John
10:11-18
Easter
4
April
26, 2015
William G. Carter
"I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays
down his life for the sheep...I
have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and
they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd."
How
big is your flock? It’s the question that seems to come up whenever I
go to a conference with other ministers. A few of us will go out for a bite to
eat. After ordering off the menu, somebody will say, “Where is Clarks Summit,
anyway?” And then, “How big is your flock?”
They
are talking about you, of course. And I like to brag about all of you. My
friends may not know where Clarks Summit is, but they would love to be part of
a church like this. This is a rare congregation. There is a lot of positive energy
here. Something is always perking. Believe me, there’s more going on than any
one person can capture or describe. That’s why I tell my friends – and then
they ask, “How big is your flock?”
That’s
a good question. How would I answer it? Forty years ago, we numbered a
congregation by counting all the names on the list. Back then, it was fashionable
to belong to a church. Somebody would move into the neighborhood, and you might
lean over the fence and ask, “Would you like to go to church with us?” More
likely than not, they might say yes, because everybody went to church. At
least, that’s what they said to the Gallup Poll.
But
it didn’t always work that way. We had a pastor here years ago. Everybody liked
him. He would walk up and down State Street shaking hands. I don’t think he
ever let go of those hands, just tugged those folks up the hill and made them
Presbyterians. They were glad to be here – apparently when Bob was here, there
were almost 900 people on the list. That’s what they tell me. And when he left
for another church, we took about 300 hundred people off the list. Didn’t know
who they were or where they were hiding.
Twenty
years ago, they told us to count another way. Don’t worry about how many people
are on the list. Rather, count those who show up. It made a lot more sense. And
by that time, there was a lot more to do on a Sunday morning. PeeWee football, travel soccer, dance
recitals, cheerleading, ski slopes, yard work --- on a nice day, you were lucky
if anybody came. On a cold, blustery day, nobody went out. So we found
ourselves praying for 45 degrees and overcast, somewhere between the sports
seasons. Those were the big attendance days. We know, because the ushers keep
track.
Ten
years ago, we discovered that people don’t even have to be here in order to
tune in. They could check us out on our website before they ever walked in the
door. How many of you did that? The gurus of church life say, “Count the number
of hits on your website. Keep track of how many people look at your blog.” Every
week, we have about 250 people who read my sermons online. About seven percent
of them read it on an iPhone. Three percent of them are in Russia. Who would
have thought?
How big is your
flock? The
best answer now is probably, “Bigger than we thought.” There are people outside
our comfortable circle who are touched by the Gospel we proclaim. There are folks
tuning in that we do not yet know. There is the kid who takes piano lessons in
this building during the week while her dad slips upstairs to take a couple of the
helpful brochures that our Deacons put on the information rack. This building itself
is the meeting ground for recovering alcoholics, the gathering place for community
committees, and the launch pad to send folks like you back into the world to
make a difference for God in the places where you live and work.
Can anybody
number all of this? No. And that’s OK, because today we hear the Risen Christ say,
“I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also,
and they will listen to my voice.”
This
is a very curious thing that he says. Who’s he talking about? Methodists? We really can’t be sure. The
context doesn’t help. In the Gospel of John, Jesus has just given sight to a
man born blind. It was an unexpected healing, and it caused a whole lot of
trouble. The man didn’t ask to be healed, Jesus simply did it. This is the
Gospel of John, where nobody tells Jesus what to do – he takes the initiative.
He heals the blind man and then goes on his way.
Meanwhile
the man doesn’t know where he went, didn’t ask for this, and after a series of
religious interrogations, he is cast out of the synagogue. I think that means the religious officials
decide that he is no longer a Jew. He was born a Jew, circumcised a Jew, his parents
were Jews, so he’s a Jew. But he was healed on the Sabbath, on the wrong day of
the week, so the synagogue rulers throw him out. Essentially he is no longer a
Jew. And in the end of the story, Jesus goes back for him. He speaks to the man
who was blind, and the man recognizes his voice . . . and worships him.
So
let’s ask Jesus the same question: how big is your flock? It’s big
enough to include those who are thrown out of the synagogue, big enough to
welcome those who don’t fit in anywhere else. For he says, “I have other sheep
that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen
to my voice.”
I
have to wonder if this was a reality for John the Gospel writer, whoever he
was. A lot of scholars think these pages were written down in Ephesus, the
grand city in what would now be called western Turkey. And many believe this is
a late document, written some sixty years after the death and resurrection of
Jesus Christ. In western Turkey, sixty years later, the Christian church was no
longer a tight little circle of Galilean Jews.
There
were all kinds of sheep in that flock – Jews and Gentiles, it didn’t matter.
