The Lord Is My Shepherd -- Fourth Sunday of Easter

John 10:22-30

May 11, 2025

 

            Some of you may remember the iconic RCA Victor advertising image of the little black and white dog sitting very still in front of the large bell of a gramophone, listening. The caption for the advertisement read, “His Master’s Voice.” The original painting that spurred the later advertisements, was of a real dog named Nipper who lived in Britian in the late 19^th century. There’s an interesting history about Nipper and how the original painting came to be, but I’ll leave that for you to research in your own time. Suffice it to say that the image of the little dog, Nipper, listening to his master’s voice was everywhere – at least that’s how I remember it. It was on RCA record labels, and it was recreated on what we now as “merch.” It is an iconic image.

            When I first moved to New York State – a thousand years ago – I lived south of the capital, Albany, but served a church on the north side of the city. So, I often had to drive into Albany, and in an older neighborhood there was a building that must have once been an RCA building, because sitting on its roof was Nipper! Well, it was a large sculpture of Nipper, listening, even though there was no gramophone in front of him. I started thinking of that building as somehow belonging to the dog, and I drove by it every chance I could. My life was and is a pretty noisy affair most days. It’s filled with a variety of voices and other sounds, music, television, street noises, cars, sirens. And even when I’m quiet and have shut out the sounds from the outside, it’s not necessarily quiet in my own head. My mind feels like it is constantly whirring with worries and questions and to-do lists and random trains of thought traveling in every direction. I find the picture of the little dog listening to his master’s voice not only sweet but peaceful. How wonderful it would be to focus so completely on that one voice, that one sound, and not be distracted by every other sound and noise out there. I wish that I had the ability to do that better, and I wish it because there is one voice that I would very much love to hear more often, but it is a still, small voice. It is a voice that often gets lost in the din of all the other voices. The voice that I long to hear more clearly and more often is the voice of God. If God still clearly speaks to people from the heavens or in burning bushes or through prophets, then I’m not privy to it. Or maybe the voice of God is there, but everything else in my life is so noisy, including all that’s happening in my own head, that I just can’t hear it.

            I can blame my inability to hear the divine voice on all the noise in my life – external and internal. But what about the people who confront Jesus in our passage from John’s gospel? What’s their excuse? It was at the festival of Dedication and Jesus was walking in the portico of Solomon. This was the area of the temple where the kings would sit and issue decrees of justice.  As Jesus is walking, the religious authorities come to him and say,

“How long will you keep us in suspense?  If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.”

One commentator writes that there are two ways to look at this question posed by the people who confront Jesus. One is that this is a politically charged question. The people questioning him may have been trying to give him enough rope in a sense. If he answers that he is in fact the messiah, then they can charge him with blasphemy. The second understanding of their question is that these are people who just want to understand who Jesus is. They don’t ask this question to trick or trap Jesus. They ask him because they want to understand, they want to grasp his identity.

In earlier verses it says that the people were divided over Jesus, so scholars suggest it is reasonable to see both angles at play. But I think that what is more important is how Jesus responds.

“I have told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me; but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. My sheep hear my voice.  I know them, and they follow me.”

 My sheep hear my voice. The implication is that if these folks really were believers, they would hear his voice. They would have already figured it out. And Jesus makes it clear that his voice is heard most loudly, most clearly in his works. He does works in his Father’s name and those works testify to him. They testify to his identity. His works proclaim beyond any words he might say that he is in fact the Messiah. The passage then ends with Jesus saying, “The Father and I are one.”

Biblical commentator Gail O’Day writes that the Greek that is translated as “one” in the New Revised Standard Version is not speaking so much about Jesus and God being one person or one essence or one being. Instead it means that the Father and the Son are “united” together.  Jesus’ works are united with his Father’s. When you see what Jesus does, you see what God does. So, if you believe that Jesus and God are united, if you recognize that Jesus’ works of grace and mercy and healing are God’s works, then you are a believer and therefore you hear clearly hear Jesus’ voice. You are one of his sheep. His sheep hear his voice. Anyone who doesn’t is not a believer. After all, Jesus seems to say it plainly.

“You do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep.”

But what about those of us who believe and yet we struggle to hear his voice? What about those of us who believe but also doubt, who wrestle with our faith? Does this mean that we are on the outs, out of the fold, out of the flock?

