I Shall Not Want

FPC Vandalia 5-7-17 (Easter 4A)

Acts 2:42-47; Psalm 23; John 10:1-10

I Shall Not Want

The Lord is my shepherd.  I shall not want.

I shall not want.

It’s such a small phrase, and yet it has so much packed into it.  I shall not want.  The psalmist goes on to describe that state of being cared-for by the divine shepherd: green pastures, still waters, protection from danger, defended from enemies.  The Lord is my shepherd, and under his care, I will want for nothing.

Is it any wonder that we’ve found so much comfort in this Psalm for so many centuries?  That the image of Christ as Shepherd has held so strongly in our religious imagery and artwork, even as the role of the shepherd itself has diminished in an age of advancing technology and agriculture?  We take a certain pride in the notion: we are his sheep, he knows us each by name.  And when he calls us, we follow - when we wander and go astray, he seeks us out.  When wolves and predators come trying to steal away with us, he’s there with rod and staff at the ready.  He is our shepherd, and we want for nothing.

Jesus is very intentional as he uses the imagery of the shepherd in John’s gospel to speak into peoples’ confusion.  We’re jumping back again in the lectionary, back to before the resurrection, before the crucifixion - we’re back with the man who up until just moments earlier, had been born blind.  And Jesus is there, standing in the midst of the confusion and the argument, telling the Pharisees and anyone else with ears to hear it that they’re severely overcomplicating it all.  The Pharisees have been trying to figure out where Jesus gets his authority, whether he’s a sinner or not for healing the blind man on a Sabbath day, and even whether the man had really been blind in the first place.  And yet Jesus wants to cut through all the complications and point them to see for themselves and glorify at the one who heals in the first place.

He sets aside all the other competing voices - “anyone who does not enter by the gate is a thief and a bandit.”  He says “I am the gate.”  And he says he is also the shepherd.  He tells the people that sheep recognize their shepherds voice, that they know to follow him, and that the gatekeeper only opens the gate to the shepherd because the gatekeeper also recognizes who the shepherd is.  And as he says these things, you can almost hear the challenge in his voice, just below the calm explanation of who he is and why he can do what he does: you claim to not be blind?  You claim to be the ones who know the truth and who are the authorities?  Then why aren’t you following the voice of the shepherd?  Why don’t you recognize him in front of your face?

The Lord is our shepherd - we take such comfort in embracing that image… and yet I wonder if we really stop and think about how quick we are to embrace our role as sheep in this picture.  We think of the serene, pastoral images that have been painted time and time again of Jesus as the shepherd and there we all are right next to him, close beside him, tender sheep gazing with trust and devotion at our caretaker.  And which sheep do you think is you in that flock?  If you’re looking at the same painting as I am, I’ll bet good money that a lot of us are picturing ourselves as that one precious little lamb that’s riding on Jesus’ shoulders.  

But if you take that picture back about five minutes earlier, I think you’d get a much more realistic sense of the metaphor - you see, that lamb is up there on Jesus’ shoulders because just five minutes ago, he was fishing it out of a pond where it had wandered off and got stuck.  Five minutes before that, Jesus had had to chase off a couple of coyotes who were trying to pick off some ewes that were toward the edge of the flock.  He’s had to carefully redirect them all from all following the lead sheep off a cliff.  And he’s had to carefully and calmly reassure them as they clump up tightly together after every loud noise, every little startled movement.  They can’t help that they take comfort in one another, that there’s safety in that herd mentality with one another… all they know is that as long as they’re safely enclosed, as long as they see and hear their shepherd, things will somehow be OK.  The Lord is their shepherd - as long as they keep him in sight, as long as he is near… they shall not want.

That’s the image the scriptures give us, the promises that we hear in the psalm, the imagery with which Jesus works in his own teaching in John’s gospel.  And yet these days, how many of us can sit in the pews right now today, confidently nodding our heads and affirming that there is nothing wanting in our lives right now?  How many of us have nothing that we’re worried about, nothing that could be just the slightest bit better in our lives?

I have to admit, I had a difficult time writing a sermon this week - some of it has been from time spent recovering this week, but to be honest, I struggled more with the odd juxtaposition of the Word and the World happening around us than anything else.  The great reformed theologian Karl Barth is often quoted as saying that a good preacher should preach with the Bible in one hand and a newspaper in the other; this week was one of those where I needed to discipline myself to put the newspaper down and to let the Bible have the louder voice.  And it’s been challenging to set about doing that very task itself. Our world right now is filled with competing voices, all straining to get our attention and to keep it - we’re being told everywhere we turn that things are not the way they’re supposed to be, and that things need to be fixed.  We’re surrounded by people who are hurting, people who are in need of any number of different things, whether their needs are physical, spiritual, or emotional.  And even as we are surrounded by this vast sea of needs, we receive the competing message that above all else, we need to look out for number One, make sure that our own needs are met first and foremost, and forget what anybody else might want.  It’s a cacophony of mixed messages, and we’re somehow caught up in the middle of all of it.

We go through this world and all we want to do is to clump up, to huddle together in fear, to follow the rest of the flock even if it’s taking us over the cliff.  We want to stay safe and penned up, secure in thinking we’re keeping everything else out.  We’re scared little sheep in need of our shepherd.  But here’s the incredible thing - we hear these images used so often and we find them so comforting… but what is it that comforts us?  Sure, there’s this pervading idea of “I shall not want…” but what do we usually take that to look like?  I think we’ve too often taken it to mean that we’re to be completely sheltered, even pampered and taken care of in every little thing.  It’s a message I feel like I’ve heard from a lot of preachers just shortly before asking you to give them more money so they can afford a new private jet.  And yet when we really think about that model of sheep and shepherds, when we look at what Jesus is teaching in John in particular, and especially when we look at the earliest models of the church in Acts… that idea should cause us to stop for a second and rethink our imagery.  It’s not that we need to rethink the image of shepherd and sheep - that’s still all too apt a comparison for us to hold on to.  But what happens when we put the model back into perspective in terms of the relationship between the shepherd and his sheep once more?  Jesus’ role as shepherd isn’t one in which the sheep are coddled - it’s not one in which the sheep don’t face dangers, where they don’t still find themselves hungry or thirsty, and it’s certainly not a situation where the sheep stay safe and sound in their little sheepfold for the rest of their lives.  What Jesus does, instead, is to be the shepherd - the leader to whom the sheep can turn and follow with confidence.  Jesus enters in through the gate in order to bring the sheep out again, to lead the sheep to those green pastures and still waters, to take them to the places where they find nourishment and contentment.  He leads them as they go through the dangerous places and helps them as they clump up, trying to find safety in times of fear.  And he goes off to gather them back up when they wander and stray.  At the end of the day, when they return to the fold, he counts them one by one and makes sure that none are missing.  And in his careful care, his careful shepherding, he helps them to have life in abundance.

The Lord is our shepherd - and under his care and leadership, though the world may press in on us and make us fearful… we know that we are provided for.  Are we brave enough to be his sheep together?  May we always trust him to lead us out from the fold of our comfort zones, to grasp onto that abundant life that he offers us.  To God be the glory.  Amen.