One Flock, One Shepherd

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From the 2^nd Sunday of Easter to the Day of Ascension, our lectionary presents the same core readings every year. Each of the readings contributes something to our recognition of the Risen Christ.

On the 2^nd Sunday of Easter, the story of Thomas invites us to wrestle with human faith and doubt. Last Sunday, the Risen Christ appeared among his disciples while they were sharing a meal. They were startled and terrified because they did not recognize him. And so he asked, “Fellas, do you have anything to eat”. They offered him food and he ate. Through the breaking of bread, the Risen Christ was revealed to them.

Today we heard the story of the good shepherd, and it also contributes to our understanding of Christ—and to our own discipleship as Christians in this world.

There’s a lot of talk about sheep, flocks of sheep, and shepherds in the story. After our service concludes, there will be a petting zoo with sheep and even a few goats.

So, I thought it would be good to start with some fun facts about sheep….

A. Human eyes have round pupils. Sheep have rectangular pupils.

B. Humans have 155-degree peripheral vision. Sheep have MORE THAN 270-degree peripheral vision. They’re able to look straight ahead and see over both of their shoulders!

C. Sheep have an excellent sense of smell.

D. Sheep experience a range of emotion: fear, anger, despair, boredom, happiness.

E. Sheep can differentiate between human facial expressions—preferring a smile to a frown.

F. And a mama sheep recognizes the bleat (or voice) of her lamb. Even if the lamb is not visible to her, she knows the voice of her own.

What can we learn from sheep and the good shepherd that might inform our understanding of the Risen Christ?

The first part of the story is familiar. Jesus will lay down his life for us, the sheep of his flock. He differentiates himself from a hired hand—someone who is watching the flock for a paycheck only. The hired hand does not know the sheep…and is not invested in the safety and nurture of the flock.

When danger comes, the hired hand runs away. The wolf is free to scatter the sheep—they are no longer a flock.

In this part of the story, there’s a heavy emphasis on the redemptive work of Jesus the Christ for his flock. Jesus also named another part of his mission: Whereas the wolf scattered the sheep; it is the good shepherd who enfolds the flock.

Enfolding a flock of sheep is not easy. In places like Ireland and Scotland, sheep herding is still a common way of life. Many times, I’ve waited on a country road while a shepherd moved a flock of sheep from one field to another. It’s like watching a comedy skit unfold.

Herding dogs nip at the heels of the sheep who stray from the flock which is to say that they nip at the heels of all the sheep. The shepherd opens the gates and then stands in the road, holding cars at bay so the sheep can safely cross the road. Sitting in a car watching the procession, it feels like time stops. You can’t make this process happen faster—no matter how late you are for an appointment or how many times you honk your horn, the flock will pass in its own course of time.

The shepherd and dogs work together to keep the flock intact—crossing creeks, roads; moving through fence gates. The sheep seem unaware of the danger around them, or that the shepherd has risked his own life standing in the road between the sheep and oncoming cars.

I often pray that God will be the Shepherd who leads and guides St. Chris toward God’s vision for us. I wonder what dangers we routinely navigate without realizing how we’ve been held together, and safely moved along our journey, by that good shepherd.

As I reflected on the text this week, I kept coming back to a later part of the story where Jesus expanded his mission beyond the flock of believers:

He said, “I 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.”

In other words, Jesus is not only laying down his life for the flock of believers; he is laying down his life for all humanity, across all time.

The message of the good shepherd is daunting because we are the Body of Christ in this time and place.

We are called to know one another—not as acquaintances (like the hired hand). We are called to know one another deeply: to recognize the voice, the wounds and the joys of one another.

We are called to nurture and safeguard our flock, to raise up disciples. That means we invest in programs that encourage us to grow in faith and relationship with Christ.

We are called to welcome people into this joyful community, to create opportunities for people to plug-in and become part of fabric of St. Christopher’s.

We are called to carry God’s love and God’s peace to the sheep who do not belong to this fold. Sheep who may not look like us, or pray like us, or speak like us. Sheep who may not have a roof over their head, or transportation, or medical care, or food. Sheep who may have adopted a secular shepherd—a hired hand—to follow. The kind of shepherd who runs away when life gets hard.

How do we bring the voice of the Good Shepherd to our community?

That Voice is heard every time Laundry Love holds an event, every time a food pantry opens its doors to hungry people. The refugee work we have done—and will do—speaks volumes to people who are rebuilding their lives in a new place.