Theologian Debie Thomas has also struggled with this pronouncement from Jesus. She writes that she could assume it does not apply to her because she is a cradle believer, knows the bible, reads her prayers, engages in the liturgy, etc. And yet there are many times when she struggles, struggles to hear the voice of Jesus in a world that is not only noisy but violent, in a world where death strikes down innocents and justice seems but a dream. Does that put her outside of the fold just as I worry it does me? As Thomas wrote, Jesus’ words suggest that belonging is predicated on believing, but in fact he is saying the opposite. In Thomas’ words, “You struggle to believe because you don’t consent to belong.” It isn’t the belief that comes first, it is the belonging.

“You struggle to believe because you don’t consent to belong.”

Time and again, Jesus has shown the people around him, including the religious authorities, that he and the Father are one. The works that he does are possible because he and God are united. But still people don’t believe because they refuse to belong. They refuse to submit to the possibility that through Jesus God is showing them a different way – to be, to live, to love. They refuse to belong so they cannot begin to believe.

We long to belong – to something, to someone. I don’t think there is a human in this world who doesn’t want to belong somewhere, somehow. It seems to me that Jesus is trying to tell those who question him that they choose to belong to groups that give them power and groups that give them prestige, but they refuse to belong to the One who gives them life. Belonging comes first and belief follows. If we are willing to belong, we will find our way to belief.

In a few minutes we will baptize baby Noelle. There are folks at different points along the theological spectrum who argue with infant baptism, saying that it must be a conscious choice on the part of the believer. I understand their thinking. A baby cannot make that choice, so those who don’t support infant baptism view it at worst as invalid, and at the least lacking in theological soundness. My standard response to this argument is that the reason we baptize babies and children is because we believe that God’s grace is alive and working in our lives whether we know it or not, and baptism is the sign and seal of God’s grace. I still unequivocally believe this to be true. But I also realize that our baptism is also a profound act of belonging. In her baptism today, we know that Noelle cannot make a profession of faith for herself. We know that she cannot answer questions about scripture or tell us in ten words or less why she believes, why she loves Jesus.

But what we do in this moment is tell her, even though she cannot understand it on an intellectual level yet, that she belongs. She belongs to her family, she belongs to this family, she belongs to the Church Universal, she belongs, most importantly to God. She is a child of God and a child of the covenant, and she belongs. Belief will come, and all the struggles and the joys that come with it. But she belongs. So do we all. Wherever you are on this day with your faith, whether you are struggling or doubting or wrestling or resting, you belong. That still, small voice is speaking, calling us to come into the fold, to trust, to allow ourselves to belong to the One who is our Shepherd. We belong. Belief will come. But we belong and that makes all the difference. Thanks be to God.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

Blinded By the Light

Acts 9:1-20

May 4, 2025

 

            The first car that I ever purchased for myself, by myself, completely by myself, was my Ford Fusion. It was the car that I was driving when I first came here to the church. I drove the heck out of it, then I passed it onto Phoebe who drove it not quite into the ground, but pretty close. We made that car go for as long as it possibly could. As I said, this was the first car I ever purchased just me. Before that I had others along to help me. But I bought this car all on my own. It was a momentous step for me, and I was proud that I negotiated it by myself. I did call my dad a few times to get his thoughts, but he was not there with me during the negotiations. It was just me and I was proud of me and proud of the car. But I hadn’t been driving it very long when I realized there was one design issue that I didn’t like. That car had terrible blind spots. I bought it before backup cameras were commonplace, and I quickly learned that I had to be extra cautious when I was backing out or changing lanes, because other cars could zip up on me and I wouldn’t see them until they were right there. Every car has some blind spots, but the blind spots on that car could be challenging.

            Blind spots are not reserved for vehicles only. We humans also seem to have built-in blind spots. I won’t make the claim that these blind spots are design flaws, but everything that goes into making us us – our families, our culture, our education, our region, our entire context – influences how we view the world around us, and these things can contribute to our blind spots. We see and interact with the world through particular lenses; and while those lenses allow us to see so much, they also make it easy to block things out as well. Blind spots.

            When I was studying this passage from Acts, I thought I knew everything about it. After all, the story of Saul’s conversion experience on the road to Damascus is one I know well. At least I thought I did. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know or was aware of this story. I remember seeing this story enacted on felt boards when I was a little girl in Sunday school. And felt boards were the height of technology when I was a kid. I probably heard this story read in picture books. It’s just one that I’ve always known – or thought I did. Here is the way I have always heard it.

