Why We Gather (Hebrews 10:11-25)

The book of Hebrews often gets a short shrift in New Testament study.  In churches, Hebrews is sprinkled lightly across the three year cycle of scripture readings we follow.  In seminaries, the situation is not much better.  The story goes that a seminary professor of preaching assigned each student a different New Testament passage to preach on.  A student (in fact one nearing graduation) noted his assigned text came from Hebrews.  “Hebrews!” he was heard to exclaim. “I don’t want to preach from the Old Testament.”  So it goes, a person who attended church, even went to seminary, had such a fuzzy memory of this book even being in the canon of Scripture. 

            The book of Hebrews is considered one of the finest New Testament writings, a complex exhortation to live in Christ.  Of course, describing the book of Hebrews as “a complex exhortation” has yet to get people excited enough to say, “Let’s read Hebrews! We love complex exhortations!” 

            So why did the Epistle writer decide to exhort so complexly?  The writer wanted to exhort his readers.  (By the way, “to exhort” means to encourage or to urge strongly.)  The Epistle is sent to a group of Christians who are faltering in the faith.  In fact, the epistle writer describes his readers as people with “drooping hands” and “weak knees” (cf. Hebrews 12:12), which gives us an interesting image that does not say “church vitality”. The Epistle aims to remind, to stir up, and to bring alive a church gone complacent.   The book of Hebrews reminds the Church throughout the ages that we will go through times when we feel a bit wore down, yet in Christ, we find hope and renewal. 

Indeed, many Christians (even those who get fuzzy on which side of the canon the book appears) can recall the book’s roll call of the heroes of the faith, culminating with Jesus, the one who has run ahead of us as the pioneer and perfecter of the faith.  Imagine if you will, the Epistle likens the journey of faith as a pilgrimage as well as that last lap around the track, where the crowd cheers you on.  The life of faith knows hardship and challenge, yet Jesus calls to us, not as someone aloof from the world, as Jesus has lived a life that also knew the fragility and frailty of human life.  The Epistle writer sets up his encouraging word by summoning the church to remember who they are.  You are not a people of drooping hands and weak knees. You are the people who can run with strength and grace, following the Christ and those in Christ who have gone on before.

As part of the encouragement, the epistle writer turns to worship.  Why does worship matter?   It serves as a weekly reminder, a gathering with fellow believers to pray, to sing, and to remember, a rhythm by which Christians live their lives.   Contemporary preacher and scholar Thomas G. Long notes that worship ought to be “the nuclear reactor” of a congregation, the place where we are energized anew and sent forth.  The Epistle to the Hebrews notes a gathering of Christians able to run the race of faith remembers the waters of baptism, confesses their faith with full heart, encourages one another, and lives expectantly for the Promised End. 

A few weeks ago, the Comparative Religions course students from Southern Vermont College visited First Baptist and Saint Peter’s Episcopal Church.  At First Baptist, we began with the students sitting in the pews, where they listened to my lecture on Baptist worship.  We sang a few hymns, and then I talked about the communion service.  Then came the big moment as the students helped me move the altar out of the way and I had the students come up to the chancel and observe me demonstrating when it comes to baptism, Baptists prefer drowning sinners good.

The baptistery did not have water inside. We simply worked with a student serving as the baptismal candidate as I simulated how we “dunk”.  As I explained this ritual, I found myself growing tearful, which puzzled me a bit.  I don’t tend to cry all that often or easily. 

Later that evening, I thought about why I reacted so.  As I pondered the experience, I realized that of all the elements of Baptist worship I could speak about objectively, that is, as a religious professional explaining ritual practices, I could not explain baptism only in matter-of-fact terms.  I know the biblical, historical, and theological discussions about baptism backwards and forwards.  Yet standing there as a sort of liturgical “tour guide” for a group of students on a field trip, I could not talk about baptism in a baptistery without feeling something deep within.  My baptism happened twenty-five years ago, yet the experience has not ended with toweling off afterwards.  Knowing myself as a baptized Christian is not a mere moment long ago. Baptism defines us and inaugurates the journey ahead of us.  Indeed, you cannot just talk about being baptized.  The ritual and the commitment shape a Christian all the way along the pilgrim journey.  In turn, baptism is part of the things that hold all Christians together in common. 

