Jesus said, “My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish. No one can take them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one can take them out of the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one.” (John 10.27-30)
On this Fourth Sunday of Easter, we celebrate “Good Shepherd Sunday,” the name ascribed to the day because the gospel for this Sunday is taken each year from Chapter 10 of John’s gospel, known as the Good Shepherd Discourse because Jesus spends a good part of the chapter speaking of himself as the Good Shepherd.
The text is cut and spliced over the course of the three year cycle, a fact that makes it difficult to appreciate the whole of the text and to place the divided parts into their context. Little matter. We work with what we have. The short section that we have today follows on the heels of Jesus’ saying, “I am the Good Shepherd,” the theme of the discourse as a whole.
If we’re keeping count, there are seven so-called “I am” statements in the Gospel of John. Here they are: “I am the bread of life” (6.35); “I am the light of the world” (8.12); “I am the gate for the sheep” (10.7); “I am the Good Shepherd” (10.11); “I am the resurrection and the life” (11.25); “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (14.6); and “I am the true vine (15.1).
Surrounded by the leaders of the Jewish people, Jesus stands outside the Temple in Jerusalem where they demand of him, “If you are the Christ, tell us plainly.” Of course, we know by this point in the gospel that the Jewish leadership is not really interested in ascertaining Jesus’ identity as the long-awaited Messiah. They have already made up their minds that he is not, so the question is intended to trap him in their cages, hoping to ensnare him that will provide ammunition for their ill intentions.
If we have forgotten their sinister schemes, John drops us a hint right at the start, telling us “it was winter” when the confrontation takes place, more than just a passing statement about the season, but an allusion to the spiritual darkness that envelops the Jewish leadership. After all, the gospel begins with the statement that “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it (1.5). John would have us remember that point again here.
Jesus does not answer “I am the Messiah.” Instead, he answers them, “I am the Good Shepherd.” I don’t think it is an attempt to skirt around their question of whether he is the Messiah, but instead is an honest answer to how he sees himself. For the Jews of the time, there was a tightly held belief that the Messiah would be someone with military power and a political figure the likes of King David.
Obviously, Jesus never saw himself in those terms. In fact, he saw himself as opposite to those notions in every way, choosing to care for the sick, to feed the hungry, and to clothe the naked. He had no military, only a band of low-income Galileans, some fishermen, others with shady backgrounds, who followed him as he traveled the roads preaching and teaching about the Kingdom of God, a kingdom in opposition to the kingdom of the world.
Identifying himself as the Good Shepherd tidily describes how he saw himself, not as some king on a throne, but as a shepherd caring for his flock. “I have come not to be served, but to serve,” he would say of himself, making it clear that he saw his purpose as keeping the sheep fed and watered, protected from thieves, and searched out if they were lost. Certainly, it was nothing like the Messiah that the Jewish leaders had in mind.
In the few verses that we hear today, lifted from the larger section about the Good Shepherd, we can detect a call narrative. The clue, as we have often seen in other places, is found in the words “follow me.” Jesus tells the Jewish leadership, “My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me.” Of course, it is true on a literal level. Sheep do come to recognize the voice of the shepherd and they do follow him when he calls them to follow.
But Jesus is making a larger point here, this one concerning discipleship, stating a core principle that proves a person to be a disciple. The principle is that the disciple hears Jesus’ voice, knows him, and follows him. In some way, it is a three-step process. First, the disciple listens to what Jesus says, in this way coming to know him, and then makes the decision to follow him, a path that is set by the words and the ways of Jesus.
These three steps define and distinguish the disciple from the one who is not a disciple. In other words, the one who is not a true disciple does not listen to the voice of Jesus, fails to come to know him, and, as a result, does not follow his words and ways. All things considered, it is as simple as that. The proof is in the pudding, as the expression goes.
In other words, the disciple is recognizable by results, or as Jesus often said, by the fruits that he or she bears. Of course, there can be a break at any point in the process of listening, knowing, and following. Whenever and wherever the break occurs, the discipleship is distorted at best and destroyed at worst. All three steps are necessary for full and faithful discipleship.