            Saul, who was the bad guy because he hated Christians, was on the road to Damascus. He had permission from the church leaders – also bad guys – to round up even more of Jesus’ followers when he reached Damascus. But while he was on the way, he was suddenly blinded by a great light, the light, from heaven. The light was so bright and so strong it knocked him down, and he was lying, blind, on the ground when a voice spoke to him from the heavens. It was Jesus’ voice. And Jesus asked Saul, this bad guy, why Saul was persecuting him. Saul did not understand. He asked who it was that talking to him from this great heavenly, blinding light. Jesus answered that it was Jesus, and then he told Saul to get up and go to the city and he would be told what to do. Saul, who could not see because he had been blinded by the light, was helped by the others around him and taken to Damascus. A man named Ananias, who had also heard instructions from Jesus, went and met him. When Ananias laid hands on Saul, and told Saul that he had been sent by Jesus so that Saul could regain his sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit, scales fell from Saul’s eyes. And, just as Ananias said, he could see again. Only this time, he really could see. He could see that Jesus was the true Son of God. He could see that he was now called to a different way, the way of discipleship, the way of following. He could really see. Saul, the bad guy, would be transformed to Paul, the good guy. In being blinded by the light, his blind spots about Christians were gone.

            As I said, I thought I knew this story frontwards, backwards, and sideways. I’ve preached it. I’ve studied it, and Saul was always the bad guy. But then I read an essay by a biblical scholar who pointed out that Saul did not consider himself to be a bad guy. Saul was doing what he thought he was called to do. He thought he was ridding the faith of corruption. He thought he was purifying the faith from evil. He thought he was saving the Jewish people, God’s chosen ones, from being led astray and led to their destruction. Perhaps the first thought that crossed his mind when he was knocked down and blinded by the light, when he heard Jesus’ voice speaking from heaven, was, “Who me? I’m not persecuting anybody. I’m doing God’s work.” Because maybe, just maybe, Saul thought he was the good guy.

            This new aspect on Saul reveals two things to me: Saul had his own blind spots; he was beset by them. And I also have a big blind spot when it comes to this story. I thought I knew it so well, but how could I have never considered that Saul thought that he was in the right and doing the right thing? Saul thought he was executing God’s will. Saul probably thought he was the good guy. He had a big blind spot, and when it comes to Saul, so do I.

            I know that I have many more blind spots than just this one concerning Saul. At this point in my sermons, I will often say, “And I don’t think I’m alone in this.” I’m going to say that now. I don’t think I’m alone in this. I don’t think I’m alone in having blind spots. We all have blind spots. When my eyes were opened to this revelation about Saul, I realized that this story has many more layers to it than I’ve given it credit for.

            It is a story of transformation, true. It is a story about God working through unlikely people, true. After all, Ananias and the other believers knew about Saul and didn’t want anything to do with him. But perhaps there is another layer of meaning to this story as well. Perhaps it is also a cautionary tale. It warns us of the dangers of thinking that we know God’s mind and that we are privy to every working of God’s heart. It reminds us that because we don’t know fully, we need to check ourselves when we try to decide what is pure and what is not; and more importantly who is pure and who is not. Saul was on a purity campaign. He wanted to get rid of the negative elements he believed were leading Gods’ people astray. He thought he was a good guy, a faithful guy. He thought he knew what God’s will was, only to find out that he had been wrong. He found out that he had been blind long before he was blinded by the light.

            Our blind spots can cause us to wreak havoc on one another and on God’s creation. The Church as a body, an institution, has had many blind spots and caused great harm because of them. We, none of us, and I’m pointing the finger at myself, can know the fullness of God’s heart, and the bible is full of stories about God working through the unlikeliest of people. Saul is one of many. But in saying this, I’m not saying that everyone is just all okay and groovy and if we think someone is wrong about something, it is only because of a blind spot on our part. No. People do wrong things, terrible, evil things. And we are called to speak out against evil. But we are also called to remember that we have blind spots, all of us, and that we only see in part. That’s why being a disciple is so difficult.

            Recognizing that we all have blind spots and that there are many other perspectives is not an excuse for allowing injustice to continue. But calling out injustice, working against it, is not the same as trying to rid a community or the world of people we think are wrong. Blind spots, when taken to the extreme, have resulted in some of the greatest atrocities in history.