Women and men were there, on equal ground. One tradition says this was the
congregation where Mary, the mother of Jesus, had landed; we don’t know if that’s
true, but if it was, she was no more a celebrity than anybody else in that
church. For it was one flock around one shepherd, one expansive flock with
Jesus at the center of it all.
It’s
the word “expansive” that is so difficult. To think that he has sheep who are
not here, who are not like us – that’s a hard piece of gristle for a lot of
church people to chew.
I
get around the countryside a bit. Most of you know that. One of my volunteer
tasks is to visit some of the churches here and there, mostly the churches somewhere
out there. Some of them are in the hills. I went looking for one place, called
one of the elders and said, “Where are you?” He said, “You go up the hill from
Milk Can Corners.” I said, “Where?” Milk Can Corners… can’t miss it. That’s a
real place. It’s around the bend from Funston’s Barn, not far from the old oak
tree that they cut down forty years ago.
There’s
not a lot of traffic through Milk Can Corners. You can probably imagine that.
Not a lot of people passing through, not much exchange of new ideas, same
people gather at the same place at the same time every week. I like going to
visit places like that. The people are usually nice. It’s stable, even
predictable.
I
went to visit one church one time. Well, I was from somewhere else. That made
me suspicious. I was an outsider. And a few of the church people were already pretty
upset. They wanted to talk about what “those people had done.” What people? “You
know, those people.” Which people? One of them said, “The General
Assembly.” Oh, those people.
The
lady who went to visit them with me nodded and listened. Then she said, “You
know who goes to a General Assembly?” They looked at her, silent. “Christians,”
she said. “Presbyterian Christians. They are volunteers, elected by the people
in churches like yours.” One man muttered, “Those people aren’t like us.”
“Well,”
she said, “how can you be so sure? In fact, any one of you could be elected and
you could go as our representative. And do you know what you would discover if
you went?” Again, silence. She waited, then she said, “You would discover that
there is no ‘we’ and ‘they’ – not in the church of Jesus Christ. There is only ‘us’
and it’s a really big ‘us’.”
At
this, the muttering man spoke up. He sputtered, in fact, and said, “Well, I
have to say that I disagree, I fundamentally disagree, and I have to say . . .”
With that, the woman next to him interrupted and said, “Oh George, put a sock in
it. These nice people have given up an evening at home to drive up here and
remind us that Jesus loves a lot more people than you do.”
It
got kind of quiet. And then a young man who hadn’t made eye contact all evening
said, “We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to
lay down our lives for one another. First letter of John, chapter 3.”
You
what I like about Christian people? Sooner or later, they start talking like
Jesus. Sometimes they even act like him.
I
was telling a few of you this week about Lesslie Newbigin. He was a Presbyterian
from Scotland, and did a lot of missionary work. When you are out on the
frontier, far from the safe confines of home, something you find yourself doing
things you never thought you would do. Newbigin went to India, to the South of
India, and he gathered a lot of Christians there. They got organized and
decided to start an official church,
which they called the church of South India.
To
his shock, the South Indian leaders of the church elected him as the first
bishop. He was a Presbyterian, from Scotland, where they want nothing to do
with bishops or popes or anything else. But he accepted the assignment and
served as bishop. They asked him back home, “Why in the world did you let them
make you a bishop?” And he smiled and said, “In Christ, there is no ‘them’.”
Sometimes you have to go with the flow of the Holy Spirit.
When
he went back to Britain to teach, he explained: every organization can be
defined either by its boundaries or its center. The church, he notes, is sent
to every nation, which means it can never be bounded by local limits or
national interests. But the church is defined by its center. As he puts it,
It is impossible to define exactly the
boundaries of the church, and the attempt to do so always ends in an
unevangelical legalism. But it is always possible and necessary to define the
centre. The church is its proper self, and is a sign of the kingdom, only
insofar as it continually points men and women beyond itself to Jesus and
invites them to conversion and commitment to him.[1]
There
is never a “we” and a “they” – not in the flock of Jesus, the Good Shepherd. There
is only one flock with one Shepherd. And it’s a lot bigger than we thought it
was. Like it or not, there isn’t a single one of us who gets to decide who else
gets in – that’s the sole decision of the Shepherd. He knows who belongs to
him, he knows who listens to him (especially when talks about loving one
another), and he has the same affection for the flock as the Heavenly Father
has for the Earthly Son.
Jesus
is the Good Shepherd; know what that means? It means he lays down his life for
them all - even the ones that he has to chase after and heal - and then he takes up
his life again, and he speaks to anybody who will listen.
He
is still speaking now. Can you hear him? He says, “I am going to bring other
sheep into my fold.”
(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
[1] Lesslie
Newbigin, Sign of the Kingdom (Grand
Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1980) 68.
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