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INJ
St John 10:11-19
'Jesus is the Good Shepherd'
Matins
Misericordias Domine | April 22, 2007
Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia.
Dear Saints,
“The LORD is my Shepherd, I shall not want.” Psalm 23 has to be the most beloved portion of Scripture. We love it; it part of us. “That's the on, pastor, that I want you to read at my funeral.” Some of you have been in agony in the hospital bed, with so much pain that you could barley pull together a smile, but when I start saying the 23rd Psalm you spoke it with me, with your eyes closed you were drawn to another place, beautiful, peaceful, a place far away to everything but faith.
Why do we love this Psalm so? Maybe we memorized it in Catechism, or we have it hanging on our dining room wall or we remember when it was read at our father's funeral. But how is it that this is the Psalm pick for such occasions? I think this Psalm is a favorite for two reasons.
First, it's short. Six verses. That's good. It's like we learned in the seminary: the most important word in your sermon is “amen”.
But not only is Psalm 23 short, it's sweet. It's full of beautiful images:
That's nice. “Yes, that's what I want.” Days of peace and prosperity, without guilt or fear or debt, days without shootings, without floods, without war, without “Tragedy Strikes” in the headlines, or quiet obituaries tucked away in a back. Psalm 23 seems to capture all our hopes, it's a tranquil paradise.
I remember in Sunday School that we were always making lambs as a craft. We would glue a clump of cotton balls to the page with a nose poking out one end and four legs pointing down. That's nice. Pretty, clean, nice, good, puffy sheep. Green grass, blue water and red cool aid. (There always seemed to be red cool aid in Sunday School.)
But if this is how it is, if we are sheep that are that pretty and smell nice and are good, then our Gospel reading would be a bit different. “I am the Good Shepherd,” Jesus would say, “who rewards the sheep for their good behavior.” “I am the Good Shepherd who is so proud of the sheep.” But these things the Lord Jesus does not say.
We must be cautious, then, when we consider our own self-styled “goodness.” “I am the Good Shepherd. I lay down my life for the sheep.” We know then, first of all, that we need a good dying, or to be died for. The sheep are not so good, they've committed a capital offense, a life of offenses, they're on death row. I guess, for sheep, that that would be a slaughter house or anywhere near the temple in Jerusalem. Doomed. Doomed to be devoured by wolves and destroyed by our own sin. We are sheep in the midst of death and condemnation, in need of help and rescue, that One would lay down their life for ours.
Our lives are not like the sheep on the Sunday School flannel graph, like some picture from the New Zealand chamber of commerce. We are surrounded by trouble. Outside and in.
We've seen a taste of this sinful world in Virginia this week. If there was an illusion of peace, of green pastures and still waters there, it has been shattered with the gunshots and wails and mourning and life plucked in its prime. Thirty-three murdered. Ghastly. Horrendous. It is sad, for the families and friends and communities that are feeling the loss and the pain.
And it's also a bit disturbing. It shakes us up a bit, peals away the false sense of security we carry around, reminds us how close we are to death, one breath away. One bullet from a mad man, one blood clot, one drunk driver, one whatever. Such is the fragile existence of us sheep.
But the bad is not just outside of us, it's inside as well. We are, after all, sinners. Poor miserable ones. I cannot read your minds; I don't know what you're thinking right now. But I do know this, that you are a Christian, marked with the Lord's name in baptism, and so you are the enemy of the devil. And I know more, that the devil is constantly trying to tempt you to sin, to despair of God's grace or to disbelieve God's promises or to commit some sin, great or small or to be puffed up on pride (“See how holy I am.”). And the devil, in all his terrible temptation, has a willing accomplice in our sinful flesh.
I don't know how this temptation sounds to you. If the devil says, “Don't worry about this sin, it's small, no one will get hurt. You deserve a break, and Jesus will forgive you anyway.” Lie. Jesus' forgiveness is never an after thought, and it is never an excuse to sin. Perhaps you hear, “I can't believe you did that sin, and knowingly. How can you call yourself a Christian? How can you show yourself in Church? Jesus doesn't forgive sins you commit on purpose.” Lie. Jesus came to seek and save the lost, to call sinners to repentance. Jesus' death was for all of your sin, all of it. It is all died for, all forgiven.
He might be saying, “Don't listen to this windbag preacher. He's ruining your favorite Psalm.” Don't worry, I'm planning to give it back to you full of sweetness and comfort.
But in the mean time what is coming out of all these reflections is that we have to change our Sunday School picture. The cotton ball sheep ought to be smeared with black gunk, caught in thorns, surrounded by wolves licking their chops and whispering sweet temptations into their little sheep ears. In the background there's a cemetery, and a gunman, and a drunk driver, and an abortion clinic, and a store that sells whatever you're addicted to. The green pasture is trampled and the still water is bitter with the taste of our own guilt and failure and sin and shame and regret. None of us are guiltless, no one is righteous, no, not one.
This is why we love the 23rd Psalm. There we are told of something different, different from our lives of toil and sin, there we are told of rest, of plenty, of joy, of salvation, of restoration, of righteousness, of life. There, in the 23rd Psalm, we are told about sheep who have a Good Shepherd, a Good Shepherd who dies for them, who carries all their sins and tears and pain, who suffers all their wants, who knows all their weaknesses, and who gives us His kingdom.
The Lord is my Shepherd. He fills us with good things, gives us our daily bread, and all that we need, spouse, children, home, food, clothing, good neighbors, even good weather. I shall not want. He wipes away our tears, comforts us in sorrow, destroys our death, beats down the wolves and the shadows and the confusion, He binds up our broking hearts. He restores our soul. He forgives our sin, cleanses our conscience in the still waters of Holy Baptism, He feeds us with His New Testament, the meal of forgiveness in His blood. He leads us in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake. He lies down in the grave only to rise up again, and so He destroys death, breaks the teeth of the tomb. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me, Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.
And the peace of God which passes all understanding, guard your hearts and minds through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
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Pastor Bryan Wolfmueller
Hope Lutheran Church | Aurora, CO