The epistle writer offers that we confess our faith as another way of grounding ourselves in Christ.  It is thought that the Epistle actually opens with a quotation, a creedal statement attesting to the faith of the congregation:

Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds.  He is the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being and he sustains all things by his powerful word.  When he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, having become as much superior to angels as the name has inherited is more excellent than theirs. (Heb 1:1-4)

While we Baptists tend to forgo the reciting of creeds in worship, the role of creeds are important to note, as they give a pattern to belief.  Sometimes when you are feeling a bit lost or listless, words of faith can draw us back to what matters.  A few years ago, the late historian Jaroslav Pelikan spoke to a group of theological librarians about a research project that turned out to be his last major project:  a multi-volume exploration of the creeds of Christianity.  Pelikan and a colleague assembled every creed or statement of faith known.  Pelikan talked about his experiences researching creeds and helping document why these statements of faith helped various Christian groups testify to their beliefs.  In the midst of all of this work, Pelikan claimed creeds are best understood as words to which you have given your heart.  To a church in need of renewal, the Epistle writer reminds them to remember those words that shape their lives together and indeed remind us why “fear” is never the last word.  The exhortation makes good sense: “Hold fast to the confession of hope”.  Reminding ourselves we are a people of resurrection and Easter hope makes possible a new way through the sin-fractured, broken world.

For churches, the next reminder is perhaps one of the most critical.  For individual believers and the congregations alike, the epistle writer asks for the people to encourage one another.  It might sound a bit remedial, something we already think we know how to do, yet the epistle writer is quite wise in suggesting encouragement in the same breath as our baptism and our confession.  Churches need that constant reminder to be hospitable, welcoming to the stranger.  To be reminded to be encouraging to one another is also of importance, sharing a word of support or a sign of care with a fellow believer going through a struggle or enduring hardship. 

Think about the times in your life when that card or note appeared unexpectedly in the mailbox or on the computer screen.  Remember the times when it did not.  Quite a difference between the two experiences!  One enriches the mutual relationship we have in congregations.  The other leads down the path to flagging energies and stagnation.  We need the ministry of encouragement.  Harvard chaplain and American Baptist minister, the Rev. Dr. Peter Gomes observed this vision of a “New Testament church” is quite winsome.  Such a fellowship of encouragement is “short on doctrine and rules and long on fellowship and encouragement”.  (“A Word of Encouragement”, The Christian Century, November 5, 1997, p. 1001)  This is the sort of fellowship First Baptist aspires to be: a place welcoming the stranger and providing mutual care for one another.  It is hard work, yet in its results, rewarding and remarkable.  As I say to someone in hospital at the end of a visit, “Remember, the church is praying for you”, it is part of that ministry of encouragement.  Nothing is more inclusive than encouragement.  Nothing is more alienating than the absence of encouragement.   A congregation that encourages is able to grow and flourish.  One can have the (supposed) “right” evangelism outreach book or program, yet if the congregation cannot encourage one another, how can anyone expect to make it all along life’s journey with a confident faith?  We need one another in order to grow in Christ.

One final word:   The epistle presumes baptized, hope confessing, mutually encouraging Christians look forward to the End Times.  This is where a number of Christian movements falter: some obsessing about the End Times (and coming up with increasingly arcane and insular views of theology and practice) and others pay little attention (admittedly to avoid coming off like the “other side”).  Christians affirm there is a promised End, when Christ shall return, when all things shall be made new and the old order of things is no more.  While some traditions within Christianity take the “odd interpretation” route, Christianity in its most robust sense believes the future is God’s to bring about.  For the people first reading the epistle we call “Hebrews”, they had little energy and hope, letting the discouragement eclipse the encouragement, allowing their baptismal promises be a distant memory and their confession uncertain.  The epistle writer offers a rousing reminder of the past (remember the saints who have gone before us) and the future (live with confidence that God shall have the last word), all in order to exhort them to live a new sort of present, one less given to buckling and just calling it a day.  Christians are to live as they believe.  When we believe with hope, we live by hope.

