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Many Flocks Sermon by Andrew Plocher May 31, 2009, Presbyterian Church of Chestnut Hill Hosea 11:1-9 John 10:11-18 The good shepherd, some sheep, and some hired hands: probably not the best assortment of sounds and smells to most of us. As a child in Oregon, I remember going to sheep barns and pastures to see newborn lambs. To see newly shorn sheep and to watch as they frolicked in the pastures. Their bleating and baahing are ingrained in my memory, as is the smell of them. And, like most of us, the images of Jesus as a shepherd, and the minister as shepherd, were prevalent in the Presbyterian community I grew up in. The story of the good shepherd was even pictured in the stained glass in the sanctuary and chapel. Over the years I have seen the image of the good shepherd cast in numerous windows, luminous and kitschy paintings, used as a metaphor for a film about espionage, addressed in song by Jefferson Airplane, and as a title for fictional and real clergy. The story has grown beyond its scriptural beginnings and has become part of our cultural narrative. Yet, the notion of a real shepherd is relatively foreign to most of us. Even in my experiences in Oregon I did not see a shepherd roaming the pastures with sheep. I grew up “knowing what a shepherd is” yet not quite understanding it. And turning the story into an allegory where Jesus is the shepherd and we are the sheep has always been challenging to me. I have the desire to be a shepherd, to call and listen, to be a caregiver: to be the brave and courageous, self-sacrificing, shepherd. I have to ask myself, why does being a sheep bother me? Maybe it bothers me because I feel that sheep have a bad rap. After all, aren’t sheep supposed to be slobbering, untidy, and dumb animals that only exist to be shaved or slaughtered? Of course, if one talks to a shepherd, or if I think back to the picture from my childhood of the cute little lambs, I quickly find myself corrected. Yet sheep do have to be corralled, guided up and down, be immunized, and need to be sheared. They need to be guided and cared for. Or perhaps it bothers me because I easily get lost in the pleasant revelry of white fluffy sheep frolicking on green hillsides: hopping over fences and sending me to sleep at night. The Serta commercial claymation sheep come to mind. Then again, maybe it’s because when I Googled for images of sheep all I could find were idyllic images of sheep; pure, white, and blemish free. Nevertheless, even though it might bother me a bit, no matter how much I try to shift my perspective, no matter how much I want to fight against it, I am, we are, still sheep. Jesus is the good shepherd. He says so. And we? We are the sheep. As difficult as it is, we must admit that we are more like sheep than shepherds. Martin Luther once wrote, “Sheep, you know, are most foolish and stupid animals. When we want to speak of anybody's stupidity we say, "He is a sheep." Nevertheless, it has this trait above all other animals, that it soon learns to heed its shepherd's voice and will follow no one but its shepherd, and though it cannot help and keep and heal itself, nor guard itself against the wolf, but is dependent upon others, yet it always knows enough to keep close to its shepherd and look to him for help” The hard reality is that we do stupid things. We are vulnerable. We sin, fall short of our own expectations, and of those set by our loving God. But as sheep we listen for our shepherd’s voice. In a culture and church focused on word and speaking, the emphasis on listening can easily be overlooked. We often talk past one another, yell, try to have a conversation with a real person while on the cell phone, look like an interested listener while day dreaming, and even walk around with headphones stuck in or over our ears. As difficult as it is, listening is what “stupid” sheep are good at. Theologically this plays out in worship. In his Smalcald Articles, Martin Luther indirectly presumes that the effective functioning of the means of grace is mediated by the ear! In other words, without the prior attitude of listening to the Lord's voice through preaching, the sacraments, the words of forgiveness, and the church itself, our relationship to the shepherd would be rendered meaningless. Without listening to our shepherd’s voice we wander away from the pastures, over eat, over consume, get hurt, or blindly follow the flock. We are as vulnerable and oblivious as sheep, but the good news is that we have a good shepherd and we can listen. Preaching, sacraments, words of forgiveness and the church itself are the pastures where we listen for our shepherd. For us, where the metaphor of the good shepherd ends and the good news begins is that we are gathered and guarded not for the slaughter, and not to be eaten, but for love and redemption. What do we do in response to this truth and this reality? In the