Fourth Sunday of Easter Year A, May 7, 2017; The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

O God of life, may we have the wisdom, the strength, and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth – come when it may and cost what it will.

Today is known in church tradition as Good Shepherd Sunday.  Jesus, of course, is known as the Good Shepherd, son of the Best Shepherd!  Shepherding is one of the oldest occupations known to humankind, so we probably all feel like we understand what a shepherd does, but I’m going to review the job description with you anyway.  The primary responsibility of a shepherd is to ensure that a flock gets adequate food and water.  Once that is taken care of, a good shepherd protects a flock from becoming prey or being stolen, and takes care that they are not overdriven.  Shepherding language for figures of speech when it comes to leading people is found in ancient Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece, and of course, Israel.  It’s worth noting that the metaphor of shepherding is generally used as a political metaphor, [1] although politics and religion weren’t so separate in ancient times (and they’re really not so separate even today). Religion is political just as the personal is political. Not acknowledging that is a form of unexamined privilege.

In the Church, much of our religious leader language comes from shepherding language – episcopal comes from episcopos – of the bishop – meaning overseer, guardian of the flock. Bishops carry croziers (shepherd’s crooks) because of their shepherding role. Presbyter/Priest, Pastor, pastoral are all words that come from shepherding language. (Pastor is a feeder of the flock.) As it turns out, some shepherds are better than others when it comes to being attentive and compassionate with the flocks in their care.  In the Gospel of John, Jesus says, “I am the Good Shepherd.”

But that’s not what Jesus says in our Gospel reading today. We hear this Gospel passage and think that Jesus is the shepherd, but in this story, Jesus is the gate.  Jesus is not the shepherd. Jesus is not the gatekeeper.  Jesus is the gate. Jesus says, “I am the gate for the sheep.”  Two times before this, in the Gospel of John, Jesus has made “I AM” declarations. I AM the bread of life.  I AM the light of the world. I AM, of course, is the divine revelation to Moses in the wilderness, encountered in the bush which was on fire but not burned up or burned out. I AM WHO I AM, Moses hears. Or it can be translated I AM BECOMING WHO I AM BECOMING; or I WILL BE WHO I WILL BE. (And there’s that peculiar name of the Holy One: Who.) Jesus says, “I AM the gate for the sheep.”

Or more literally, Jesus says, “I AM the door,” or the passage, or the opening, through which the shepherds and the sheep go in and out.  And it’s worth noting that Jesus doesn’t claim to be the good gate or the only gate. It might sound like that’s what he’s getting at when Jesus says, “All who came before me are thieves and bandits,” but the word “before” is not necessarily about time.  It can be about spatial relationship (as in, “the Prime Minister went before the Queen for an audience.”) All who came in front of the me are thieves and bandits, Jesus says. [2]

There are legitimate shepherds who care for the sheep, and then there are those who abuse and destroy the sheep, and Jesus is rightfully angry about the latter ones. I want you to notice that the threat here is not hell but thieves and bandits [3] – people who steal and do violence to the sheep (who are a metaphor for the people). The threat is political and religious leaders who do not provide sanctuary, who do not ensure adequate food and clean water, who do not protect the lambs of God from predators and violence, or from being overdriven. The promise is not about getting into the sheepfold and never having to leave.  Jesus is making a promise of freedom to live a life in community – a life in common — that exceeds expectations, that is extraordinary and awe-inspiring, that is better than can be asked for or imagined.

According to John’s narrative, Jesus assumes that the well-educated leaders to whom he is speaking will get this figure of speech – this paroimia – a cryptic bit of wisdom that he is sharing about the job of shepherds. But they don’t (or they won’t), and so in his recapitulation, Jesus says, “you know what? I am the door” (in Greek, the word is thura).  In figurative speech, which this explicitly is, the word thura means possibility, opportunity, what is feasible, a way through. In order for a door to permit passage, it has to be open. According to John, Jesus is saying I AM the possibility – the opportunity – the doorway – the way through – the way in to shelter and the way out to food and water. I want the Church to call the Fourth Sunday of Easter “Open Door Sunday” or “Possibility Sunday,” but we need some hymns to go with the theme!  Jesus is the open door.  Jesus is the possibility.

It makes me think of Emily Dickinson’s poem called, “I dwell in Possibility.”

I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –
Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of eye –
And for an everlasting Roof –
The Gambrels of the Sky –
Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise –

The shepherds and the sheep can come and go through this I AM possibility of Jesus. They’re not locked in or out. They are all free, sheltered, fed, cared for, cared about. In fact, that is the very definition of being saved according to the Gospel of John. That’s what being saved is in John. Salvation is when vulnerable ones are free to come and go, and they are welcomed and well-cared for. Salvation is when even the most vulnerable ones have life and have it abundantly. As Brother Mark Brown at the monastery in Cambridge wrote the other day about life in the resurrection, the possibility of Jesus, “Even now, even today – don’t wait ‘til you’re dead.” Paradise can be gathered even now, even today.

It seems to me, in the context of the heart of John’s Gospel, on the heels of Jesus’ criticism of those in positions of political and religious leadership who destroy and steal from God, we have a lesson about the possibility – the opportunity to offer freedom and shelter and food to each according to their need, by each according to her or his ability. We have a calling to not be thieves and bandits, taking more than our share, doing violence to the wider community, perpetuating sadness, but to proclaim over and over that what God wants for God’s people is to be free and to be fed abundantly. We have a calling to enact again and again God’s desire for God’s people for strength for those who are weak, healing for those who are sick, binding for those who are injured, homecoming for those who have strayed, searching for those who are lost, not with force or harshness, or fear or foreboding, or guilt or shame, not with threats or intimidations, but with true abundant life which actively seeks to repair the breaches in in community wherever they occur.

The remedy, the repair work offered to us is described in this morning’s reading from Acts of the Apostles. The reading picks up where we left off last week. When the people realized their desire to repent of the evil that enslaved them, the evil they had done, and the evil done on their behalf.  When they repented, here’s what it looked like: “they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread, and the prayers.” And what did that look like?  It looked like people redistributing their material and temporal and social resources for the benefits of any who had need.  It looked like sharing money and food, time and social capital so that nobody had too much and nobody had too little. Let’s be inspired to dwell more fully, to live abundantly in that possibility. Let’s spread wide our narrow hands to gather paradise.

← Back to sermons page