Recently, I read a definition of Baptists that I like.  The British Baptist scholar Keith G. Jones calls us to be “a community changed and increased by the dynamic work of the Spirit” (cited Christopher Ellis, Gathering, SCM Press, 2004, p. 244).  It sounds quite consistent with the Epistle to the Hebrews:  a people on the pilgrim way, living and confessing together in Christ’s hope, living together as mutual encouragers, and looking forward to the times yet to come.  It is a word for the church in any generation. It is a word for First Baptist.

Lift up your hands, O people!  Strengthen those knees!  Keep to the journey! 

The Might of the Mite (Mark 12:38-44)

The “widow’s mite”—it is a fairly well known story to long-time Christians.  The old widow joins the crowd standing underneath the banner “Sunday School Stories Annual Reunion”. It’s that place within our memory where we keep those beloved stories from religious education and Vacation Bible School long ago.  The guest list is a veritable “who’s who”: the Prodigal son looking sheepish after hitting rock bottom and starting his career as a feeder of pigs, the rich young ruler still hoping he can bend the rules and still take his overstuffed backpack wedged somehow through the Pearly Gates, and just for old times’ sake, the shepherds from the Nativity narratives turned up, bleary eyed from staying up to watch their flocks by night.  (Conspicuously missing are the three kings.  They said they were coming, but they’re running late. You know what they say, wise women should have been sent out to seek the baby Jesus.  After all, at least wise women know how to stop and ask for directions.....).

            The widow’s mite doesn’t sound that exciting of a story. A poor woman gave two coins, which does not sound like much, yet it is said these two coins are the sum of all she owned.  Standing there at the annual reunion of the stories learned in Sunday school, the rich young ruler sees the widow with her two coins and looks away.  Doesn’t look like much, what she has there, just holding the coins.  Why, money should have a fine purse if you’re going to carry it around!  He shifts the weight of all he owns on his back and wonders why he has yet to find the path to eternal life.

The prodigal looks at the two coins and starts weeping.  He had great wealth—half his father’s estate and yet he spent it all living the high life.  He ponders whether he’ll ever be welcome at home again…. (For the record, remember, the prodigal is always to be welcomed home.) 

The shepherds look at the widow and nod.  They understand her predicament.  More often than not, shepherds are lucky to have much money on them.  You don’t make much working the shepherd third watch shift.  You’re more likely to be serenaded by angels than make a decent living in this work….

            As grownups, the widow’s mite is heard around stewardship time. The widow is celebrated as a sign of all that is good about giving to church:  give with a sense of sacrifice, give to God with glad hearts, and the like.  The “Widow’s Mite” becomes a phrase, sort of churchly “code language” for someone who has given generously, sacrificially even, “out of very little”.

            For American Baptists, the “widow’s mite” is recalled by our denomination’s pension board.  Each year, churches give to a “thank you!” offering to retired ministers and missionaries and their spouses who have served our denomination.   The American Baptist congregation that gives the most, despite being one of our smaller churches, receives an award for their generosity.  The award remembers a time back in the early days of the Retired Ministers and Missionaries Offering (RMMO), commemorating

the anonymous gift in 1981 of a Vietnamese refugee woman worshipping with the First Chinese Baptist Church in Fresno, California.  Not knowing the full intent of the offering, but understanding the words ‘thank you’ printed on the offering envelope she slipped off her wristwatch, her only possession of value, and placed it in the envelope”.  (MMBB press releases)

            A wristwatch does not sound like much, yet it serves as a reminder of the sort of generosity that has made many of our denomination’s institutions possible.  Over the years, American Baptists have supported seminaries, care homes, neighborhood centers, and regional and national programs, thanks in part to donors who give out of their love for Christ and their desire to promote the gospel.  Our denominational history sometimes gets told as a cavalcade of the big name donors, yet a true history also remembers the witness of the multitude of donors who have made our denomination’s past possible and provided for our future through their generosity. 

