Fourth Sunday of Easter
May 3, 2020

O Source of life abundant, may we have the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth – come when it may, and cost what it will.

I don’t know how many of you know this, but one of the first things that the Mayor of Boston did when it became clear that the COVID-19 pandemic would hit Boston hard, was to invite the leaders of faith communities in the City to meet with him via conference call. It was a surreal St. Patrick’s Day in the City of Boston when Mayor Walsh acknowledged that faith leaders had always been there for him and for the city, but the reverse had not always been true.  Since that day, his senior staff has been working more closely than usual with religious leaders to identify people who are most vulnerable and to direct our combined resources to serve them. Weekly conference call meetings begin and end with prayer, led by participants on the call: Muslims, Jews, Christians and others. Thus surrounded by prayer, the content of the meetings focuses on food, water, access to bathrooms, safe shelter for the days and nights, public safety, children, elders, racism, xenophobia, domestic violence, addiction treatment, protecting undocumented immigrants, and financial relief through the Boston Resiliency Fund. After each meeting, the mayor’s office sends a follow-up email with resources, reminders, answers to questions and sometimes requests. Thursday we were asked to remind you to please complete the census reporting so that we get the federal funding that we need for the next ten years. I tell you this in a sermon because it is an example of good shepherding on a day known in church tradition as Good Shepherd Sunday.

Jesus, of course, is known as the Good Shepherd, beloved child of the Best Shepherd!  Shepherding is one of the oldest occupations known to humankind, so we probably all feel like we understand what a shepherd does, but I’m going to review the job description with you anyway.  The primary responsibility of a shepherd is to ensure that a flock gets adequate food and water.  Once that is taken care of, a good shepherd protects a flock from becoming prey or being stolen and takes care that they are not overdriven.  Shepherding language for figures of speech when it comes to leading people is found in ancient Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece, and of course, Israel.  It’s worth noting that the metaphor of shepherding is generally used as a political metaphor, [1] although politics and religion weren’t so separate in ancient times (and they’re not so separate even today). Religion is political just as the personal is political. Not acknowledging that is a form of denial unexamined privilege.

In the Church, some of our religious leader language comes from shepherding language – episcopal comes from episcopos – of the bishop – meaning overseer, guardian of the flock. Bishops carry croziers (shepherd’s crooks) because of their shepherding role. Presbyter/Priest, Pastor, pastoral are all words that come from shepherding language (Pastor is a feeder of the flock.) As it turns out, some shepherds are better than others when it comes to being attentive and compassionate with the flocks in their care. The prophets of the First Testament had a lot to say about bad shepherds and good shepherds. Bad shepherds feed and care for themselves but do not feed the sheep, do not strengthen the weak ones, do not heal the sick ones, do not bind up the injured ones, do not bring back the strayed ones, do not seek after the lost ones, but rule over the sheep with force and harshness. They overdrive and endanger the sheep.[2]

In the Gospel of John, Jesus says, “I am the Good Shepherd,” and his listeners know that means he provides nourishment, healing, and attentive care to the flock. So why didn’t his disciples understand? Well maybe because Jesus is saying something different in our Gospel reading today. We hear this Gospel passage and think that Jesus is the shepherd, but in this story, Jesus is the gate.  Jesus is not the shepherd. Jesus is not the thief in the night or the bandit on the highway. Jesus is not the gatekeeper.  Jesus is the gate. Jesus says, “I am the gate for the sheep.”  Two times before this, in the Gospel of John, Jesus has made “I AM” declarations. I AM the bread of life.  I AM the light of the world. I AM, of course, is the divine revelation to Moses in the wilderness, encountered in the flaming bush which was not burned up or burned out. I AM WHO I AM, Moses hears. Or it can be translated I AM BECOMING WHO I AM BECOMING; or I WILL BE WHO I WILL BE. (And there’s that peculiar name of the Holy One: Who.) Jesus says, “I AM the gate for the sheep.”