            Yet acknowledging that we have blind spots, we all have blind spots, is the first step in seeing that God’s will and God’s understanding is so much bigger than we can grasp. Anne Lamott, one of my personal heroes, wrote that she knows she has made God in her image when it turns out that God hates all the same people she does. Blind spots.

            Realizing that we have blind spots and accepting that God works through people we consider to be unlikely is the fist step in trusting God more than we trust in ourselves. Recognizing and acknowledging that we have our own blind spots, that we cannot fully see what God sees, sit to remember that we are made in God’s image and not the other way around. We all have blind spots. But the good news is that God does not. God sees what we cannot see. God understands what we cannot understand. And the really good news is that God sees us, sees our every flaw, sees our sometimes misguided good intentions, sees in us what we cannot always see in ourselves. God sees the whorl of God’s fingerprint in us, all of us. Because in spite of our blind spots, our flaws, our missteps, our sins, God sees us and loves us. May we do our best to overcome our blind spots and see others and ourselves in the same way.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

Back to the Boat -- Stated Meeting of the Presbytery of Middle Tennessee

John 21:1-19

May 3, 2025

 

            When my daughter, Phoebe, was just a few months old, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. She and my dad were coming to visit their new granddaughter in just a few days, when she called me to tell me that her treatment would require a mastectomy. But her oncologist agreed that the surgery could wait to be scheduled until after their visit to us. This was good news and a tiny thread of a silver lining in the midst of such unwelcome and unnerving news about her health. Just fyi: my mom’s cancer was caught very early, she made it through the surgery fine, and we had her in our lives for almost another 30 years.

            But none of us could predict the future at the time of that call and that traumatic diagnosis, so when I hung up with my mom, I did what I often do when everything around me seems out-of-control and unmanageable – I vacuumed. It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that we control very little in our lives. And I confess that in my heart of hearts what I want most of all is control. I want to control my future. I want to control my present. I want to control the context and circumstances that surround the people I love. Yet when confronted with my mom’s cancer and, even more so, her mortality, which pushed me to confront my own, I did the one thing I knew to do – I vacuumed. Fretting and worrying over mom was not going to get my rugs clean, so it was back to the vacuum for me. And a funny thing which I found out later was that my mom did the exact same thing on her end. She hung up the phone with me and started to vacuum. Like mother, like daughter. I guess some things just don’t change.

            But almost two weeks ago, we remembered and celebrated an event that is supposed to change everything. As it happens every year, Easter arrives with great flourish, ceremony, celebration, music, singing, alleluias, joy, crosses filled with flowers, church pews overflowing with family and friends – and then on Monday the world seems to move inexorably on. Friends and family continue to be diagnosed with cancer. People still die tragically and too young. Wars and violence seem to overwhelm any of the work toward peace. The chains of poverty and oppression remain unbroken. And there are times during this life inexorable that our attempts to be faithful, to answer the call to be disciples seem futile at best. And even though we, all of us believers, declare every year that we are Easter people, and that we will live every day from now in the light of the Easter promise, our lives return to “normal” too. We return to our routines and go about our daily lives with their work and play, joy and sorrow, and nothing really seems to have changed at all.

            From our passage at the end of John’s gospel, it looks as though even the disciples, the ones who were the immediate witnesses to these dramatic events – crucifixion, resurrection – have also returned to life as usual. In these verses before us, John gives an account of a third post-resurrection appearance by Jesus to the disciples. The risen Christ appears to them once more. But where are they? And what are they doing? Seven of the disciples are gathered by the Sea of Tiberius. They are not there preaching to anyone who might be with them on the beach. They are not there brainstorming the ways they will take the good news of the gospel to the crowds. They just seem to be there – maybe waiting, quite possibly feeling lost, confused, and afraid. We don’t really know what they are doing or why, but in a somewhat impulsive move Simon Peter decides to go fishing. In my imagination, Peter is restless and agitated. He can’t just sit there anymore; he must do something. It must have felt like his whole world was crumbling, and everything he thought he understood no longer made sense. So, he did the one thing he knew he could do – fish. I vacuum. Peter fished. Peter announces that he is going fishing. The others follow his lead. It’s as if they all think, “Well, Jesus may be resurrected, whatever that means, but that won’t put food on the table so let’s get back to the boats.”

