SunMay32009
Scripture: Psalm 23, John 10:11-18
Sheep, of course, have the reputation of being inordinately stupid. This is not a good thing for congregations stuck with this popular and enduring image of being “the flock” following the shepherd.
Sheep, we think, have no idea where they’re going or what they’re doing, no initiative, no sense for how to protect themselves. Tender and romantic, perhaps, but otherwise vacant and senseless. Hardly an image of ourselves that we want to cultivate!
As it happens, though, we’ve got it all wrong. Sheep are no where near as stupid as we think they are. It turns out, says noted preacher Barbara Brown Taylor, that “It was actually the cattle ranchers who started that rumor, because sheep do not behave like cows. Cows are herded from the rear with shouts and prods from the cowboys. But that does not work with sheep. If you stand behind sheep making noises, they will just run around behind you. They actually prefer to be led. Cows can be pushed; sheep must be led. Sheep will not go anywhere that someone else—their trusted shepherd—does not go first, to show them that everything is all right. ‘Sheep seem to consider their shepherds part of the family, and the relationship that grows up between the two is quite exclusive. They develop a language of their own that outsiders are not privy to’” (Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 2, p. 450).
Who knew! That’s a sheep of a different color, isn’t it—an image we can be shaped by. When that great psalm says, “The Lord is my shepherd” (Ps. 23:1), and when Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd” (Jn. 10:11, 14), what they’re telling us is not so much that there’s someone standing behind us with a cattle prod, yelling at us to get going. They’re telling us, instead, that there is one who goes before us, one who leads us, one who models what it is to live life in a way that really matters. The way ahead may indeed be challenging and difficult. But we’re not being pushed into it. We’re being led into it.
It’s abundantly clear that the way ahead is fraught with “the shadow of death” (Ps. 23:4). The threat of the latest flu has had many on edge: am I going to catch it; is my co-worker’s sneeze a sign of it; is this just the precursor to the real pandemic? And while the culture may well have over-reacted, the worry remains. Not only that, but the economy still sputters along and brings its continuing miseries: not a day goes by that I don’t hear of another lost job or slashed retirement plan. Beyond that there are the many less-publicized agonies that shake and scar us—the college courses that were simply too much to handle, the pregnancy that miscarried, the romance that went south. The way ahead is laden with countless “dangers, toils, and snares” (“Amazing Grace,” v. 3).
So if God’s going to get us through it, one way would be as the cowpoke—jabbing and prodding from behind, insisting, acting like a drill sergeant, MAKING SURE IT HAPPENS! There are times and places where this is exactly the right approach. There are people who have to be told, “Stop that!” or “Get going!” Cowpokes have their place.
But the one who came was Jesus, the consummate shepherd. Jesus endured his own terrible indignities and grotesque death. And yet, through it all, his way was to trust in God and to give himself to those he loved. That’s the way of the shepherd: trust and love.
For many of us, in so many situations, it’s this approach, the approach of the shepherd, that makes all the difference. Rather than being told what to do, there’s something incredibly winning about having someone say, “I’ve been through that situation. Here’s how I handled it.” I know what a difference it makes for me, if I’m struggling with something, to have someone, not yell at me and poke me from behind, but instead say, “This is how I’ve dealt with that problem.” “Let me show you something that’s worked for me.” “You’ve got a challenge on your hands. Is there a way I can help you think it through?” The tendency, when you want results, is so often to poke and prod—get it done!—where shepherding might be far more effective.
This kind of leading can happen in any kind of situation, not least in our families. When our children were small, someone once said to Mary and me, “When one of your children hits the other one, the person you may need to go and sit with is not the one who was hit, but the one who was doing the hitting.” Certainly there were many times when discipline was in order. But there were other times when the lashing out was a symptom of something that needed to be worked through.
