Abiding in Hope: The Resurrection Journey: Sermon for Easter 4C

Here we are with spring getting ready to burst in on us—burst in, and go blasting right by as 90 degree temperatures are predicted in just a few days’ time. How appropriate then, that our gospel plunges us back into winter. Because in our reading today, from the middle of Jesus’s ministry, it was winter—the time of the season of Hanukkah, because that is what the Festival of the Dedication is—and Jesus is walking the Portico of Solomon at the Temple, trailed by some of those opponents who constantly love to ask him leading questions trying to trip him up.

At the beginning of this chapter of John's gospel, Jesus had just finished referring to himself as “the good shepherd” to the people, and being very specific about that, as well. Yet here are these supposedly learned leaders of the people claiming they need more specifics, more proof.

It’s funny that in their maneuvering to try to trip up Jesus, they give voice to THE central issue for all of us: we all would like to just have the answers handed to us. We’d all love to have God solve all our problems and protect us all from every misfortune like a genie giving us unlimited wishes. Those leaders want to have Jesus as their Messiah for what he can do for them, rather than for what that would inspire them to change in their lives. They don’t want to have to listen, study, learn, or change. They want the answers handed to them.

And even now, that’s the problem with the life of faith, isn’t it? Here we are in Easter, when everything is supposed to be glorious summer, but instead, in all honesty, we find ourselves mired in the winter of our discontent, in the troubles and gnawing doubts and anxieties that subsume so much of our lives right now. War and crimes against humanity in Europe. Injustices in our legal system. Loved ones ill and plunged into rounds of treatment. A new variant of COVID getting ready to wash over us. Our schools becoming battlegrounds and under siege by ignorance. Leaders who seize power by dividing rather than uniting, by grandstanding rather than doing the boring work of governing for the good of all. Is it any wonder that even our lectionary acknowledges the difficulty in believing in resurrection when there is so much struggle, strife and grievance flavoring our every waking moment?

Our readings the last few weeks have been filled with stories of struggles with belief in resurrection. The male apostles accuse the women at the tomb of idle gossip on Easter morning. Thomas demands to actually see and touch the wounds of Jesus to know he’s not a ghost. Peter is haunted by his denial of Jesus and subsequent loss of faith in himself. Have you notices this? Our Easter readings are frank acknowledgements of exactly the same struggles we encounter as we try to grasp the idea of resurrection as a reality when everything around us draws our attention to earthly troubles and divisions.

The life of faith is always under assault by the forces of contempt and denial. So it’s no wonder that Jesus, in our gospel reading today, cannot even conceal his impatience with the games his opponents keep trying to play. They are asking him questions not because they want the real answer—in fact, the real answer is a threat to their system of domination. That’s why they’ve refused to see the signs all over the place. And Jesus tells them just that.

Jesus returns to the image of the shepherd in his response to the haters. And you and I might miss out on how that in itself is a criticism and an accusation against his opponents.

Because the thing is, THEY are supposed to be the shepherds of the people. In the ancient Mediterranean world, a common metaphor for leadership was the shepherd. Even the symbols of the power of the Pharaoh of Egypt was the local equivalent of the rod and the staff we heard about in our psalm. In the Torah and writings of Israel, God was the ultimate shepherd, and kings and leaders were supposed to mimic that loving care and concern. Leaders were supposed to be self-sacrificing shepherds at one with the people, and repeatedly in the prophets such as Ezekiel and in the psalms like the beloved one we just heard, that model of loving solidarity and protection was the requirement for leadership. And just like an ancient prophet, Jesus has been pointing out that those leaders have been woefully inadequate in the shepherd department. Instead of shepherds, they’ve been jackals, picking off the weak and collaborating with the wolves of Rome.

So when Jesus brings up being a shepherd again in our gospel, he intended for his opponents to immediately remember the description from our psalm, which is not only a psalm of praise to God—it is also a manual for how to inspire others and courageously lead them by caring about them. And they don’t like it, because they know their leadership is not built on the model of self-sacrifice and complete trustworthiness, but on the model of exploitation and manipulation.

This is very much the situation in which we too live, thousands of years later. As that 20th century sage Prince Rogers Nelson famously introduced in one of his songs in the glorious decade of the 1980s, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life; an electric word, life—it means forever and that’s a mighty long time….” (1)

Unlike that Prince, who advised us all to party like it was 1999, Jesus, the Prince of Peace, calls us to live like eternity matters. Jesus calls us to embrace the resurrected life as the ultimate pathway for a life that is filled with richness, direction, and value. To embrace life not just as a series of unfortunate events and struggles, but as an offering of thanksgiving and praise to God that in return fills us with confidence and joy no matter what obstacles we encounter.