Or more literally, Jesus says, “I AM the door,” or the passage, or the opening, through which the shepherds and the sheep go in and out.  And it’s worth noting that Jesus doesn’t claim to be the good gate or the only gate. It might sound like that’s what he’s getting at when Jesus says, “All who came before me are thieves and bandits,” but the word “before” is not necessarily about time.  It can be about spatial relationship (as in, “the case went before the jury.”) All who came in front of the me are thieves and bandits, Jesus says.[3] But the good news is that the sheep didn’t listen to them because they didn’t recognize the voices of the thieves and bandits.

There are legitimate shepherds who care for the sheep, and then there are those who abuse and destroy the sheep, and Jesus is rightfully angry about the latter ones. I want you to notice that the threat here is not hell but thieves and bandits [4] – people who steal and do violence to the sheep (who are a metaphor for the people). The threat is political and religious leaders who do not provide sanctuary, who do not ensure adequate food and clean water, who do not protect the lambs of God from predators and violence, or from being overdriven. The promise is not about getting into the sheepfold and never having to leave.  The promise is the ability to come and go through the gate that Jesus is. The gate is the way in and the way out. Jesus is making a promise of freedom to live a life in community – a life in common — that exceeds expectations, that is extraordinary and awe-inspiring, that is better than can be asked for or imagined. 

In John’s Gospel narrative, Jesus seems to assume that those to whom he is speaking will get this figure of speech – this paroimia – a cryptic bit of wisdom that he is sharing about the job of shepherds. But they don’t (or they won’t), and so in his recapitulation, Jesus says, “you know what? I am the door” (in Greek, the word is thura).  In figurative speech, which this explicitly is, the word thura means possibility, opportunity, what is feasible, a way through. In order for a door to permit passage, it has to be open. This is the vision of the beautiful city in Isaiah 60 and Revelation 21: “Your gates will always be open; by night they will never be shut.” This is a vision of paradise – and, for the writer of the Gospel of John, Jesus is the Way to that common wealth, the common well-being, coming and going.

Here Jesus is saying to his followers, I AM the possibility – the opportunity – the doorway – the way through – the way in to shelter and the way out to food and water. I want the Church to call the Fourth Sunday of Easter “Open Door Sunday” or “Possibility Sunday.” Jesus is the open door.  Jesus is the possibility. The shepherds and the sheep can come and go through this I AM possibility of Jesus. They’re not blocked in or locked out. They are all free, sheltered, fed, cared for, cared about. In fact, this is the very definition of being saved according to the Gospel of John. This is salvation. Salvation is when vulnerable ones are free to come and go, and they are welcomed and well-cared for. Salvation is when even the most vulnerable ones have life and have it abundantly.

It seems to me, in the context of the heart of John’s Gospel, on the heels of Jesus’ criticism of those in positions of leadership who destroy and steal from God, we have a lesson about the possibility – the opportunity to offer freedom and shelter and food to each according to their need, by each according to their ability. We have a calling to not be thieves who sneak and bandits who ambush, to not take more than our share or do violence to the wider community, but to proclaim over and over that what God wants for God’s people is to be free and to be fed abundantly. We have a calling to enact again and again God’s desire for God’s people for strength for those who are weak, healing for those who are sick, binding for those who are injured, homecoming for those who have strayed, searching for those who are lost, not with force or harshness, or fear or foreboding, or guilt or shame, not with threats or intimidations, but with open invitations to a shared abundant life which actively seeks to repair the breaches in our communities. 

The remedy, the repair work offered to us is described in this morning’s reading from Acts of the Apostles. The reading picks up where we left off last week. When the people realized their desire to repent of the evil that enslaved them, the evil they had done, and the evil done on their behalf.  When they repented, here’s what it looked like: “they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread, and the prayers.” And what did that look like?  It looked like people redistributing their material and temporal and social resources for the benefits of any who had need.  It looked like sharing money and food, time and social capital so that nobody had too much, and nobody had too little. In this time of pandemic and increasing hunger, let’s be inspired to dwell more fully, to recognize our Risen Lord in our bread broken at home, in the light by day and by night, and in the gateway to abundant life, coming and going.

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