by night.” Shepherds didn’t get home to a neat barn every day; they often ended up sleeping under the stars; it was the nature of the job. Why? Because sheep were a precious commodity, and it was the shepherd’s job to protect them. If they weren’t near enough the farm yard at night fall, these shepherds would push their charges into partial caves, rocky outcroppings, and the shepherd would sleep right by its entrance, so that none would wander out into the night.
In New Zealand, where there are truly more sheep than people, I remember seeing the more modern version of this gospel playing out. Sheep grazing so far up in the high rocky hills that little, walled paddocks had been erected into which the sheep were herded at night by the shepherd and his sheep dogs, so they would not be scattered and singled out by coyotes or other animals. Every morning, the shepherd, sleeping in a pup tent by the paddock door, would let the sheep out, and lead the sheep to another high pasture. While in New Zealand, I thought of this Bible passage often, but it’s images didn’t last for long because times have changed. In New Zealand, you don’t see iconic solitary shepherds walking along strumming their lyres. It’s more likely you’ll see a shepherd doing wheelies on an ATV (an All Terrain Vehicle) with its speakers blasting Rolling Stone music all through the valley. And it’s not so much the shepherd’s voice that the sheep heed; it’s the two or three sheep dogs nipping at their heels and barking frantically that get them moving. Sorry, it’s more poetic in the Bible, isn’t it? The crook, the wandering shepherd, his lyre or pan pipes.Today its barking dogs, ATV’s and rock and roll. But I digress.
What do you hear in these verses? “Anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit.” “I am the gate for the sheep.”
Many people hear a gospel of exclusion, a gospel predicated on praying the ‘Sinner’s Prayer’ and stating out loud that you accept Jesus Christ as your personal savior. It is easy for many Christians to fall into the belief that we are the only ones saved – that there really is a need to worry about Ghandi’s soul. People have, from the time of John’s gospel, believed that they are (quote) “saved” because they have somehow discovered the one magic “Jesus Gate.” Whether it’s out of moral purity or biblical literalism, they’ve decided it’s the gate that does the saving, and that anyone who hasn’t followed them through that same gate are nothing but thieves and bandits. They can claim that, but they would be wrong.
We must remember that we are in John’s Gospel. And if we’ve learned nothing else this year, we’ve learned that John’s Gospel is full of metaphor and symbolism. Even the text declares this passage a “figure of speech.” So if its’ a figure of speech, if it’s not a yellow and black book titled “Sheep Care for Dummies,” what are we to make of it? And as we read it, and really think about what is happening here, we begin to understand that this passage isn’t about Jesus narrowing the field to EXCLUDE anyone; it’s about Jesus offering to give us refuge from the “scary nights” that are called life.
Notice the freedom there. It’s not about being jailed. It’s not about being barricaded forever against the evils of
the world. It’s an INVITATION. “Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find
pasture.” Jesus is saying that when times are tough, that when fear paralyzes you, when wolves surround you,
there is a place to find sanctuary. When you come in here, you will be safe. There are others out there that
might seek to kill and destroy, but not me. I offer you safety. I will let you out in the morning and lead you
into good pastures. Notice the freedom that Jesus is speaking to. Come in for refuge, for sanctuary. Know my
voice. When you know my voice, all will be well. You can “come in and go out and find pasture,” the verse
says. There is immense freedom in that. Is it any wonder that churches themselves have traditionally been used
as places of sanctuary?
“Come unto me all ye who travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.”
Or: “He leads me beside still waters, He restores my soul,” from Psalm 23.
In other words, let us not look at this passage as a Gospel of exclusion. Instead, let us look at it as Good News: the news that when the enemies of our souls assault us, there is a place of safety and refuge right there for us. It’s our choice: do we seek the arms of sanctuary, or do we seek the battles and the assaults?
There’s a
wonderful Native American Story that encapsulates this truth:
A wise old Indian Chief was asked by his grandson about the conflicts in the world today. The elder reflected for a moment and then replied, "My child, there are two dogs battling within my heart. One is full of anger, hatred, and rage. The other is full of love, forgiveness, and peace." The old man paused, and he and his grandson sat for a moment in silence. Finally the boy spoke, "Grandfather, which dog will win the battle in your heart? The one filled with hatred or the one filled with love?" The old man looked at his grandson and replied, "The one I feed will win."
We must choose which to feed, which voice to follow. Both are realities.
It is fitting that today we have a baptism. At 10:45, we will be baptizing Francesca, daughter of Maria Finatri and Maurice Russo, and the only granddaughter of Dottie Finatri. In counseling Maurice and Maria about the sacrament of baptism, I talked to them about what baptism is and what it isn’t. I always tell the people I counsel about baptism that Baptism isn’t fire insurance. I like the double entendre. A loving God, a God who loves each one of his children passionately, does not, I hope, sit up in heaven drafting petty rules about conscripting un-baptized babies into hell.
What baptism is about is about the same invitation that this Gospel is about. It is about accepting this invitation to choose God’s loving arms over the other voices that scream and yell at us, hoping to get our attention. It’s about stopping and listening and hearing the offer of respite, and refuge, and sanctuary. It’s about going out and coming in. About knowing there’s a community to return to when the wolves approach.
We see the perfect (perhaps idealized) version of it in the reading from Acts today: Baptized people devoting themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship in the breaking of bread and in the prayers.
It’s about community. It’s about refuge and fellowship and goodwill and generous hearts. Let us remember as members of the community of Christ, our job is to be a community of refuge and sustenance. Our charge, our call, is that we, Christ’s hands and feet in the world, are charged with offering sanctuary. Jesus did not intend these passages as exclusionary, but as invitational, and, being baptized into His community, being baptized and anointed by the Spirit, we are the ones today who are charged with extending that radical invitation: to offer abundant life, to offer green pastures, still waters, and a place where cups runneth over. This is the choice God has placed before each one of us today.
What we, the community of Christ, offers the world today, a world filled with noise, and bandits and thieves, is
not self-righteous judgment, but a place where all people may come to believe,
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” Amen.