Fourth Sunday of Easter

April 13, 2008

Sermon by Pastor Joy Bussert

The Holy Gospel according to St. John. (John 10:1-10)

[Jesus said:] Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way 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 own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep 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 saying to them.

So again Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

Please join me in prayer.

Our loving and gracious God, you watch over us as the good shepherd who cares for the sheep. Help us to hear your voice and to follow in confidence and trust.

Amen.

I can recall a story about an actor who was taking some requests by an audience for short pieces. Someone asked him to do the 23rd Psalm. And he did it superbly, and the audience clapped loudly. The actor then noticed an elderly pastor in clerics sitting in the audience and asked him if he would also do the 23rd Psalm from memory. When the elder pastor finished, the audience was moved to silence. “Can you see the difference?” the actor asked. “I know the 23rd Psalm, but this one knows the shepherd.”

To know a God who is like a shepherd is to know a benevolent presence who cares and loves as a shepherd protects and cares for the sheep.

While in Germany some years ago, I traveled north to what is known as the Lüneburger Heide region around Hannover. And in the rural area there were still real shepherds, dressed in traditional shepherd’s garb and watching over the sheep roaming the hillside. It was a beautiful sight. I was impressed with the love of these shepherds that watched over their sheep, following, leading, guiding, protecting, as the sheep nibbled the tops of the Heide flower, releasing the nectar for the bees, and producing the honey and wax for which this region is well-known. And at night they slept across the entrance; they were the gate. And the reason they were the gate was so the wolves could not come in and get the sheep.

To know a God who is like a shepherd is to know a benevolent presence who cares and loves us as a shepherd and protects us from harm.

A couple of weeks ago, some of you also enjoyed the hospitality of an afternoon at the Klevans’ home, seeing pictures of Mkimbizi Lutheran Church of Tanzania, in three stations. One of the videos was footage of a children’s choir rehearsal with the Sunday school children, and as you watched the video you could see the Sunday school children coming in and filling up the pews. And they just kept coming. There was no time, really, that it started because they had to walk, and so whenever they got there they just came. And they kept coming. At the beginning of the film, the camera is focused on Charles, the evangelist at the front, who is directing the children’s choir. All of the sudden you hear a wail of a sound, a child in distress. And the camera backs up so that you can see the whole of the children’s choir. And there, right in the middle of the choir, is Pastor Ambrose, in his clerics, and he has that child in his arms, like a picture of Jesus, the Good Shepherd, carrying the little lamb. And that child is on his shoulders, sobbing, sobbing, softer, softer, until the child is comforted and asleep.

To know a God who is like a shepherd is to know a benevolent presence who cares and loves us as the shepherd cares for the littlest lamb.

The scene of shepherds is ancient in our biblical tradition. When God at creation places the humans in the Garden and gives them dominion over the creatures and over every living thing, God was entrusting the creation to them, with the expectation that they would care for the creatures and every living thing. The word dominion, which has been so badly misconstrued in the history of Christian theology to give license to control, even exploit, the creation. The word dominion in ancient Hebrew actually referred to the care that a shepherd has for sheep.

When Moses stumbles upon the burning bush in Exodus, he is a shepherd watching over the sheep. Somehow, as the story goes, it seems in order to be chosen a leader of the people by God he had first to leave the center of power of Pharaoh’s court, go into exile, and spend time watching over sheep. It was there on the hillside while watching the sheep that God appeared and called to him from the burning bush and told him then to go and lead the people out of bondage. “If the people ask for the name of the one who sent me, what should I tell them?” Moses asked. “I am who I am,” the deity says. “Tell them ‘I am’ has sent you.”

In God’s way of seeing things, it appears that watching over sheep is a prerequisite for being a leader who will lead the people into the Promised Land.

Later, when the prophet Samuel is seeking a new king, he goes to the house of Jessie. And Jessie, of course, lines up all of his big, strapping sons as candidates. And Samuel goes down the line: “Not this one, not this one, not this one.” “Are there any more?” And Jessie says, “Well, there’s the kid David out back, but he is watching the sheep.” Samuel says, “Bring him here.” And so Jessie goes and gets the kid David with the slingshot watching the sheep and brings him, and he has him kneel down and he anoints him king.