Recall the witness of the Love Gift, a historic ABWM initiative, started out when the Great Depression was underway and our denomination’s national offices were in critical need of financial support.  To this day, the Love Gift boxes are still providing to help our denomination.  In 2009, the Love Gift, again just from the “spare change” and devotion of ABWM groups and individuals nationwide, provided over $400,000 as of September 30, 2009, to United Mission support—pretty impressive feat for a little cardboard box that sits on the end table, collecting coins one by one. Indeed, before the name “Love Gift” came into widespread use, the little boxes were called “mite” or “might” boxes, recognizing the humble gifts making big things possible.

            I note these stories of “the might of the mite” with due thanksgiving.  I also note that the story of the widow’s mite often gets taken a bit out of its context.  While upheld as a model stewardship lesson, the actual story within Mark’s gospel has a rather disturbing “rest of the story”.  The story appears in Mark and Luke as part of Jesus’ criticism of the corruption within the Temple.  Reading the story in the midst of its appearance within Mark’s gospel, one realizes the story has a tragic dimension.  As one scholar notes, “Although Jesus praises [the widow’s] generosity, the tragedy of her desperate situation remains. Her house has been completely devoured [by the scribes].”  (Harry Fleddermann, “A Warning about the Scribes”, Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 1982: 67)   

The widow comes to the Temple treasury and gives her two coins. Jesus observes this act and recognizes her devotion. He extols her faith while exposing the corruption of Temple.  Reading Mark’s gospel, the reader discovers that Jesus sustains an ongoing critique against the religious establishment.  Read onwards in Mark as the religious establishment will collaborate with the Roman local government to get rid of Jesus.  This story of the widow’s mite comes after the “cleansing” of the Temple, where Jesus declares the commerce of the Temple improper worship.  And just after the teaching about the widow’s mite, Jesus claims the grandeur of the Temple will not last, predicting its destruction later in the first century.  The widow is a model of faithfulness in the midst of a place where organized religion has become a racket.

            Here Jesus singles out the scribes, religious authorities Jesus describes as the well-dressed, pious, high society types. Throughout Mark’s gospel, the scribes appear as the challengers to Jesus’ authority.  When Jesus begins his ministry, it is said he taught “as one with authority”, affirming Jesus’ status as teacher and healer. In the same breath, Mark notes that as Jesus is recognized, he is not decidedly nothing like the scribes.  Jesus criticizes the scribes for the limelight yet keeping some pretty shady practices.  The scribes are unveiled as pious and predatory. 

            Read any passage in Mark where the scribes are mentioned, and you find in the scribes’ behaviors and practices the opposite of Jesus’ teachings on discipleship.  Jesus tells his disciples to be servants, stating the first is last and the last is first.  The scribes maneuver for “first place”. The disciples are told to go out with few supplies and clothing to proclaim Jesus’ word.  The scribes wear long robes to signal their status to any onlookers. The scribes pray and then prey on the vulnerable.  Jesus’ prayers turn his followers back to the needs of the marginalized.  The widow gives modestly, the scribes devour immodestly.  (I am indebted to the Fleddermann article for his reading of the contrary witness of Jesus’ way versus the scribes’ ways.)

How do we rightly read sacred text?  The same scriptures that Jesus stood upon, those we call the “Hebrew Scriptures”, called for the faithful to protect “the widow, the orphan, and the sojourner in your midst”.  The scribes claimed expertise in these same texts while creating exploitative systems of religion. Standing upon the prophetic tradition, Jesus envisioned an alternative to the Temple, a community of humble servants given to a new understanding of authority and abundance where the widow is not least.  In her, the fullness of the gospel is made known.

