Sermon for 4th Sunday of Easter – John 10:11-18

In case you didn’t get the memo, this is Good Shepherd Sunday. Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.” Good news up front! Now, it’s a parable, so what do we always do? We try to figure out which character we are. So by faith we hear Jesus telling us that he’s our shepherd and we’re his sheep. So naturally we compare our life of faith to sheep. Sheep are smelly and dumb, so let’s be humble. Sheep make bad decisions, so let’s admit we need a shepherd. Sheep recognize their shepherd’s voice, so we listen for Jesus’ voice in the tumult. I could keep going, but you get the point. We could talk about shepherds in the same way, but we’ll save that for another sermon. That just leaves the hired hand and the wolf, but we’ll get to them soon enough.

Now, whenever Jesus tells a parable, it matters who Jesus is telling it to. If he’s talking to his disciples, then we figure Jesus is teaching with love and compassion. Except what’s interesting here is that Jesus isn’t talking to his followers. He’s talking to a bunch of raging Pharisees. And Jesus is pretty angry too. Here’s what happened. Jesus gave sight to a blind man. And of all the miracle stories, this one stands out because there’s all kinds of interrogation afterwards. Neighbors drag the man to the Pharisees for questioning. The Pharisees don’t like his answers. So they summon his parents and question them. Now, his parents are painfully aware that if they don’t watch their mouths they’ll be kicked out of synagogue. You can’t afford that kind of social death in a small village. So they say “we don’t know. Ask him.” Then the Pharisees haul in the man for another round of interrogation. It’s a real Gestapo situation. Finally they get so outraged that they drive out the man. Jesus hears about it. He seeks out the man like a good shepherd. And he says these words. “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” Naturally the Pharisees hear, because they’ve got ears everywhere. They say, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus answers, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains. Then he tells this parable.

See, this is a parable of comdemnation. It may have good news in it, but not for these folks. Jesus is judging them. Not just because they refuse to acknowledge who Jesus is, or because they refuse to believe that such a miracle could happen. It’s that they’ve already written off the man as condemned by God. To them, blindness only means one thing. This man has sinned, and it’s unforgiveable. So for him to dare suggest that his blindness wasn’t his own fault? They’re outraged and tell him so. “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” So Jesus lays everything out. I am the good shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not she shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and abandons the sheep. And the wolf snatches them. Jesus is calling the Pharisees hired hands. These folks who God has called to tend the congregation. What do they do? They establish doctrine and judgment. I mean, you’ve got to have rules and categories, so that it’s abundantly clear who’s liable for everything that’s wrong. Because what would it mean if you couldn’t explain why bad things happen? That everything’s arbitrary? That we’re stuck in the hands of an angry God with no hope?

But let’s understand. The Pharisees are exceedingly responsible hired hands. They’ve learned a lot from so many other shepherds. How do you protect your sheep? You put them in a pen. You tell them to stay in the pen. Be a good sheep. But there’s a problem. The wolf doesn’t recognize pens or fences. The wolf comes in at will to kill the sheep. And if the hired hands don’t flee, they’ll be killed too. What a parable. The Pharisees couldn’t be any more offended because they’re put utter faith into boundaries and commandments and nothing else registers. They think these are the only things that stand between life and death, and this Jesus fool just wants to burn it all down. Hashtag #defundthepharisees.

Here’s the thing. It’s not that doctrine is evil in itself, but in this valley of tears, this broken world, something strange happens. Doctrine becomes this odd stand-in for God’s will. As if to say that affliction is the product of our own bad choices. We believe in poetic justice. That we get what we deserve. We’re so desperate to believe that’s true that when we witness injustice we rationalize it. If they hadn’t been in the wrong place, if they hadn’t dressed like that, if only they weren’t under the influence, if they hadn’t shown their frustration. If only they followed orders then they wouldn’t have been killed. At the end of the day, those are our real doctrines, and we’re so invested that we’ll defend them to our last breath. We have an affliction and it’s got a name. Victim-blaming. And we all do it. Not that we want to admit it, but if we’re pushed hard enough, we’ll testify as a matter of pride, because we’re convinced that our lives prove that we’re right. Isn’t that how God’s justice is supposed to work? After all, we don’t have problems like those people.

Except, the wolf still comes. For all the black and brown victims whose lives we debate in our privilege and comfort. And the wolf comes for us in our self-righteousness. Though the wolf doesn’t come for Jesus because the hired hands got to him first.

But neither the wolf nor the hired hands have the last word. Jesus says, “I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord.” The hired hands crucify Jesus. He suffers and dies, yet still he rises after three days, in the glory of his resurrection. Jesus goes to the very end of everything for us, to the thing that we fear most, and moves beyond it. And it’s not just that Jesus dies and rises, but he raises us with him. And there’s nowhere we can go that Jesus hasn’t already been before us, not even death. This is why Jesus really is the good shepherd, because we can’t help but follow him to the end.

We are the sheep of his pasture. And Jesus calls his sheep in a very particular way. He calls us by name, and says “I forgive you.” Because he won’t let anything separate us from his love, nothing we’ve ever done, and not even the worst we could imagine. This is why Jesus says, “I know my own and by own know me.” Jesus chooses us unconditionally. But this isn’t a fluffy, feel-good thing. It’s hard. It leads us to reveal our scars and our regrets, so that when we testify that no one’s beyond Jesus’ forgiveness, folks will know we’re telling the truth. Want to put victim-blaming to a grinding halt? That’s how you do it.

This kind of faith is also heart-breaking. Because now we can’t unsee the prejudice and injustice that’s killing people. We know that wolf when we see it, and we’ve got something to say about it. We’re going to speak truth to power, for the sake of that God-given dignity that we all have as children of God. Of course, it’s risky. Some folks won’t like us very much. But this is what love requires. The love of the good shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep. The one who gives everything he has to you, to me, and to those where he’s leading us. Thanks be to God.