4 Easter

 Good Shepherd Sunday

April 20, 2024

 

Psalm 23; John 10.1-10

 

+ Since the last time I stood here and preached, I have traveled quite a few miles, flown on quite a few planes and talked to a wide variety of people.

 

And I have seen some truly beautiful things.

 

Invariably, whenever I talked with someone, whether they be seated beside me on the plane or at a luau or just in regular conversation, when they invariably asked me what I do, I pause a bit.

 

Saying I’m an Episcopal priest elicits a variety of responses.

 

One of the responses I get is from people who have been hurt by the Church or religion as a whole.

 

And there’s a lot of those people out there.

 

As I talk with hose people and share that I too have had an often difficult relationship with the Church, they are surprised.

 

They would not think that priests have bad relationships with religion or the Church.

 

But we do.

 

And when they found me agreeing with them on many topics, rather than being  defensive on them, they are surprised.

 

They were surprised at some of the things I have to say, or how I say it.

 

They were surprised that often what drove them away from religion is the reason I stay and fight and speak out in some maybe foolheartedly attempt at saving what I love and cherish about the Church.

 

But, sadly, there is a price for making the stand, for speaking out, for refusing to conform, as you all know.

 

There is a big price for living out a faith that oftentimes the rest of the Church does not quite agree with.

 

This past week I found this piece making the rounds on social media.

 

It’s by Chuck Kratzer. And it spoke loudly to me.

 

It goes like this:

 

 What the hell did you expect me to do?

You told me to love my neighbors, to model the life of Jesus. To be kind and considerate, and to stand up for the bullied.

You told me to love people, consider others as more important than myself. "Red and yellow, black and , they are precious in His sight." We sang it together, pressing the volume pedal and leaning our hearts into the chorus.

You told me to love my enemies, to even do good to those who wish for bad things. You told me to never "hate" anyone and to always find ways to encourage people.

You told me it's better to give than receive, to be last instead of first. You told me that money doesn't bring happiness and can even lead to evil, but taking care of the needs of others brings great joy and life to the soul.

You told me that Jesus looks at what I do for the least-of-these as the true depth of my faith. You told me to focus on my own sin instead of trying to police it in others. You told me to be accepting and forgiving.

I paid attention.

I took every lesson.

And I did what you told me.

But now, you call me a libtard. A queer-lover.

You call me "woke." A backslider.

You call me a heretic. A child of the devil.

You call me a false prophet. A reprobate leading people to gates of hell.

You call me soft. A snowflake. A socialist.

What the hell did you expect me to do?

You passed out the "WWJD" bracelets.

I took it to heart.

I thought you were serious, apparently not.

We were once friends. But now, the lines have been drawn. You hate nearly all the people I love. You stand against nearly all the things I stand for. I'm trying to see a way forward, but it's hard when I survey all the hurt, harm, and darkness that comes in the wake of your beliefs and presence.

What the hell did you expect me to do?

I believed it all the way.

I'm still believing it all the way.

Which leaves me wondering, what happened to you?

 

Today is, of course, Good Shepherd Sunday—the Sunday in which we encounter this wonderful reading about Jesus being the Good Shepherd.

 

And we love this Sunday because we love the image of the Good Shepherd.

 

But, as someone who in my life as a priest has been called by people in authority or by others—because of the stances I make, or the position I have taken on matter as we heard from Chuck Kratzer---I have been called a “bad shepherd.”

 

Or one person, the spouse of a clergy person at another congregation once called me: “the devil in priest’s garb.”

 

And for someone like me, despite my thick skin and my calloused view, those words still hurt

 

I think the key here is what we may definite as “good.”

 

Does “good” in this sense mean being perfectly orthodox and correct theologically and scripturally?

 

Does good in this sense mean being polite and nice and sweet all the time?

 

Or does “good” really mean striving for justice, for speaking out against injustice, for calling hypocrites to their faces and overturning tables in the golden temples filled with misbegotten money and the blood of slaughtered animals?

 

For me, I think all these images of the sweet, gentle Good Shepherd are misguided.

 

I think the real Good Shepherd doesn’t only just sweetly hug the sheep to their chest and glow celestially like a candle.

 

I think the real Good Shepherd fights and fights hard.

 

The real Good Shepherds shouts at those forces that threaten their sheep.

 

I think the real Good Shepherd stomps the ground and wields that staff and defends their sheep at any price.

 

We, each of us, not just me, are called to be those kind of shepherds in this world.

 

We too—all of us—are called to speak out, to shout, to stomp the ground, when danger threatens.

 

We are not called to be complacent shepherds with no backbone.

 

We are called to actually “know” the people we are called to serve.

 

The God Jesus shows us is not some vague, distant God.

 

We don’t have a God who lets us fend for ourselves.

 

We instead have a God who leads us and guides us, a God who knows us each by name, a God who despairs over the loss of even one of the flock.

 

We have a God who, in Psalm 23, that very familiar psalm we have all hear so many times in our lives, is a God who knows us and loves us and cares for us.

 

We see this first in Jesus, who embodies God and who shows us how to be a Good Shepherd.

 

We, by being good shepherds, allow God to be the ultimate Good Shepherd.

 

We were commissioned to be good shepherds by our very baptisms.

 

On that day we were baptized, we were called to be a Good Shepherds to others.

 

Anyone can be a good shepherd.

 

But in being a real good shepherd, we run the risk of being seen as bad shepherds for what we say and do and believe.

 

We run the risk of being called heretics or disruptors or agitators.

 

 

Real bad shepherds sometimes appear and are touted as Good Shepherds by those in authority.

 

Real bad shepherds actually undermine and, chip by chip, destroy the work of Christ in this world.

 

But, today, we don’t have to worry about those real bad shepherds.

 

We know that the actual bad shepherds, and those who allow them to be bad shepherds, in the end, get their due.

 

The chickens always come home to roost.

 

Today, we celebrate the Good Shepherd—the Good Shepherd that is showing us the way forward to being good shepherds in our own lives.

 

Because in celebrating the Good Shepherd, we celebrate goodness.

 

We celebrate being good and doing good and embodying goodness in our lives.

 

And we do so realizing that “good” sometimes is seen as “bad” by others.

 

Good sometimes means we run the risk of being called “libtard,” or “queer-lover,” or woke.”

 

It sometimes means we are being called a “backslider,” or a “heretic,” or a “child of the devil.”

 

Being good sometimes means we are viewed as “False prophet,” or a “reprobate,” or “soft.”

 

It sometimes means we are called a “snowflake,” or a socialist,” or…a “devil in priest’s garb.”

 

If that’s what “good” means, than so be it.

 

Because, if Jesus the true Good Shepherd were living his earthly life right here, right now in our own time, let me tell you, he most certainly would be called every single one of those terms.

 

And if it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for us.

 

So, on this day in which we celebrate the Good Shepherd, let us be what he is.

 

Let us live out our vocation to be good shepherds to those around us.

 

Let us truly “see” and know those people who share this life with us.

 

And let us know that being a good shepherd does make a difference in this world.

 

Let us make a difference.

 

Emboldened by our baptism, strengthened by a God who knows us and love us, let us in turn know and love others as we are called to do.

 

Amen.