From time to time, I recall in my sermons the witness of Baptists who identified strongly with this facet of the gospel.  I note that the great “social witnesses” of Baptists (folks like Walter Rauschenbusch, Clarence Jordan, Martin Luther King, Jr.) heard the clear call of Jesus to wed “gospel” with “justice”, only to experience many a cold shoulder from other Baptists who considered work among the poor and advocacy for social concerns to be less important, if at all, to the “real” work of the church. Jesus cared passionately about those who were forgotten, and yet the Church tends to keep the fuller gospel at arm’s length.  The widow’s mite challenges us to speak with humility about our stewardship and our religious ideals.  How do we live out the ways of Jesus, given as they are to humility, service, and care for the least of these? 

The widow walks through the midst of the Church. Some look at her with nostalgia, fondly remembering her giving but neglecting “the rest of the story” of the harsh life she lived.  Others yearn for her to tell us anew the might of the mite, how to give to God with integrity and hearts open to the gospel. What lessons still await us in the pondering of this teaching about the widow’s mite?

      Old widow, take us by the hand. Teach us your ways. Show us in the midst of the hardships of life the faithfulness that keeps you close to God.  Help us give of ourselves, so that we might draw closer to the One who gave away his very life.

The Invisible Man and the Impaired Church (Mark 10:46-52)

      The trip into Jerusalem was crowded and noisy.  Hundreds of people were coming into the holy city for the Passover. 

The chatter of dozens of conversations

 the cry of merchants hoping for pilgrim seasonal business,

the arguments of misunderstandings

and the laughter of people giddy with joy that they have finally arrived.

      In the midst of the cacophony, can you hear it?

      “Alms!  Alms!  Alms for the poor!”

      In the midst of the crowd, you could almost miss it, that voice trying desperately to be heard above the din of pilgrims.  In fact, the one trying to be heard is fairly desperate himself.  He is off to the sidelines, sitting along the road, barely visible there on the ground with the sea of humanity passing by.  The blind man cries out, hoping to be heard, but knowing that he’s likely ignored by most. 

            In the New Testament, disability carried a great deal of stigmatism.  While such attitudes still exist today, we consider such ways discriminatory.  In our North American context, we work to protect the rights and dignity of persons with disabilities.  Our culture is predisposed to improve the lives of those with disabilities.  In fact, First Baptist is home to a non-profit organization, the Vermont Center for Independent Living, who works to advocate and empower persons with disabilities.  Each week, persons come to First Baptist for one-on-one counseling and benefit assistance, support groups, and other opportunities.  In addition to this non-profit, our building upgrades have made First Baptist a more accessible place for all persons.  The additions of a handicap accessible bathroom and the lift, which was installed just about a year ago, increase our “welcome” to our community. 

            In the world of the New Testament, such a culture of support and most certainly the “religious value” of disabled persons were largely absent.  It was an incredibly difficult life to live if you were a person who was hearing or visually impaired, persons with chronic diseases, persons with some sort of physical challenges, and the list goes on.  This blind man sitting by the side of the road suffered a religious element to discrimination.  He was considered lesser because the prevailing religious worldview placed high value on full physical ability.  Great emphasis was placed upon a person’s gender, ability to keep ritual purity, and lack of physical impairments.  Thus, at the very center of the religion of the day is the observant male, who was fully able bodied and kept purity laws.  If you are a woman, if you are purity challenged (due to a whole host of caveats), if you are a Gentile, if you are physically impaired in some fashion, the further away you are from the heart of religious righteousness.  The blind man sitting by the side of the road was pretty much about as close to the Temple, the heart of his religion, as he would have been on the religious worldview map we just sketched out.  Here was a person that society and religion opted to write off, and with no great irony, his name was Bartimaeus, which means “son of Timaeus”.   In turn, “Timaeus” means “unclean”.  There is no irony lost here:  the crowds bustle by in search of the Temple, ignoring “son of the unclean”.

            “Alms for the poor!”

      You have heard this voice, haven’t you?  You hear it in many places: walking into a shopping mall and there’s the faithful volunteer for the Salvation Army, ringing a bell, saying “bless you” or “happy holidays” to persons, even those who just keep walking by.  Or, when you are at a store and a group of high school students are selling baked goods for humanitarian organizations or service projects.  You hear it when they offer you some homemade banana bread for $5 bucks.  There’s that voice as you walk down a crowded street in just about any major city street of the world:  “Hey! Can you spare some change?”