It appears that a prerequisite qualification for being a leader in Israel is to have been a good shepherd first.

And when Jesus in the Gospel of John says, “I am the good shepherd,” he is letting his followers know that the same I am who called Moses out of the burning bush to lead the people out of bondage, and called David to govern with justice and mercy, is the same I am who watches over them like a loving shepherd watches over the sheep even now.

The great “I am” of the Exodus story is now captured in the beautiful metaphors of this beloved Gospel of John, where Jesus assures his followers: “I am the vine; you are the branches.” “Abide in me, and I in you.” “I am the bread of life.” “I am the living water.” “I am the way, the truth, and the light.” “I am the good shepherd.”

To know God as a loving shepherd is to be confident of a loving and sustaining benevolent presence, abiding presence, like a shepherd who watches over the sheep.

Sometimes my confirmation students, when they are working on credos for Confirmation Day, will say to me, “How can you know that God is there for you?” “How do you know that God loves and cares for us when you can’t even see God?” And that is a good question, especially when we live in a world so big, so seemingly harsh and indifferent, even dangerous, today. Like the logo of the Children’s Defense Fund that shows a small child in a boat at sea, with the caption, “Dear Lord, be good to me. The sea is so wide and my boat is so small.” Indeed, from the moment of birth, we are dependent on the kindness and tender care of parents and guardians. And when it is true that some children do not have the loving care and protection of gentle parents; and when it is true that some children are hurt by older brothers and sisters, and sometimes when at school kids can be cruel and mean; and when it is true that some young people have been so badly hurt by teachers, who can do such great harm to the spirit of young people; and when even adults are hurt by companies and employers, by lawyers, doctors, yes, even Christian ministers; when people in systems in which you put your trust and confidence break down and betray you; when leaders turn out to be not good shepherds but bad shepherds, thieves and bandits, and do immeasurable harm, then we can understand the honest student’s question: “How do you know, how do you know that there is a God who loves and cares for you?”

Paul Tillich, perhaps more than any other theologian of the 20th Century, knew that to be human means to live under one kind of threat or another. He said, “To be human is to be born with anxiety.” And he said that three types of anxiety haunt us from the beginning of life to the end: the threat of death, the threat of guilt, and the threat of emptiness. All of these, Tillich says, produce fear and terror because we have no control over them. But, he says, “In spite of all of these threats, we as human beings can choose faith and trust.” And “mature faith,” he says, “is a faith that does not run from fear. Mature faith is a faith that can take all of life’s anxieties and hurts and ambiguities into itself. Accept them, face them, work through them. And then, and only then, in the depth of the possibility of real despair does the power of God reveal itself to us in confidence and love.” Faith is never denial. It is the experience of being grasped by the power of what Tillich calls “the ground of being itself in the midst of the hurt.” And Tillich calls this “the courage to be.”

All of my life I grew up singing Handel’s Messiah, in choirs, at family reunions. Every year the Augustana choir and the whole oratorio society would perform the Messiah at Christmas, when I was in college. And, of course, the big moment was always after the soprano soloist finished that lyrical and lovely piece, “Come to me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” And the alto soloist would rise and take her place on stage, and then she would begin: “He shall feed his flock like a shepherd.”

But there was a line after that line from Isaiah 40 that I never really noticed until years later. I am sitting not in a concert hall at college but at the back of the magnificent Basilica that we have here in the Twin Cities, in a pew, with a four‑year old who has fallen fast asleep by this point in the Messiah. And there she sleeps, as I breathe in the sense of sanctuary, and the sacred, and the refuge; safe and secure, sound asleep with black patent leather shoes up on the pew, covered by my winter coat, big enough to be a blanket. And the alto soloist rises and takes her place, and she begins to sing: “He shall feed his flock like a shepherd.” I had heard it so many times before, but what I had not noticed was this next line: “And gently lead those that are with young.” “And gently lead those that are with young.” And I knew that the God who was like a good shepherd was there, watching over me, too.

To know a God who is like a good shepherd is to know a God who guards and watches over us like a shepherd watches over the little lamb, and gently leads those that are with young.

“The Lord is my shepherd”—the psalmist spins out—“I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. And even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.”

Amen.