Therein is the fly in the ointment for many Christians, especially people who claim fellowship with Jesus but whose fruits readily disprove it. There is a break at a critical juncture in the process, either at the listening, the knowing, or the following. For example, Jesus tells the parable of the Good Samaritan, a story that upends prejudice of others based on sect, religion, or region.
We’ve surely heard the story a hundred times. A Jewish man falls victim to highway robbers and is left for dead. His own people pass him by, ignoring his needs. A Samaritan, the sworn enemy of the Jews, is the one who stops, renders help, and ensures that the man’s life is saved. Jesus concludes the story with the question, “Which of these three do you think was neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”
The answer, of course, is obvious. In telling the story, Jesus makes clear that a neighbor is not simply someone who shares the same ethnicity, beliefs, or practices. A neighbor is someone who shows compassion, mercy, and care for everyone regardless of skin color, country of origin, or income bracket. We can’t listen to the story and come to a different conclusion.
And yet, how many Christians make the point of Jesus’ story a way of life for themselves? One cursory glance into our country today and it is clear that those who claim to have heard Jesus, know Jesus, and follow him are not, in truth, disciples. They may wear the jersey, but they never get off the bench, Sunday churchgoers who spend the rest of the week ignoring the poor, badmouthing the immigrant, and name-calling anyone who thinks differently than themselves.
Truly, it is astonishing to see how easily we find it to define our discipleship on our own terms, usually one in agreement with our cultural biases, political affiliations, or personal prejudices, not one in agreement with the voice of Jesus, knowledge of Jesus, and faithful following of his words and ways. We may be quick to say that we hear the voice of the Good Shepherd, know him well, and follow him, but the truth of the matter is that we are in a flock that follows the thieves and marauders that Jesus speaks of in this section.
In January 2001, Archbishop Fernando Filoni was assigned by John Paul II as the papal ambassador to Baghdad. It was no easy job under Saddam Hussein and it was made all the more difficult with the U.S. invasion of the country in 2003. It was his experience with the latter that earned him the title, “The prelate that didn’t blink when bombs fell on Baghdad.”
While other diplomats fled for safety, including U.N. officials and journalists, Filoni refused to leave, saying he would not abandon the Catholic community or the suffering Iraqis. “If a pastor flees in moments of difficulty,” he said later, “the sheep are lost.” He remained in the country in the aftermath of the war as well, refusing to adopt special security measures, insisting he wanted to face the same risks as locals who didn’t have access to guards and armored vehicles. He said he wanted to be seen “as an Iraqi by the Iraqis.” He came close to being killed in Baghdad in February 2006 when a car bomb exploded next to his residence.
His story shows us someone who indisputably has heard the voice of Jesus, knows him well, and follows him even when bombs drop. In those difficult circumstances, Filoni showed himself to be a good shepherd the likes of Jesus the Good Shepherd, the one he fully and faithfully followed. His story also leaves us with the question of whether our discipleship is as strong and as solid as that of the archbishop “who didn’t blink when bombs fell on Baghdad.”
The truth about ourselves is often a bitter pill to swallow, only in our moments of honesty allowing ourselves to see that we blink in far less severe circumstances, the many times we easily have turned a deaf ear to the voice of Jesus, failing to truly know him, and refusing to follow him. Instead we have chosen to join the angry crowds and the rabid cries that would see the poor insulted, the immigrant persecuted, and the marginalized kicked to the curb.
The good news is that it is not too late to change our minds and to open our hearts, bringing them more in conformity with the heart of the Good Shepherd who loves and cares for all his sheep, laying down his own life in order to protect them from thieves. The choices continue to present themselves to us to hear the voice of Jesus, to come to know him, and to follow him.
The preacher and writer Frederick Buechner once put it this way, “Moments continue to go up in flames like the bush in Midian to illumine, if only for a moment, a path that stretches before us like no other path. And such moments call out in a voice which, if we only had courage and heart enough, we would follow to the end of time.”
Like he said. If we only had courage and heart enough to follow. On this Good Shepherd Sunday, that may be the biggest question before us. Do we, in fact, have courage and heart enough to follow Jesus? It takes more than a nod of the head or a few coins in the collection basket. It means not blinking when the bombs fall.
–Jeremy Myers
Sunday Brunch 