      On the latter count, it’s often a time for judgment calls.  Do you stop and give this person money, a person who appears out of nowhere, an old Styrofoam cup with loose coins, maybe a dollar or two at best, standing there in an old ball cap, unkempt hair, perhaps a slight odor.  For some, it’s an immediate response.  The sort of response differs for folks:  some reach into a pocket for whatever coin you have, or just as quickly, some keep walking, trying desperately to avoid eye contact.

When Bartimaeus hears Jesus is on his way, the blind man starts making some noise.  He cries out for Jesus:  “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”  He keeps crying out, uncertain where Jesus is in the crowd, but he cannot risk being ignored by this man.  He knows that Jesus is someone who stands out in the midst of the world, one whose name stirs up a hope within Bartimaeus.  The name of Jesus has gone out among the villages of rural Galilee and word must be reaching the city, not only among the powerful who wish Jesus ill.  The great teacher and great healer is here!  Bartimaeus begins to cry out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

What happens next is telling.  The crowd tries to silence the beggar, pushing him back to the margins.  For Bartimaeus’ life, that is exactly where he has been told to stay put.  Out of sight, out of mind is what he is told.  Bartimaeus, like so many told to be silent, to be content with the margins, knows that sometimes you have to “holler to be heard”. (See Brian Blount and Gary W. Charles, Preaching Mark in Two Voices).  Bartimaeus had heard of Jesus’ goodness, his reputation, his compassion for the least.  He could not be silenced.  He could not contain the hope he felt deep within.

Back in Kansas City, an American Baptist affiliated ministry serves an inner city neighborhood.  We call them “NAPs”, or Neighborhood Action Programs.  This particular NAP, Bethel Neighborhood Center, has been serving the urban poor for decades, providing a safe place for children to learn and grow, hospitality to seniors, and providing a spiritual presence in a part of the metropolitan area often ignored or underserved.  A few years back, Bethel received a special award for its service.  A seminary student was on the staff at the time, and he recounted the experience of going to the awards banquet with the executive staff and a few consumers, aka those who utilized the center’s ministries.  When the award was given, one of the consumers, a boisterous elderly woman, came up front with the rest of the crowd and just started shouting excitedly about the award.  It made quite a spectacle, as a woman could barely contain her joy at this place that made such a difference in her life, was receiving recognition from the greater community. 

Throughout Mark’s gospel, many people approached Jesus, seeking his wisdom, yet most could not embrace the costs Jesus assigned to true discipleship.  The man of means approached Jesus, bringing along a lifetime of diligent piety, yet the great privilege he enjoyed kept him from following Jesus. The disciples followed Jesus and learned many things about the kingdom of God, yet they fought among themselves, hoping that they would be the greatest or the most favored.  Jesus could not get them to listen attentively enough.  They still thought power was where God’s glory would be revealed.  This cross looming large over Mark’s latter chapters still goes unnoticed and misunderstood.

Bartimaeus, the unclean, Bartimaeus the blind, Bartimaeus the forgotten—here was a complete stranger, unknown and obscure, who names and knows Jesus correctly.  When Jesus encounters Bartimaeus, it is a tender exchange, encumbered not by pretense but faith.  After reading of people who come to Jesus with pretexts and caveats, it is amazing to witness this trading of words.  Jesus needs no great gesture to heal this man.  Bartimaeus’ faith has created his own bridge to healing.

Bartimaeus models a maturity in his discipleship that the man of means could not accomplish after a lifetime of piety, a faith the disciples could not accomplish after accompanying alongside Jesus through the villages of Galilee.  Bartimaeus leaves his cloak, his only “possession” aside.  He risks the scorn and ridicule to get closer to Jesus.  He cries out Jesus’ true name, even as the story prepares to tell of the haunting days ahead when even the disciples shall scatter, trying to hide their brave, yet fragile allegiance to Jesus when the tides turn against them. 

