Acts 4:5-12; Psalm
23
1 John 3:16-24; John
10:11-18
Many times over the last weekend, when a group of us went on our pilgrimage to New York, we acted like Good Shepherds. It wasn’t just the adults, keeping track of our teenagers. We all kept watch over each other. At one point, two of our group called me up – cell phones are a great thing! – to ask where we were, and had we gone on ahead without them? Oh my gosh, I thought, standing on the packed sidewalk of Wall Street. Had I left Simon and Miles behind? Or were they just better at keeping watch over me? It took a little maneuvering through the crowd, but we were soon reunited.
Believe it or not, there was a time when the term “Good
Shepherd” would have been an oxymoron – it would have been impossible to
conceive a shepherd as “good.” It would have been like saying, a “good
politician.” To the ears of those who heard Jesus say these words, this term
would have been an odd one indeed. Rabbis would have included shepherds as one
of those occupations to be avoided. Shepherds were considered dishonest. They
were accused of leading their flock to graze in other people’s pastures, or of
stealing lambs from other people’s flocks. In fact an ancient Jewish commentary
on Psalm 23 says, “There is no more disreputable occupation that that of a
shepherd.”[i]
Sitting here in our very modern building, we have to rely completely
on our imaginations to take us back to those places we read about in the Bible,
or when I talk about things from other centuries of church life in my sermons.
But standing, as we often did, in the vastness of the Cathedral of St, John the
Divine, time seemed to compress and expand around us. We sat beneath soaring
arches and climbed narrow staircases up to extraordinary heights. We saw
monuments to scores of dead people but also walked through a contemporary art
installation raising the specter of drought and extinction due to global
climate change. We worshipped in an ancient space built in the 20th century, just
wearing our jeans and sweatshirts. All around us were images from all centuries
and all religions, carved into stone and depicted in stained glass and imbedded
in the floor under our feet. All of those images were meant to guide us – like
when the early Christians said “good Shepherd,” which evoked an image which was
to guide them.
In the early days of the church, before Christians were
widely accepted, the Good Shepherd was an image of protection. God was seen as
a dependable leader, unlike the frightening and unreliable Roman Empire. By the
4th century, when the Roman Empire itself had made Christianity the official
religion, other images emerged of the Good Shepherd, especially in mausoleums
and cemeteries. Now the Good Shepherd would be your guide after death, leading
you to everlasting life.
We live in a complicated world – sometimes dangerous,
sometimes beautiful, always complex and extraordinarily diverse. In a place as
jam-packed as New York, we can glimpse all of that, from the serene, park-like
beauty of the Cathedral, to clamor of the subway and the rush of commerce, to
the confused place that was the World Trade Center. We were lucky to get into
the recently opened 9-11 Memorial, but we had to pass through a labyrinth of
security screenings and metal detectors and uniformed guards, to get to that
place of reflection on what is no longer there.
How do we hear the voice of the Good Shepherd in this middle
of all of that? In the middle of our own complicated, diverse, conflicting and
beautiful lives? In this world where we hear many voices calling our names?
In our gospel reading, we see that Jesus contrasts the Good
Shepherd, the one who leads, who serves, who will even lay down his life for
those in his care, with the hired hand, the one who at no point is willing to
give up anything. Rather than serve, the hired hand clings desperately to what
he has. The writer of the first letter of John knows these “hired hands” and is
appalled by them: “How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods
and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?”
Even in a world where the hired hands wear all the bling and
scream out to get our attention, there are people who hear the Good Shepherd. They
are the ones who lay down their lives every day, who give of themselves and
find abundance and joy. Their sacrifices bring food to the hungry and hope to
the despairing. They are the glue of compassion in a society that is often
broken and scattered by all the wolves that are so familiar to us.
We had to get packed up early from the Cathedral last Sunday
morning, because the rooms we slept in – rooms which Monday through Friday
housed a day care center and after school program for young children – those
very rooms were being transformed into a place of hospitality, serving
breakfast to people who had no where else to eat that day – people who likely
had no home to sleep in the night before. The Good Shepherd called them in that
chilly, damp morning – called them by name and gave them a hot breakfast.
The Good Shepherd called, and people came in, to unlock the doors, and to cook the meal, and to set up tables and to serve.
The Good Shepherd called them by name, and they heard his
voice.
Listen: the Good Shepherd is calling us, too.
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