Because the point of the life of faith is not merely to escape damnation and pronounce ourselves blessed: it’s to transform our living so that we live in imitation of Christ, that we truly dedicate ourselves to becoming his Body—his hands, heart, wisdom, and love—out in a world that is crying out for those things. It’s to offer those things to those around us because we acknowledge that we ourselves have received them from God, and they have transformed us from a people of fear to a people of hope.

So where are the instructions? How do we do this? The 23rd Psalm, the most beloved of all psalms, with images and verses known even to people with very little religious background, provides us with a sort of instruction manual as we embody the Shepherd's way of Resurrection.

The psalmist only knows the way to go because God, his own shepherd, is leading him. In the Mediterranean world, shepherds walked in front, and the sheep followed, unlike cattle that one drives with whips from the rear. Because the shepherd leads the sheep confidently, purposefully, the sheep know that all of their needs are going to be cared for. The shepherd, in a land that was persistently drought-stricken, knows the way to lush green fields that provide both plenteous forage along the way, but also is a sign that there is cool, sweet water nearby—another important consideration, as brackish or foul water could cause illness or even death. The shepherd’s leadership inspires faith and confidence and security in response to the anxiety we all encounter along the way.

In the anxiety of this journey, the soul can be wearied, bowed down, overcome by worry, anxiety, and stress. The shepherd knows this and counteracts it—by being right there with the sheep, by speaking tenderly to them, even by playing music or singing to them, so that even in the midst of the herd, each sheep can hear the comforting presence of the voice of the one who cares for them. In fact, the care and certainty with which the shepherd guides, leads, and cares for the sheep are such that the shepherd’s name becomes a watchword and symbol of faithful care and compassion. Such glorification of his name and his renown for his faithful care will even draw other sheep to seek out that shepherd themselves, just as God’s care of Israel was such that Isaiah spoke of the Temple becoming a house of prayer for all nations, and Paul carried the good news of the gospel out into the Gentile world. As we ourselves are called to be disciples not just inside these walls, but beyond these doors.

The shepherd responds to risks and dangers along the way, rather than making the empty promise that trials and dangers can be avoided. The shepherd does not promise that there will be no times of anxiety—but the sureness of his leadership means that even when the shadows are the deepest and the feeling of vulnerability and impending disaster seem greatest, the sheep fear no evil. The shepherd is in the front, with his rod, used to beat back predators, and his staff, used to guide the sheep and remove scorpions and snakes from the pathway are ever interposed between the sheep and any threats they may encounter. Even in the bleakest of environments, with dangers howling all around, the shepherd takes the lead and protects.

As shepherd and flock reach each resting place for the night, the shepherd makes sure that food aplenty is offered to all of his charges. This comforting domestic scene is enacted even with the wolves howling right outside the firelight of the crackling campfire. The sheep aren’t about to go hungry in the face of danger—on the contrary, that’s when the shepherd makes sure that the sheep aren’t just relieved of their anxiety, but treated to a sumptuous feast that shows a confidence and devotion that also makes a mockery of the predators’ attempts to panic the flock. The shepherd anoints and attends to all wounds with tenderness, making each sheep feel special and beloved.

And so, each day of the journey is veined with the surety of the shepherd’s devotion to the sheep, until at last they draw near to the home of the shepherd. Upon arrival at the shepherd’s home, the sheep still know that that same goodness and mercy that they experienced on the road will be their forever. Once there, the sheep realize that all that has followed and pursued them was not danger and heartbreak, but the goodness and mercy of the shepherd—the intrinsic and foundational qualities of God.

How is this journey possible? They key is in the very first verse: Notice that the opening metaphor in verse 1 contains a positive and a negative statement: “God is my shepherd” is positive; “Therefore I lack nothing” considers that there can be no need greater than the care and concern of God.” Perhaps that is why this psalm is so beloved. We have a tendency to focus on what we lack. Our lizard, instinctive levels of our brains are constantly on alert, perceiving threats everywhere. But if we take seriously the care and complete faithfulness of God toward us, we know that nothing can harm us.

That doesn’t mean we won’t encounter tragedy, or suffering, or illness, or even death. It means that God will be alongside us throughout those things. Never leaving us along to face them. And it means that God calls us into community to support each other and reach out to the lost as the most beautiful expression and use of this one precious life we have been given.

Today, especially, we remember and proclaim that Jesus is our good shepherd, walking alongside us and protecting us, laughing with us, mourning with us. Calling us all to live a resurrected life of hope, of faith, of generosity. To plant seeds of compassion, love and gratitude in the rocky soil of human systems of division and fear.

The resurrected life calls us to grow from being sheep to being shepherds ourselves, in joyful testimony and gratitude for the gifts that God has given us each and every moment. The resurrected life calls us to BE the change we want to see in the world. And the time to begin is now.

Amen.