Sermon preached at St. Augustine's Episcopal Parish, Easter 4, 29 April 2012
This Sunday, the 4th Sunday of Easter, is known
as “Good Shepherd Sunday” due to the Gospel reading, which is always taken from
John chapter 10. Our lectionary
has also included the beloved and pastoral Psalm 23, the most familiar of all
the Psalms, with its idyllic opening verse, “The LORD is my shepherd; I shall
not be in want.”
Its language is so familiar, in fact, that I wonder if many
of us have stopped to really consider what it means for the text to call the LORD
“my shepherd”. What is the job of
a shepherd anyway? What sort of
person was and is still a shepherd in the Middle East? What is the social and economic status
of a shepherd in the culture? For
what is a shepherd responsible, and to whom does a shepherd answer?
As I’ve considered these questions, my mind was drawn to
seek out what is our own culture’s closest parallel to the job of a shepherd in
the Middle East. And I’d like to
read to you what I think Psalm 23 might sound like if it was written for our 21st
century American culture.
The LORD is my babysitter;
I
shall not be in want.
She makes me lie down in my pajamas
and
brings me a cool glass of water.
She awakens my imagination
by
sharing with me her cherished family stories.
Yea, though my light is off, and
the house creaks,
I shall fear no evil;
your
first aid certification and cordless phone, they comfort me.
You welcome me into your house and
feed me a snack
when bullies chase me home from
school;
my
glass of milk is bottomless.
Surely your goodness and mercy
shall follow me all the days of my life,
and
I will live with the memory of your loving care for ever.
Does this sound sacrilegious, too trivial or mundane,
disrespectful, even, to call the LORD, the God of the universe, a babysitter?
Let’s consider together how a babysitter in our culture is
similar to a shepherd in the Middle East.
First, they are both jobs for adolescent youth not typically
done by adults.
Second, they are both jobs that give a first taste of
independence and responsibility to a young person.
Third, neither job is highly regarded by the dominant
culture. If I were to say, “The
mayor acts like a babysitter at the capital,” you don’t hear, “The mayor is
doing a splendid job!” Similarly,
if we look at the story of David’s anointing in 1 Samuel 16, Jesse parades all
of his older sons in front of the prophet, and doesn’t even think to call David
in from keeping the sheep. All
he’s good for is being a shepherd, after all. I imagine college and high school athlete brothers meeting a
professional scout who has come to visit while their 12 year-old brother is
down the street babysitting the neighbor’s kids.
Fourth, children and sheep are both enormously valuable to
their families, and both are utterly helpless to care for themselves,
especially if something goes wrong.
So when the Psalm calls the LORD, “my shepherd,” and when
Christ calls himself “The Good Shepherd,” we are not being given an image that
jibes with the cultural ideal of power and influence. Rather, the Supreme Divine Reality is brought into the
domestic realm and sent out to do the job that is beneath anyone who has any
societal power or status.
And God in Christ, rather than taking this job
half-heartedly, as a stepping stone to bigger and better things, does the work
with the utmost dedication and concern for the helpless and needy sheep.
The beginning of John 10, before today’s Gospel, speaks
about a sheepfold, a gate, about listening to the shepherd’s voice, and about
being led out to pasture. Now, if
you’re picturing the British Isles and fields of tall, green grass, you’re in
the wrong place. A sheepfold to a
young Bedouin shepherd in the Middle East amounts to a small cave into which
the two dozen or so sheep would be led as the sun set. Stones would be piled up at the
entrance to the cave, and over the only opening, the “gate”, the shepherd would
gather some loose rocks and some dry thorn bushes. Then, the shepherd would sleep in front of the gate, outside
of the cave, as a guard.
So when your little 12 year-old self hears the howling and sees
a wolf coming towards the sheepfold in the middle of the night, and all you
have is your rod, a short stick you use to count the sheep, your staff, a
longer stick with a crook you use to direct the sheep, and a sling shot, this
where the difference between the Good Shepherd and the hired hand really
matters. This is where we see what
Jesus means when he says that the good shepherd lays down his life for the
sheep.
When the text speaks of the shepherd leading the sheep out
to find pasture, again, this is not the Irish countryside, but the Middle
Eastern desert. And in the desert
leading sheep to food involves the shepherd knowing where to look for the
little tufts of grass that spring up along the rocky hillsides each
morning. Sheep will not find their
own food in the desert. They must
be led or they will wander aimlessly and die from starvation or a predator.
What does it say about us for the LORD to be our shepherd,
for Christ to be our Good Shepherd, or for that matter, our Good Babysitter?
For starters, it says that we are of the enormous value.
It says that we are helpless. We might think we can take care of ourselves, just look at
my 4 year-old son, but we can’t.
It says that we are protected and guarded by someone who
will bear any cost to keep us safe.
It says that we are guided and led to find the
sustenance we need for each day.
It says that we are intimately known.
And it says that we recognize the voice of our beloved
shepherd, our beloved babysitter, when we hear it.
Living into this Reality is the work of a lifetime: to
humble yourself enough to listen for guidance, to learn how to recognize the Voice
that calls you by name, to follow on the path that the Voice leads you, and to
trust your experience of the Divine Presence who does not remain enthroned
somewhere far off, but who comes close enough to know your every need, to calm
your every fear, and who will lay down his own life to defend you from harm.
Amen.
