Fourth Sunday of Easter
I can’t help but to keep thinking back to two weeks ago on Holy Humor Sunday. It was such a fun day! And of course, there were the lambs. It was so much fun to see them in our fellowship hall. Walking around underneath the tables, among peoples’ legs. Having the chance to hold them for quite some time. Seeing the kids snuggling with them, asking parents breathlessly if they could get a lamb. What better lead-up is there to what is traditionally known as Good Shepherd Sunday. We need the power and love of the resurrected Christ to guide us, lead us, feed us, and heal us, more than ever.
However, the reading we have from the Gospel of John for today does not necessarily lend itself to give us lots of warm, fuzzy feelings. It leans more towards the abstract than the relatable. Obviously, Jesus has something important to say to us, but the nature of his language and what he’s trying to communicate, at least anything that goes beyond the face value of what he has to say, is, well… its’ rather difficult to fathom. John, himself, tells us as much: “Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.”
Unfortunately, like so much of the Bible, in the past this story has been used as a justification for division and exclusion. Jesus says, “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.” That kind of language makes it entirely too easy for people to reappropriate for their own purposes, enforcing artificial boundaries which reinforce their own power and control. The phrase “thieves and bandits” is easily transmuted into the concept of “unorthodox”. And that’s a label which is ripe for plastering on anyone who may be seen as non-conforming. Gender, sexuality, doctrine, politics, race, belief… For those who are in control, for the powers that be, it makes it easy to say that not everyone is going to get in, not everyone is going to be saved. The less obvious and therefore more insidious message that it sends is that, sure, Jesus loves everyone, but not necessarily the same. Jesus loves some of us better or more than others.
One of the results of having come through the pandemic was the free-floating anxiety and fear that it created. Honestly, for anyone who’s paying attention, there was more than enough of that before this whole thing started. But it seems to have somehow concretized itself. Our fear and anxiety have managed to turn into anger and hate. A cataclysmic event which, in the past would have brought everyone together, has instead managed to drive some of us even further apart. The more we allow our fear and anxiety, our anger and hatred to take control in our lives, the harder it becomes to see clearly. When we feel threatened, we retreat very quickly into an all or nothing mindset. All of our senses, everything with which God has blessed us which allow us to see subtlety and nuance, everything quickly collapses into and is rendered invisible by our primal need for certainty and safety. Everything becomes rigid. And suddenly Jesus’ image of the sheepfold with the gate goes from being a haven of comfort and care, to a bulwark against those who we want to keep out. It keeps those of us “on the inside” safe. We then have holy and secure isolation from “those people,” who will no longer be a threat. In this circle-the-wagons mentality, everything and everyone gets locked into place. We imprison ourselves and everyone around us into roles of “insider” and “outsider.” There is very little freedom or love in that place, if any at all. Clearly, we’re missing something…
So, let’s go back to the gospel. Remember, “gospel” is a word that means “good news”. But when we read this story, especially if we are feeling vulnerable and anxious; especially if we feel threatened and afraid, all we see are walls, barriers, boundaries, and separation. That’s what a fence with a gate is, right? But that’s not what Jesus is talking about when he says, “I am the gate.” He’s neither trying to keep people out, or even allow “us” to stay safely in. Nor is he trying to make us feel like we’re not good enough to be let in, to join the insiders inside the sheepfold.
Just think about it for a moment: Why do you need to have a gate? You need a gate in order to make an opening in what would be an otherwise solid fence or barrier of some kind. It permits movement through that barrier. The gate isn’t a means to exclusion. The gate is how we are let out. The gate is the means to pasture. The gate is the way to freedom, not exclusion. A gate, in other words, swings in two directions. In one direction it lets us in, to a place of rest and safety; a place of refuge and protection. In the other direction, well that’s where we find green pastures and still waters, and, yes, the valley of the shadow of death. Because in true freedom, there is always risk. There are always stumbling blocks and challenges.
When we talk about leading a Christ-like life, this is it: We know that in Him we are safe, but there’s more to life than safety. Jesus promises us sanctuary, but he also expects us to go back out and do the good work we are called to do, knowing that it may sometimes end with us feeling battered and bruised.
