Saugatuck Congregational Church, UCC
© Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton
April 25, 2015
Scriptures: Psalm 23 and John 10:11-18
Fierce and Tender Shepherd: train our ears to hear you, and our hearts to follow you, when you call our names. Amen.
So here’s my confession: Good Shepherd Sunday has never been my favorite Sunday. I know the image of the Good Shepherd is much cherished by many faithful Christians, perhaps by many of you: What more beloved psalm will you find than the 23rd Psalm? And what more ubiquitous image than Jesus as the tender shepherd, most often posed with a lamb cradled in his arms or hoisted on his shoulder? How many of us grew up in churches adorned with bucolic images of a gentle, long-haired man (often a decidedly non-Arabic looking man, with honey colored hair and blue-green eyes), robed in white and walking sandal-foot through the green grass, a cluster of fluffy, white sheep gathered around his ankles? These are among the most popular images of Jesus, loved by many. But I read verses like the ones in the Gospel of John, which Art read for us today, and it makes me want to write a follow up to Michael Hendricks’ sermon of a few weeks back, which he titled, “Why God is not my King.” Part II: Why Christ is not my Shepherd.
Reason one: I don’t want to be a sheep. No matter how sweet they look in those tiffany stained glass windows, I know: sheep are dirty and dim-witted; they wander aimlessly all day, bumping into one another and invariably getting lost (which is why we have that parable of the lost sheep, right?). Our associations with sheep are not flattering: sheep (we say) are timid, vulnerable and unable to think for themselves. Counting sheep is so boring that it will cure insomnia. Sheep will follow but do not lead. In our culture, we value independence and innovation! Sheep have none of this. What they have is a fondness for grass, and devotion for their shepherd, whom they trust without reservation.
Do you know the difference between sheep and cows? If you stand behind cows and make noise, they will move ahead of you. If you stand behind sheep and make noise, they will all circle back to get behind you. Cows can be pushed, but sheep must be led. They want their shepherd to go first.
Perhaps it’s that last bit that gives me pause. Do I trust God, or Christ, like that, like a sheep who follows without reservation? I’m not so sure. Truth be told, I prefer to set my own course, strike out on my own, do my own thing, forge my own way…
Educator and writer Parker Palmer calls this “practical atheism,” living our daily lives as if we have to do it all ourselves, even as we claim to believe in God. How often do I live like that, saying, “Thanks, God, but I’ve got this one!” But even as I wave off the idea that anyone else need guide me, I can picture Jesus the shepherd hanging out on the other side of the pasture, patiently waiting for me to notice him. Maybe, it occurs to me, maybe the Good Shepherd metaphor is actually a helpful corrective, in a culture that values fierce independence and self-reliance. Maybe it serves to remind us that a) someone else is in charge (I’m not the Shepherd) and b) we are not children of God in the singular, but in the collective – all members of one really big flock – all equally cherished, none more valued than any other.
Suddenly I really do feel a bit, well, sheepish. For failing to see that Jesus isn’t remotely interested in whether I am clever or independent – or not. In speaking of himself as the Shepherd, he is reminding his listeners – and all of us – that his care extends to everyone, irrespective of status or skill, wit or wisdom. In the eyes of the Good Shepherd, we are all worthy of love and belonging.
I think we tend to forget that. How often do we think in the first person – in terms of our own needs, or those of our family or of our tribe? It is, perhaps, natural for us to do so, to become self-absorbed. But then the Good Shepherd comes along and gives us a nudge, prods us back toward each other, gathers us together. Seats us all at the table. “You set a table before me in the presence of my enemies,” says the psalmist. This is NOT our chance to mock those who have been left out, to thumb our noses at our adversaries. On the contrary: they are invited to the table, too. We have to eat in their presence, look them in the eye, break bread with them. That’s what the psalmist means. We may not think of ourselves as belonging to the same flock as those with whom we disagree, but God does. We may not want to associate with the sheep in the next fold over but Jesus is determined to reunite us.
All of this begins to feel a little less like tender comfort, and a little more like discomfort. And with good reason. You know that line, “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”? It turns out, most scholars don’t think the writer of the 23rd psalm meant ‘comfort’ the way we think of comfort – as in, to reassure or make someone feel better. There’s an older meaning of the word that comes from its root: fort – which means strong. To comfort really means to strengthen, to empower one to pursue a goal, to encourage.[1] As in: Thy rod and thy staff, they catch me when I get off track; they guide me where you would have me go.
Whether or not you like the idea of being prodded along the path probably depends on how you feel about the one doing the prodding, whether or not you trust your Shepherd.