In the 1984 film Places in the Heart, John Malkovich plays a blind man named Mr. Will.  It is said that Malkovich learned how to play a blind man through an unique method.  He did not close his eyes or walk around blindfolded to learn the part.  Instead, he claimed that he learned his part by looking within himself at the places where he himself was blind. 

The story of Bartimaeus offers an opportunity to examine ourselves.  Are we too much like the inner circle disciples, so close and comfortable with “the faith” that we miss the non-conformist message of the gospel?  How can we be like those in the crowd, who in our own haste to be religious, we walk by or ignore those in the margins?  How do we see those our culture or other Christians might label as “unclean” or “not like us” as persons capable of great faith and of sacred worth to Jesus?   Bartimaeus is out there, in the midst of the world, pitied and misunderstood by most, yet the one whom Jesus would claim as one of his own.

Why Jesus isn't merely "good" (John 10:11-18)

When we visited Ireland, two observations especially remain in my mind. First, when you see the verdant green hills of Ireland, you realize there is no such thing as a bad picture of Ireland. Every single photo of the countryside is flawless and picturesque. As I told my friends around the seminary after we got back home, when God created Ireland, God was showing off.

As the little tour buses wound their way around the mountains, the hills were full of peacefully grazing sheep. I took pictures as quickly as I could as the bus moved by, and every photo was postcard quality. I am not a photographer with any great skill, again, the natural beauty of the place overwhelmed any inadequacies of an amateur photographer. (There was a little trouble with these photos. I decided to send photos of Ireland via email to a few friends back home, including one picture of Kerry. I wrote to my friends, “Here is a photo of my lovely wife”, attached the file, and clicked “Send”. The next day, I learned that I had clicked on the wrong file. When my friends read the email about my lovely wife and opened the attached file, it turned out to be a photo of a meadow full of sheep.)

There is a certain peace in this image of Christ as the Good Shepherd. Even though the world’s population tends to live increasingly in urbanized areas, I daresay the open meadow with the sheep grazing peacefully and a shepherd standing watch with his crook still speaks modern day people. In the chaotic hustle and bustle of this noisy global village, I hold out a bit of hope that this image still speaks to us, its simplicity providing a quiet, contrary word while we keep speeding up the ways we live that still somehow leave us feeling rundown.

I keep an image of the Good Shepherd in my office, a simple icon of Jesus carrying a shepherd’s crook and placing a benevolent hand upon a small child. I keep it in my office, in hope that a person visiting my office, especially in need of a good word in the midst of life’s challenges, might see this icon and find a word of peace there in the steady gaze and gentle grace of the Christ welcoming all who come before him.

As a child, I remember seeing the good shepherd long before I knew the story as told by the Gospel of John. When we traveled to Independence, Kansas, we would invariably pass by this church on our way around town. It was a large mosaic of the Good Shepherd, sort of an avant-garde look to it, considering churches in Kansas are modest in their taste. Even as a child, I recollect staring at the image up there on the side of the church, that Jesus standing high above the busy street below, welcoming a little lamb.

That image was of especial help one time when my father went in for surgery. It was minor surgery. Today, he probably sent home same-day, but to a preschool age kid, it was a worry. Dad was away, he was not there at night to tuck me in, and worst of all, he was in a hospital! (Note: Generally, kids are not crazy about hospitals. There are nurses with 80-foot needles awaiting you, and back in the primitive era known as the 1970s, “old school” nurses lurked at every corner, challenging your parents about the propriety of bringing children along for visits. Nowadays, children are more generally welcomed, and the needles are more compact—they only chase you with 20-foot needles.)

I remember going along with my mother and sister to the hospital, fretting about whether dad would come home today as mother promised us that he would. I remember going by the church with the Good Shepherd on the side. In the middle of my pre-K mind’s worry, I remember feeling a momentary calm come over me. I had never heard the story of Good Shepherd at that point in life, but somehow, I found something so comforting in that image. 