But it goes even deeper than that. When Jesus calls himself the gate, he’s not just saying, “There is a gate in all your carefully constructed, self-isolating walls.” He’s saying, “I am the gate in all your carefully constructed, self-isolating walls.” And not just the ones you build as a community or as a culture, but also the ones that you construct for yourself, inside yourself. It’s this stealthy undermining means of salvation that is utterly brilliant. Because that means that everything that we have labeled as a barrier is actually susceptible to the power of the love of Jesus. If we truly have Jesus in our lives; if we truly want Jesus in our lives, we must contend with the fact that everything we have set up to protect ourselves is perfectly permeable. Regardless of the bulwarks, fortifications, and ramparts we construct for ourselves, we will be called out into a life of adventure, possibility, and yes, strife and conflict. And those careful walls we’ve placed between ourselves and others? Jesus is the gate. He’s made himself a secret entrance into our hardened hearts, and all kinds of scary people are going to get in.
When we fully understand that Jesus is the gate—Jesus is the entry point into all change, depth, struggle, and love—it’s simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. As the saying goes, “God loves us exactly as we are, and God loves us far too much to leave us that way.”
In his book, Into the Silent Land, Father Martin Laird tells a powerful story. He was walking across a moor with a friend who had four dogs. As they walked, three of the dogs would run out across the moor, leaping over creeks and chasing rabbits and excitedly exploring the world around them. But one of the dogs would only run in a small circle right in front of his owner. No matter how many miles they walked or how far away the other dogs went, this dog would only run in a tight circle very close to them. Laird asked the owner why, and he replied, “This dog was kept for his entire life prior to coming to me in a very small cage. His body has left the cage, but his mind still carries it with him. For him, the world outside the cage does not exist, and so no matter how big and beautiful the moor, he will never run out across it. I bring him here so he can breathe the fresh air, but he’s still running circles in his cage.”
On a good day, when we’re feeling confident and happy in God’s love, seeing the glory of God’s people and God’s creation all around us, ambiguity and uncertainty are beautiful, because they bode possibility. We set aside the comforting security of all or nothing thinking and dive into the shadowland between. Ambiguity is possibility, opportunity, the treasure hidden in the field. We can handle and even appreciate nuance, subtlety, ambiguity, and the uncertainty that is the basic nature of faith.
But when we are hurting, weary, afraid, not only can we no longer tolerate ambiguity, we no longer want to. We are the dog who carries the cage with him out onto the moor. We think we’re keeping ourselves safe, we think we’re obeying the rules, but really, we’re our own jailers. We’re refusing to see the open gate in our hearts. We’re refusing to see Jesus.
But we know Jesus is patient with our willful blindness. He says to all of us, “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.” Sometimes we wish there was no gate. Sometimes we wish the barriers and boundaries we’ve placed around our hearts were bulletproof and siege resistant. But before long, God reminds us that that aching hole in our hearts, where insight and possibility and all these people – beautiful, flawed people, keep sneaking in—that is the very presence of Jesus who brings us rest in green pastures, beside the still waters. That is the place where true healing is found.
We live in a broken world: broken homes, broken promises, broken government, broken ecosystems, a broken healthcare system. We’re used to brokenness. We learn to live with it. We hear about the latest example, and we shake our heads for a minute and sigh and say, “Boy, I don’t know.” And then we go back to whatever we were doing. But “broken” is not the way things are supposed to be. We believe that God created everything and called Creation “good” and never made a thing called “brokenness.” And yet, brokenness crept into Creation. Separation and division soon followed.
Today, we see a broken world, and we know that it could be, that it should be — better.
Please join me in prayer: For all who suffer in mind, body, or spirit, We pray for care and healing. For those who are particularly vulnerable, We pray for safety and protection. For all who experience fear or anxiety,
We pray for peace of mind and spirit. For families who are facing difficult decisions between food and housing, We pray for policies that recognize their plight. For those who do not have adequate health insurance, We pray that no family will face financial burdens alone. For those who are afraid to access care due to immigration status, We pray for recognition of the God-given dignity of all. For our brothers and sisters around the world, We pray for shared solidarity. For public officials and decisionmakers, We pray for wisdom and guidance. Gracious and loving God, during this time may your Church be a sign of hope, comfort and love to all. Grant peace. Grant comfort. Grant healing. Be with us, Lord. Amen.