So how about that Good Shepherd? If the whole being compared to a sheep makes me squirm a bit, the image of Jesus as a good shepherd gives me pause, too. Not that I have anything against Shepherds. On the contrary: I suspect that herding sheep is a whole lot more demanding than I could ever appreciate. And that’s my point: the Jesus is those paintings of the Good Shepherd always seemed to me to be too clean, too refined to be a real shepherd – a little too milk toast. Have you ever met a shepherd? Their faces are suntanned and weather-worn; their arms are powerful and their hands and feet are grubby. Shepherds must be gentle enough to serve as midwife during lambing season. But they also have to be fierce enough to ward off foes, fierce like a Momma bear defending her cubs. That’s the kind of Shepherd I could use, the kind I could trust without reservation. Not the one in the pictures of my childhood, but the rough-around-the-edges, worldly-wise, sharp-eyed, no-nonsense, big-hearted shepherd that will always have the well-being of the flock at heart, who will always put his very body between his flock and danger.
“I am the Good shepherd,” said Jesus. “The Good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.” Not just any shepherd, not a careless or self-centered shepherd. Not even a good shepherd, if good means anything like docile. In fact, the word so often translated as ‘Good’ comes from the Greek kalos, which means not just nice or kind, but faithful, noble, as it should be: the model shepherd. In other words, Jesus is setting an example. “This is how you care for God’s people,” he says. Saying this, might well have reminded his listeners of another time when God compared Godself to a Shepherd, as proclaimed by the prophet Ezekiel. At the time, Ezekiel wanted to make the point that the Israelite leaders were falling down on the job – a disgrace to their office. They fed themselves, instead of their ‘sheep;’
“Aren’t shepherds supposed to feed sheep? You drink the milk, you make clothes from the wool, you roast the lambs, but you don’t feed the sheep. You don’t build up the weak ones, don’t heal the sick, don’t doctor the injured, don’t go after the strays, don’t look for the lost. You bully and badger them. And now they’re scattered every which way because there was no shepherd – scattered and easy pickings for wolves and coyotes. Scattered – my sheep! – exposed and vulnerable across mountains and hills. My sheep scattered all over the world and no one out looking for them!” (Ezekiel 34:1-10, The Message paraphrase)
God is appalled and declares: “From now on, I myself am the shepherd. I’m going to go looking for them; I’ll rescue them from all the places they’ve been scattered to in the storms. I will bring them back…lead them into lush pasture, I’ll doctor the injured, I’ll build up the weak ones…” (Ezekiel 34:11-16, selected, The Message paraphrase)
Now you’ve got my attention! Because isn’t that what we need? What we yearn for: that kind of fierce and tender advocate? In a world so fraught with trouble? In communities where we so often find ourselves divided, in the face of tremendous challenges. Yes God: Please gather, us feed us, heal us, comfort us. But here’s the twist:
After the resurrection, Jesus appears on the beach to Peter and the other disciples. He fries up some fish, eats breakfast with them, then takes Peter aside. “Peter,” he says. “Do you love me?” You know I love you,” Peter answers. “Feed my sheep.” Three times Jesus says this. It’s a kind of passing of the mantel, isn’t it? A handing over of the rod and staff. And just when I’ve started to get comfortable with the idea that we could be sheep, all members of one flock, cared for by one fierce and tender Shepherd, the metaphor gets turned on its head one more time. Now we are called to do as Jesus did, to feed and tend and defend with our very lives… to be good shepherds ourselves…
I’ve changed my mind about Good Shepherd Sunday. I think I’ll need to come back to these texts again and again, not because they are sweet and snuggly texts, but because they are quite the opposite, when you dig into them – they are deep and demanding. Am I up to the challenge that Jesus lays before us? Can I show Jesus the same devotion that a sheep shows its shepherd? Can I share the grass with my flock mates? Am I willing to follow where the Good Shepherd leads? Even though it means laying down my life? God knows. But the Good News is this: I am not alone in the pasture. We are in this together. And there is one who is ready to guide us, if only we are willing to follow.
Amen.
[1] Barbara Cawthorne Crafton quoted at http://www.psalm23immersion.com/#!study/c15b3
Scriptures
Psalm 23 – New Revised Standard Version, revised to second person singular
1O Lord, you are my shepherd, I shall not want.
2You make me lie down in green pastures; you lead me beside still waters;
3You restore my soul. You lead me in right paths for your name’s sake.
4Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff— they comfort me.
5You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
6Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.
John 10:11-18, New Revised Standard Version
11“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. 12The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. 13The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. 14I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, 15just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. 16I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. 17For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. 18No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.”