I thought of that counsel recently when a Federated mother told me about a scene that had happened in their house some years ago. It seemed that her six-year-old son kept soundly defeating her eight-year-old son at checkers. The older one had finally had it; he threw the board up in the air, and when his mother came into the room, he hit her. Now most of us most of the time would punish the older one, and we’d be entirely justified. Hitting is never appropriate. For some reason, though, this mother had a flash of inspiration that day. She sat down with the older son on the stairs of their house, and he began to sob. “Ryan beats me at everything. I can’t do anything right.” They talked about his sense of inadequacy, and the mother had a chance to tell her son about how she had gotten through some of the challenges she’d faced in her own life. It was exactly what he needed. And he never hit her, or anyone else, again.
Would you handle every tantrum like that? Of course not. There are many times when recalcitrant behavior simply needs to be stopped. But that conversation on the stairs let the boy know that in the arms of his mother there was a safe place to talk about the struggles of growing up and finding an identity. The approach of the shepherd, leading gently through the shadowed valley, restores the soul. The rod and staff don’t poke and prod. They comfort. They provide a home. They’re instruments of safety and peace. That’s God.
There are times when God certainly prods and pokes. That’s what the prophets were so often about. But even with the poking and prodding, this is not a God of whom to be afraid. Ultimately, as Isaiah says, this is a God who feeds the flock like a shepherd, who gathers the lambs in holy arms, and gently carries them (Is. 40:11). Because holy love is the foundation of everything, what God does is lead us home—everyone, all the time. That’s just who God is.
And it’s who God wants us to be. We’re to shepherd each other. We’re to guide and nurture and hold and treasure each other. We’re to welcome everyone into the fold. Tony Campolo tells a true story about this sort of shepherding, a story that some of us heard Mark Simone tell the other day. One day Campolo “was in another time zone and couldn’t sleep, so well after midnight he wandered down to a doughnut shop where, it turned out, local hookers also came at the end of a night of turning tricks. There, he overheard a conversation between two of them. One, named Agnes, said, ‘You know what? Tomorrow’s my birthday. I’m gonna be thirty-nine.’ Her friend snapped back, ‘So what d’ya want from me? A birthday party? Huh? You want me to get a cake and sing happy birthday to you?’ The first woman replied, ‘Aw, come on, why do you have to be so mean? Why do you have to put me down? I’m just sayin’ it’s my birthday. I don’t want anything from you. I mean, why should I have a birthday party? I’ve never had a birthday party in my whole life. Why should I have one now?’
“When they left, Tony got an idea. He asked the shop owner if Agnes came in every night, and when he replied in the affirmative, Tony invited him into a surprise party conspiracy. The shop owner’s wife even got involved. Together they arranged for a cake, candles, and typical party decorations for Agnes, who was, to Tony, a complete stranger. The next night when she came in, they shouted, ‘Surprise!’—and Agnes couldn’t believe her eyes. The doughnut shop patrons sang, and she began to cry so hard she could barely blow out the candles. When the time came to cut the cake, she asked if they’d mind if she didn’t cut it, if she could bring it home—just to keep it for a while and savor the moment. So she left, carrying her cake like a treasure.
“Tony led the guests in a prayer for Agnes, after which the shop owner told Tony he didn’t realize Tony was a preacher. He asked what kind of church Tony came from, and Tony replied, ‘I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for prostitutes at 3:30 in the morning.’ The shop owner couldn’t believe him. ‘No you don’t. There ain’t no church like that. If there was, I’d join it. Yep, I’d join a church like that’” (told by Brian McLaren, The Secret Message of Jesus, pp. 145-6).
That, my friends, is the church of the good shepherd. That’s who Federated Church is called to be. And it’s what God empowers us to be, through this Eucharistic celebration, this simple supper of bread and juice. Communion is like a birthday party for the hooker who’s never had one before. It’s a meal for the boy who’s hit his mother. It’s heavenly food for the person who fears the virus, who’s weighed down by money matters, who doesn’t know which end is up. It’s the meal at which the heart of God is shared. You’re welcome. I’m welcome. We’re all welcome—especially the ones who haven’t yet found their way here. And what that meal does is shape us into God-people, people who do what God does: welcome the outcast, care for the broken, tend to the sick. We’re God’s shepherds. And we’re here, not first of all to poke and prod, but to lead. Let’s be on that holy way.