Epistle of First John we are given an answer to what we do, "We believe in Jesus"--the Good Shepherd--"and we love one another." The two are connected. We love one another because we believe in Jesus, and we believe in Jesus because he is our shepherd. We are Easter sheep: saved from our stupidity and death by the love and sacrifice of our shepherd. A shepherd who calls us to tend to one another, to bear his love and share it with one another. This is a difficult task. In The Preaching Life, Barbara Brown Taylor writes about being sheep, “You wind up at the watering hole at the end of the day and you don’t know to whom you belong to. There are so many flocks to choose from. Some of them look fatter, some look better bred, and all of them look like they know what they are doing but you. You wonder if perhaps you are a stray sheep who has somehow gotten mixed in with them, and you wonder if you would not be better off going back to the world. Then comes the time to go home and the shepherds begin to call their sheep. You listen to their voices and you wait for that moment of recognition, for that inner voice that will tell you whose you are and where you belong, but it does not come. As the sheep move off in their tight knit flocks, each led by its own shepherd, you stand there feeling lost and you wonder,“Which one is mine? Where do I belong?” As our flocks wander together Jesus is committed to bringing all the flocks into one fold. This morning we gather as a Presbyterian flock, but this afternoon, tomorrow, and throughout the week we belong to other flocks. Whether we find ourselves in a flock of workers at the office, the unemployment line, or the hospital, we seek the voice of our shepherd, yearning to follow. We are challenged to listen for our shepherd and to hear him in the words and actions of our neighbors, our colleagues, and even our enemies. That we might listen to each other and hear of his love for us as we love one another. In a society and culture that values individualism and secularism, we are often tempted away from our Good Shepherd. Yet those voices lead to loneliness, isolation, alienation and hopelessness. The Good Shepherd and His flock respond to these deep yearnings by offering an authentic and holistic community. This community, this flock, is an alternative to our fears of separation and insecurity. In the Good Shepherd’s flock we know the shepherd and the shepherd knows us. Within the Good Shepherd’s flock we are distinct, not faceless. Our whole being is embraced in love – our disease and dis-ease, our failures and shortcomings, our strivings and longings, our broken pieces and places, our gifts and our sins. The shepherd sees in us as the children of God who we are, beyond all the masks, make-up, clothing, cars, possessions, walls and security cameras that shield and protect us. The shepherd calls our name. The name we were given before we were born, or shortly after, when we were naked, frail, tiny and vulnerable. Like the lost lamb that the shepherd goes to find in Matthew’s gospel, so too the shepherd calls after us when we are lost. We are returned to the fold. When embraced in the fold we benefit from the flock and the flock benefits from us. In the Good Shepherd’s flock we are each known and valued. The Good Shepherd knows each and every sheep and recognizes each and every sound. The Good Shepherd knows when we are happy and content, and when we are worried and concerned. The Good Shepherd learns to distinguish a bleat of pain from one of pleasure, while the sheep learn that a cluck of the tongue means food, or a two-note song means that it is time to go home. In our world of locks and security alarms, walls and gates, suburban neighborhoods, and ear phones for music and cell phones we are constantly tempted to step away from the community of the flock. We believe that it is easier and safer away from others. Yet, it is in community that we belong and where the shepherd calls us to return. Each of us longs and hungers for a flock to call our own. We each search far and long for our flock in one shape or another. We create ‘virtual’ communities on the internet, chat in chat rooms, and join social networks such as Facebook and MySpace, searching for that flock to belong to. Yet no matter how much we look to these other flocks, no matter how carefully we sit and listen to the other shepherds; their call will not be the right one.
Thou knowest when I sit down and when I rise up: thou discernest my thoughts from afar. Thou searchest out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways. Thou dost beset me behind and before, And layest thy hand upon me… Whither shall I go from thy Spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend to heaven, thou art there! If I make my bed in Sheol, thou art there! If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there thy hand shall find me, and thy right hand shall hold me. |