April
21, 2002
Good Shepherd Sunday
Old
Testament: Psalm 23
Gospel:
John 10:1-10
If
King David wrote the 23rd Psalm, and that is what we are told by
those who are most likely to know, then this psalm is more than
two thousand years old and perhaps nearly three thousand years old.
What amazes me is how easily we can identify with people who lived
so very long ago when the world was such a totally different place.
It was an agrarian world, a world without modern conveniences, a
world without modern economies, a time when life was short and communication
very limited. And yet, people then were more like us and we like
them, than we were different.
Look,
for example, at the 23rd Psalm. There is a clear desire by the writer
for a shepherd—one to take care of him, to make him feel safe,
to make him feel loved and cared about. Is that any different than
our deepest feelings today in the 21st century? Or look at another
line: "he restoreth my soul." David is expressing his
need to be set right with God and with others. His soul is uneasy,
he needs things set straight for all to be in peace between him
and God, and between him and others.
Have
you ever been on the "outs" with someone, and everything
is tense and withdrawn between you? And have you not been flooded
with peace and delight when that relationship was restored to wholeness?
Did that not nurture and restore your soul? And is this not, again,
an indication that to be human in the 1st or 2nd century B.C. was
not all that different in these most important ways from who we
are today?
This
most beloved of psalms assures us of God's nurturing, loving care
for us—each
of us, each of us by name—a
God who wants to make sure that we are alright, we are safe,
we are at peace by the still waters and in the green pastures of
life. God wants to see us have the "abundant life," of
which we hear this morning in our Gospel reading.
Abundant
spiritually, God wants us to be filled with Him so that nothing
can come between God and us. So that our experience of life is one
that is guided by God and one in which our hearts are filled with
Him, so that we live the fullness of an abundant life—whether
we are wealthy or poor, whether we are healthy or sick. A life filled
with light because He is light.
Now,
this very positive description of life with God raises two doubts
for some that get in the way. Doubts that can get in the way of
receiving the comfort and peace that comes from believing. The first
doubt can come when the pastures are not green, the water is roiled,
the valley is dark. Some feel uncared for if things are not going
well. But it is in the times of the dark valley, the times of fear
and tribulation, that God's presence and nurture are most needed
and for many most certain.
The
second cause of doubt is one that is very much near the front of
our minds today. It concerns the under-shepherd-ordained or lay-anyone
who represents the love of God to others. God cares for us individually,
but He also cares for us through others. God inspired scripture
but moved humans to write it, so it is not perfect. I had a letter
by email this week from a man somewhere in the U.S., who wrote to
a web site in which I take part. His letter concerned his desire
to be a Christian and his puzzlement that the Bible, as he said,
contradicts itself in so many places. He listed thirty to forty
instances.
In
much the same way, when God seeks us and seeks our heart through
human intermediaries, things will sometimes go wrong. In the Roman
Catholic Church and other churches today, there has come to light
the problem of ordained ministers who have abused the trust and
the persons of those in their charge. That grieves God and is the
exact opposite of what Christ intends the Church to be—a safe
and caring haven.
But
the failure of the human
under-shepherd does not mean that God has failed us, or that God
does not love us or care what happens to us. God never lets us down,
never fails us, never forsakes us. And God is there
with the bandages and the oils, ready to soothe and strengthen us
when we have been hurt. I have been by the bedside of the dying;
I have been with folks whose minds were gone; I have been at funerals
with people who never or almost never go to church. But start the
23rd Psalm and they will say it with me. There is something about
it that goes deep, which soothes the places in our spirit that are
universally in need of filling and comforting.
More
than a half-century ago—and it seems a world away—my
older brother and I were boarding students at a school in Connecticut.
The year was 1944 and war raged throughout Europe and in the Pacific.
Merricourt was a small institution of about fifty children, run
by a couple known to us all as Uncle John and Aunt Ruth. My brother
was always getting into trouble and it seems like I would get punished
right along with him. Infractions such as cursing, hitting another
boy or wetting one's bed would bring very predictable punishment,
the most common of which was being sent to bed without dinner.
There
was a woman, a large woman, who cooked for all of us. Her name was
Mary. I recall that she would walk around the grounds between classes
at mid-morning and give us slices of warm toast from the basket
she carried. She would ring a bell that she also carried. To this
day, when the bell is rung at our own school each weekday morning
here at St. James', my mind goes back, instantly, to those early
days. Mary was the kind who would bake a cake for a boy's birthday
but before she put it in the oven, she would make sure it was filled
with pennies, nickels and dimes, so that many of us would enjoy
the one boy's special day. Not too sanitary by today's standards,
but we loved it and I don't recall anyone keeling over from it.
The
reason I tell this is because of what happened just before we went
home for the last time. The war in Europe had ended, it was spring
and summer recess was near. Nevertheless, late afternoon found my
brother and me punished once again, sent to our beds without the
evening meal—visions of breakfast, so far away, dancing in
our heads. When who should appear but Mary—on tiptoe, finger
to lips—motioning us to climb the stairs to the top floor,
where she opened a closet door.
Inside
was a little table with two chairs, set with a tablecloth and all
our favorite foods! Will I ever forget that moment? Of course not.
Then and there I experienced the love of God through His under-shepherd
in that place, as she set a table for us in the nearby (just two
stories beneath us) presence of those who were, as far as we were
concerned, our enemies—those who had sentenced us to bed without
dinner.
Well,
I'll bet you can tell your own story of the kindness and mercy of
an under-shepherd nurturing you long ago, or perhaps even sometime
in the recent past. And I'll bet that there are stories with great
meaning or feeling in your life that are brought to mind by this
or that phrase from the 23rd Psalm.
How
alike we are, you and I, and you and I and those who lived when
this was written. It is amazing. It really brings home the point
that we are all created by
the same loving God, by the same Creator. And that we all have the
same universal need for the love and safety that only God can bring.
It is that nurture that defines the abundant life that Jesus came
to bring to us. Though at times we stray from the paths of righteousness,
God is always ready and eager to take us back to where the grass
is plush and peace is to be found. On this Good Shepherd Sunday,
we give great thanks for that assurance.Amen.
Copyright
©2002 The Rev. Bill Kolb
Preached at St. James' Episcopal Church, Jackson, MS
Old
Testament Reading: Psalm 23
23:1 The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want. 23:2 He makes me
lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; 23:3
he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name's sake.
23:4 Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil;
for you are with me; your rod and your staff—they comfort
me. 23:5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. 23:6 Surely 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. NRSV
(New Revised Standard Version)
Gospel
Reading: John 10:1-10
10:1 "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.
10:2 The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep.
10:3 The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his
voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. 10:4 When
he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep
follow him because they know his voice. 10:5 They will not follow
a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know
the voice of strangers." 10:6 Jesus used this figure of speech with
them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them. 10:7
So again Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate
for the sheep. 10:8 All who came before me are thieves and bandits;
but the sheep did not listen to them. 10:9 I am the gate. Whoever
enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find
pasture. 10:10 The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.
I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly. NRSV
(New Revised Standard Version)
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