Although images of shepherds and sheep fill the Scriptures, Christian iconography, and predominate our lectionary texts for today, I suspect most modern folk have a tough time identifying themselves as sheep. Most of us are far removed from pastoral metaphors such as sheep; moreover that word has even taken on a negative connotation. To describe someone as a "sheep" in 2012 would be an insult! Images of them being aimless, being blindly obedient, or passive, helpless dumb creatures headed to the shearer or butcher; or fast food for Wiley Coyote does not make for a comfortable metaphor.
The qualities we aspire to in today's world are definitely "unsheep-like": highly educated, self-directed, goal-driven, entrepreneurial, and validated by high achievement. Consider animal qualities we admire and wish in emulate through the mascots of sports teams; we find: falcons, panthers, bears, tigers, lions, bulls, wolves, jaguars, buffalos, my favorite canine breed - the Husky, and even a jayhawk and a badger… but never sheep! No way do we seek the sheep's qualities of following without question, having no mind of one's own, or expecting someone else to take care of us!
As Anglicans, we may recall the traditional confession of sin, in which we are reminded what miserable creatures we are by having "erred and strayed like lost sheep, following too much the "devices and desires of our own hearts…" If we can overcome our initial knee-jerk reaction against comparison to sheep, we find a very important message in our Gospel lesson from St. John for today.
Despite this post-resurrection liturgical season, our Gospel lesson today relates back to a pre-crucifixion event when Jesus is walking in the Temple precincts and is taunted and provoked by his skeptical detractors: "How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah. tell us plainly." Like many people today, they want a plain black and white answer; not Jesus' invitation to live in mystery. He offers His words, His deeds, His compassionate person, His sacramental presence, but that is not enough. They want an iron-clad guarantee. In essence they say that trust is too "iffy" and faith unsettling; they want it all spelled out. But, of course, Jesus turns the question back on them, saying that there already is plenty of evidence… the real issue, He tells them, is their own belief.
This is the question the Gospel brings to us this morning. Of course we believe, don't we? And isn't this a rather peculiar time to ask the question? Here we are in the midst of the joyous Easter season of belief. But the question continues to nag at the back corners of our minds: how deeply do we really believe… and how? Our Western consciousness has been formed by the notion that belief is based on evidence. The scientific method depends on the formulation of an hypothesis, which we then test by experimentation. If the data from the experiment confirms the hypothesis, we may be reasonably certain it is true. If the evidence fails to confirm the hypothesis, we must revise it or create a whole new theory. A belief is firmly rooted in observation and evidence collected in support of it. St. John concludes, however, that for the group to whom Jesus speaks, even this will not be enough; for even observing the testimony of His works is not proof enough for them; because they are not tuned in to God.
Later in this narrative about the Good Shepherd Jesus talks about the sheep knowing the shepherd’s voice. It's about learning to hear the sound of God amidst all the noisy distractions of our lives. When we become fine-tuned to His voice, our response to Him will be instinctive. Those who do not give God a chance to be heard, who are not alert or learn the sound of His voice, don't have a clue when He is speaking or trying to lead them.
“The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want…” The 23rd Psalm is one of the most well-known and beloved of Scripture verses. I recall childhood memories of a pastel painting of Jesus on a grassy hillside, with a lamb over his shoulders, rescuing it from danger. This is the Jesus who stayed with me through scary nights with alligators under the bed and monsters in the closet. And this is the Jesus who stays with adults too, through nights of weeping, and grief, and loneliness, and worry, and despair. In those times of danger, or grief, or worry we find solace in the image of the protecting shepherd; in those instances we are not insulted by the imagery of sheep and shepherd; rather we find strength in it.
But then, there are the times when events in our lives or in the world throw our peace, our hopefulness, our comfort, into doubt – times when the smiling pastel image of the Good Shepherd on the grassy hillside seems almost irrelevant to the darkness in the world. How do we make sense of a world in which so many innocent, promising lives, especially the children, are tragically and suddenly lost in war or gang violence? How do we begin to understand a world where people in Afghanistan or on the streets of our own cities die senselessly?
Perhaps the people crowding around Jesus in the Portico of Solomon were asking similar questions – and they want a clear and decisive answer. They want Him to speak about weapons and strategies and instead He talks about sheep - and then He makes a claim so outrageous that they seek to kill Him on the spot. How does this Jesus have anything to do with my life, my worries and dangers and how can our faith in this Jesus help us through the tragedies in our world we witness all the time? What can the Good Shepherd do?
The 23rd Psalm is realistic about the darkness and fear of life. Like the Psalmist many of us have walked through the Valley of the Shadow of Death and have known the threat of the unknown. And many have somehow also experienced the transcendent presence of God in the darkest of times. What our Easter faith shows us is that our Lord and Savior is not the God of Light alone. He is the sovereign over the darkness too because He has been enfolded by the darkness. Like us, He has grieved over the senseless waste and tragedy of life. Like us, He has agonized over those who suffer. As all of us will eventually, He has entered into the darkness of death and to all of us, He promises to walk that road with us so that we do not have to walk it alone.
It is our choice to attune our hearing to the voice of the Good Shepherd. It is our choice to believe not through empirical signs, rote dogma, and complex theologies, but through the Love of the Christ, who shepherds us to fullness of life. It is a choice that that calls us to live in distinctive ways apart from shallow standards the culture sets as priorities; yet urges us to invite the rest of the world to join us, to hear the voice of God. This is the choice each of us will carry with us as we leave Mass today, the choice to live each day with faith that is a radical trust.February 26, 2012 - Father Mark D. Stuart
Amen.
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