The community just outside our door is filled with people who are compelled by hope to search for the Good Shepherd. May they recognize God’s Voice, and God’s redemptive love, through us.

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Where Love Abides

By Paula Jefferson • 08 May, 2024

When I turned three years old, my mom took me to the pediatrician for a 36-month check-up. Dr. Lynn did all the usual things and then he folded arms and observed me for a while. Eventually, he turned to my mom and asked, “Betty, is she always like this?” Mom said, “yes—this is who she is.” Dr. Lynn said, “I think this is ADHD…Ritalin would calm things down for her.” But, there was a caveat. If Dr. Lynn was wrong, and I did not have ADHD, Ritalin would cause a counter-reaction—and I would be even more hyper than usual. Spoiler alert: I do not have ADHD. My parents talked it over and decided that Sunday morning would be a perfect chance to test Ritalin. Of course, my parents didn’t go to church. They sent my sister and I with Grandma. On Sunday morning, my unsuspecting Grandma picked us up and we went to the little Baptist church in my hometown. By the time Rev. Bolster was leaning to his sermon—waving his arms and shouting for Jesus, Ritalin was coursing through my veins. I wanted to preach, too. So, I slid off the pew and under the pew in front us. Then I began to army crawl toward the front of the church. And, wow, suddenly I noticed all these shiny dress shoes without shoelaces and I began gathering people’s shoes along the way. When I popped up in front of the first row, I had an armful of shoes. I dropped them and ran up the stairs to stand beside Rev. Bolster. None of this activity had affected his sermon. He was still waving his arms and shouting, and was I mimicking everything he did. Grandma finally had enough and came to get me. My first sermon ended very abruptly. Because I was so young, I have no personal memory of this event or the rest of the day before Ritalin wore off. The reason I know the story so well is because, in my family, Sunday dinner was a command performance. After church, my aunts and uncles and cousins gathered at grandma’s home for a big meal. When the dessert plates were finally cleared, the coffee pot came to the dinner table. Everyone pushed their chairs back from the table and then the story telling began. Stories, like the day of Ritalin, were told over and over again. I heard stories about my parents and my aunts and uncles when they were children, stories about when our family came to America, stories about families in our community. We sat at the table for hours. Sunday dinner was holy space, a weekly ritual where the real dish being served was relationship. Today’s Gospel reading places us at the Maundy Thursday dinner table. Jesus has already washed everyone’s feet, Judas has gone into the night to betray Jesus, and now everyone’s pushed their chairs back from the dinner table. It’s that time in the evening when they’re expecting Jesus to teach. Maybe it will be a new parable or a recalling a particular healing or that time when the disciples went out on their own, two by two. But tonight’s conversation will not be a trip down memory lane. Instead, Jesus will speak to them for hours…Chapters 14, 15, 16, and 17 of John’s Gospel are called “the farewell discourses.” All of it happens after the meal. These are the words Jesus felt he needed to say to his family and friends before he moved to the Garden of Gethsemane and the cross. What he chose to say was all about relationship. “As the Father has loved me, [he said], so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. It sounds circular because it is. Jesus is part of God’s life in the Trinity. He has extended his love to us. We are invited to abide in Jesus’ love which abides in God’s love. This is an ever-evolving, never-ending relationship into which the incarnate Christ welcomes you and me. “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends”. Because Jesus said this at the Maundy Thursday meal, it seems like he is referring to the cross. This week, I wondered if he is also reflecting on all of his life. From the moment of Jesus’ birth, his life invited people to come and abide in God’s love. The shepherds, the wise men, Herod—all of them felt a new Presence in our world. Wherever Jesus went, he welcomed people into relationship. He listened, he told stories about his relationship with his Father, and he taught us a new way of being in relationship: As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. He tossed the keys to his life to us, and said “You are my kin…come, abide in me”. Many of you know I grew up in Appalachia, where passing down stories from generation to generation is the fabric of community. We know one another’s stories—and we hold them for one another. We do much the same thing in our congregational life: We read Scripture that tells us about God’s engagement with our world over thousands of years. We recite creeds. We pray as a community for our community. We sing together. We break bread and share the cup of Christ’s new covenant. And then what? We pass these stories to new generations of followers through Christian formation, through our welcome of guests who come to see what the Church means today. We abide in God’s love when we feed the hungry, clothe the naked and bind up the wounds of need. We abide in God’s love when we listen deeply and hold one another’s stories. This is relationship. It is what Jesus offered to us. We are called to toss the keys to our life—St. Christopher’s life—to a community of people desperate to know Love. Amen.