            And back to the boats they go. They sit in the boat all night but catch nothing. Just after daybreak Jesus stands on the shore. Although the disciples have already seen him twice before, they do not recognize him. Jesus speaks to them about their predicament and tells them to cast their nets to the right side of the boat. They do what he tells them, and suddenly there’s more fish than they can haul into shore. This is the moment when the beloved disciple recognizes Jesus. When the disciples drag their full nets ashore, Jesus is waiting for them with a fire, saying, “Come and have breakfast.” In a eucharistic moment, Jesus breaks the bread and the fish and gives it to them.

            After this breakfast of fish and bread, Jesus asks Simon Peter three times if he loves him. And three times Peter answers, “I love you, Lord.” The third time Peter is hurt because Jesus continues to question him about Peter’s love for his teacher. So on this third go round, he answers, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus responds as he has twice before, “Feed my sheep.”

            I believe that it is widely accepted that Jesus’ purpose in asking Peter this question of his love for him three times was to cancel out Peter’s three denials of him before the crucifixion. Peter denied Jesus three times, and in turn, Jesus gives him three chances to restate his love. Jesus offers Peter forgiveness and commissions him with a ministry and mission. Feed my sheep.

            I think a lot about Peter in this moment. I think the guilt and shame he must have been feeling when this story begins was overwhelming. No pun intended; he must have been swimming in guilt. I find it interesting that before Jesus meets them on the beach, Peter not only decides to go fishing, but he also decides to do the work without clothes on. While this may be strange to us, it probably wasn’t to them. Perhaps it was hot. I suspect that trying to haul in large nets of fish in a robe, especially a robe with long sleeves that hindered movement would have been challenging.

            But I also think that Peter’s nakedness reveals his vulnerability and his shame. When he realizes that it is Jesus on the shoreline calling them in, Peter jumps into the sea to hide himself. It reminds me of the moment in the Garden of Eden when Adam and Eve hide themselves from God because they are naked and feel ashamed. So Peter is vulnerable, and Peter is ashamed, not just at being caught without clothes, but because of what he did and what he didn’t do. But Peter is given another chance. Peter is shown grace. For every time he denied Jesus, he is given another chance to declare his love, and to accept his call to serve. Feed my sheep.

            Perhaps this is part of the deeper meaning of this third resurrection appearance. It’s not about proving that Jesus is actually risen. The disciples have already seen him twice before. It seems to me that this third appearance was to offer Peter the grace he needed to do the work that lay ahead. It was to show Peter and the other disciples that just as death was not the end, resurrection is not an end in itself either. It is a new beginning. Peter and the others have a new call now. They must go back to their boats and fish for people. They must share the good news of the gospel. They must feed Jesus’ sheep. There are still so many people, so many sheep, who need to be fed, flocks that need to be gathered, lost ones who need to be found. It may seem that nothing had changed, that life and its sorrows had gone relentlessly on, but Jesus’ presence with them on that beach tells them otherwise. Everything has changed. And they are called to be a part of it. They must go back to their boats. They must try again.

            This ministry, their work and mission and call, will require all their persistence, all their determination. all their love and fortitude and perseverance. Most of all, it will take courage.

            We know that the disciples find their courage, because they go on to teach and preach and heal and participate in the miraculous ways of God empowered and emboldened by the Holy Spirit. Peter and the others feed Jesus’ sheep and so much more.

            But what about us? Was two weeks ago a dressed up, hopped up version of just another Sunday or has everything changed? And if it is the latter, then we also must find our courage. It takes courage just to live these days, especially these days. It takes courage to follow the gospel. It takes courage to lead and teach and preach and to try and be the human that Jesus was and to follow the Christ that Jesus is. It takes courage to live the gospel, because it is counter-intuitive to everything else in the world around us. And some days its really hard to do. It takes courage to try, and it takes even more to try again because no amount of vacuuming on my part will give me the control I so long for. I need to find my courage to trust God more than I trust myself. I need courage to do the work that I am called to do, to feed God’s sheep. I need courage, the courage that can only be found in God, and so do you. In this work we do today, may we find the courage we need, the boldness we need, the power we need – from God and from one another – to share the gospel, to speak truth to power, to live into the promise of Easter, to feed Gods’ sheep.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.