Easter 4 (25 April 2010)

Easter 4 (25 April 2010)

John 10.22-30

Often we call this 4^th Sunday of Easter “Good Shepherd Sunday.” Each year on this day we hear a portion of John 10, where Jesus identifies himself as the “Good Shepherd.” And so we focus on that image today, with the words of the 23^rd Psalm, with our hymns and prayers. It is a beloved image for Christians. It’s a popular name for Lutheran congregations; in fact, it is the most frequently used name for congregations here in the Sierra Pacific synod if you include not just “Good Shepherd” but variations on that theme such as “Shepherd of the Hills.”

It’s sort of odd, when you think about it. It would be a challenge to find a real life shepherd in most parts of Northern California today, in our urbanized society. And yet the beloved image persists. There are no doubt many reasons for that, but this morning I’d like to focus on one of them. The image of Jesus as the “Good Shepherd” is one of great intimacy. In this morning’s gospel lesson, it is expressed when Jesus, speaking of his sheep, says “I know them.”

We live in a society where the kind of intimacy that can say “I know you” is at quite a premium. We are a mobile society, and we often don’t have the opportunity to be in close proximity to people for many years. Most of us, it seems, aren’t on especially intimate terms with our neighbors. Many of us aren’t even intimately close to our extended family. That’s not to say we don’t love them; but the state of family life in America is such that brothers and sisters, parents and children, especially after all are grown, often don’t maintain intimate relationships. We don’t really know each other.

A while back I read about a survey taken among high school students in California. Responding to one question, a large majority said they didn’t feel they had any close friends, nor did they feel that anyone really knew them. In some ways, I suppose, that is a particular problem of adolescence. Teenagers are often just beginning to know themselves, and so it is not surprising that they feel lonely and unknown to others.

But I don’t think it is a problem of youth alone by any means. A great number of adults are in the same boat. We go through life with many acquaintances, perhaps many people we call “friends”; but for most, the relationship is superficial—made more so, perhaps, by the proliferation of “social networks” like Facebook, where the point seems to be the quantity of connections rather than the quality. For many of us, the number of people with whom we are really intimate friends is quite few in number.

Why is that? John Powell’s book Why Am I Afraid to Tell You Who I Am offers an explanation in the words that someone said to him as he was doing research for the book. “If I tell you who I am, you may not like who I am, and it’s all that I have.” Isn’t that true for most of us? We find it difficult to reveal ourselves to others because we’re just not sure they’ll like what they see. And maybe that’s because we don’t always like what we see when look at ourselves.

Sometimes, I’m afraid, that fear carries over into our relationship with Christ. Because we don’t trust one another very well, we have trouble opening ourselves even to Christ. Examine your own prayer life for a moment. If you are like me, you probably spend a lot of your time asking for things, looking for direction, maybe praising God, thanking God. But how much time is spent in telling God about yourself, about your fears, your anxieties? How much time talking about your failures? Those are the things we share with intimate friends; do we share them with Christ?

Jesus the Good Shepherd says “I know my sheep”—and what he means is, “I know you.” It isn’t just that he knows your name. In the human way of thinking, we are often flattered when someone important “knows our name.” It makes us feel important, too. But this is different. When Jesus says, “I know you,” he means that he knows us in the deepest, most intimate way. He know what we are thinking and feeling. He knows our deepest secrets. We often begin our worship with what is called the “Collect for Purity of Heart”—a prayer I have always loved ever since I memorized it in confirmation class (one of the few things I remember from confirmation class!). “Almighty God, to whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid . . .” When we begin our worship, you see, we acknowledge that God knows us, he knows us right well.

And if he knows us, you see, it means that we don’t have to be afraid. We have nothing that must be hidden, because we have nothing that can be hidden. When we pray, we can tell him everything. We can reveal ourselves to him, tell him what we’re afraid of, tell him who we don’t like, what we’re angry about. We can be ourselves.

The Christian actor Curt Cloninger made a film called Witnesses some years ago; I’ve seen it many times, but I still enjoy it. He portrays a number of Biblical personalities in a wonderful, unpredictable way. One line that sticks with me is in his portrayal of Peter’s exuberant outburst to Thomas after he has seen the risen Christ: “He knows what we did, and he still likes us!” A childlike exuberance, yes, but one that hits the nail on the head. That’s how it is with Jesus! He knows all about us, and he still likes us!

We can carry it one step farther. We are the church, the Body of Christ. One of the purposes Christ gives his church is to be the kind of place where we can be ourselves. If we can be completely honest with him, then we can be honest as well with one another. We can love one another, in spite of the faults and sins and failures that each of us has. We can share one another’s burdens, and be honest with one another. You know, I think we often have the wrong idea about what being honest means. We think it means I can tell you what’s wrong with you. Well, that’s a kind of honesty, I suppose. But the deeper honesty is when I can tell you what’s wrong with me. I can let you see me from the inside. I can share with you my feelings and my doubts and my fears. We don’t do that very well.

In a classic Peanuts strip, Marcy has been having some problems at home, and so she is over at Charlie Brown’s house. “I don’t want to go home,” she admits. “Can I stay here? If I go home, I have to be perfect.” Charlie Brown’s sister Sally observes, “If she doesn’t want to be perfect, she’s come to the right place.” Well, if you’re not perfect, this is the right place. We aren’t perfect here. But we try to love one another all the same. Sometimes we succeed, and sometimes we don’t. But whether we succeed or not, there is one here who always succeeds in knowing us and loving us as we are. That one is Jesus, the Good Shepherd, the one who invites us to his table and gives himself completely and fully to us in bread and wine. The one who teaches us, bit by bit, to open ourselves as well, not only to him, but to one another.

Pastor Richard O. Johnson

Peace Lutheran Church, Grass Valley CA