Moving into my seminary studies, where I became acquainted with the depths of riches found in biblical scholarship, I learned to read the Good Shepherd with more insight into the first century Greek used by the New Testament writers and the growing study of the cultural anthropology of the New Testament world. In other words, I learned that Jesus is not the “good” shepherd. Technically, John’s gospel uses the Greek word kalos, translated more precisely as Jesus being the “model” shepherd.

Back in the 1960s, the Catholic New Testament scholar, Father Raymond Brown wrote an historic two-volume commentary on John. He notes “Greek kalos means ‘beautiful’ in the sense of an ideal or model of perfection”. Brown calls back to the earlier passage of John’s gospel when at the wedding of Cana, Jesus’ miracle of turning the water into wine created something considered not just “good” but “kalos”, a “choice” wine. Thus, Jesus is not merely “good”, he is the best, the choice, “the model” shepherd.

Father Brown himself was an example of a “model” scholar—he was so dedicated, so ardent in his love of the gospel and its study that you could not ask for any better example of a biblical scholar. He loved his craft so much that he even lived in the library at Union Theological Seminary in New York. He wrote books and essays on John’s gospel his entire life, even revising his previously held scholarly opinions if he had changed his mind on interpreting the text as he engaged other Johannine scholars. When he died in 1998, his colleague Phylis Trible remarked how appropriate Fr. Brown’s last book, published shortly after his death, was a book exploring the spirituality of John’s gospel, the book’s subtitle “That You May Believe”. I would like to imagine when Father Brown reached the Pearly Gates, the gospel writer John himself was there to meet him with a word of welcome. “You were a kalos kind of scholar, Ray.”

This is the dedication Jesus has for his sheep. No matter what time of day, no matter the task, it is like

a farm hand that never stops before the crop is in, a top business executive who works at her desk until the business day is done, a school teacher who patiently helps that child puzzle out a math problem in third grade, a volunteer who goes down to New Orleans to repair a home or who runs across Bennington to spend the morning stuffing envelopes for a non-profit organization.

That kalos level of dedication is just the beginning of a glimmer of what sort of shepherd we encounter in Jesus. This shepherd shall go to the ends of hill and dale to care for and protect his flock, even if it means going into the valley of the shadow of death. Jesus is not just “proficient” or “good”. He is kalos.

Contemporary New Testament scholar N.T. “Tom” Wright offers us a helpful word. He writes,  "The point of calling Jesus ‘the good shepherd’ is to emphasize the strange, compelling power of his love”. (John for Everyone, Pt. 1, Chapters 1-10, W/JKP, 2004, p. 154) Hearing the gospel in the proclamation of the Church, and better yet, seeing it embodied by Christ’s followers, the world is given the chance, in many wonderful and diverse ways, to taste and see that the Lord is kalos.

To follow this shepherd, we consent to being part of his flock. As far as Jesus is concerned, his flock is the world, but each of us must choose to listen to his voice. Jesus does not turn away anyone, a part of the gospel message the Church is still trying to get right all these centuries later, however, you have to listen. John’s gospel criticizes those who do not listen to Jesus’ voice as those who have chosen to do so. John speaks of “the mark of faithfulness to Jesus and his word” as a sign that a person has chosen to be a disciple by following Christ’s voice. (Gail O’Day, “John”, New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. IX, p. 670)

Return to the words of this morning’s assurance of pardon. We confessed together these words stating our shortcomings and sins, our lapses in faithfulness, and then we heard a word that gave us grace upon grace:

Beloved of God, know that God shepherds you throughout life’s journey, feeding and leading you, tending and calling you by name. Know in Christ’s name, you are the beloved Sheep of the Good Shepherd.

Wherever we are on the journey of life, no matter how far we have wandered, no matter our needs, Christ the shepherd looks after us, each one. Can you hear his voice? It calls across the desk at work, as you stand in line with groceries at the check-out, running across the park with your children, and in the middle of the night when you think you’re the only one awake and worried about the day just past or the day yet to come. Listen for that voice, and follow.