May 3rd, 2020: The Gate
“Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.” Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.
So again Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.
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Have you ever been robbed?
I’ve been robbed a few times—from your standard credit card fraud to having my apartment broken into once when I was just out of grad school. And then there was Rome, as in Italy. Robbed twice in two days! The first was the pickpocket on the crowded subway—I never saw what hit me. I spent the whole day trying to figure out how to cancel credit cards and redeem stolen travelers’ checks. A frustrating day lost. And then the next day as I was walking alone in the ancient Roman Forum, a band of Gypsies attacked me—two women and at least 7,000 children swarmed around me, pushing me and grabbing my things. One of the women was able to grab my backpack. Now having been robbed just the day before, I didn’t have any money. But my backpack had my passport in it. She turned quickly to walk away, and I chased her down. “Oh no you don’t!” I screamed in slow motion, grabbing my bag and my passport back from her.
Let’s just say another trip to Rome is not on my bucket list.
So when Jesus talks to his listeners about thieves who come to kill, to steal, and to destroy, I know a little something about that. You probably do too.
There’s a new thief in our midst these days. It’s only about 120 nanometers (0.0000047 inches) in diameter, but it is:
· Killing. It’s killed, globally, over 245,000 people as of today. I thank God that no one in our immediate church family has died from this thief, but some of you have lost dear friends. Your grief is real.
· Stealing. It has stolen over 30 million jobs in the US. Maybe it has stolen your job. Maybe you’ve anxiously watched your retirement savings go up and down with a turbulent stock market.
· Destroying. Our way of life has been altered. And while it may be good for the environment, any sense of invincibility we may have had is shattered.
In other words, this tiny thief is no respecter of persons. Some have been devastated, others merely inconvenienced. But this thief has stolen something from all of us.
Coronoavirus.
I wonder, like many of you, if life-as-we-have-known-it is forever changed. I wonder if we will ever return to what we once called “normal.” I suspect that we may emerge from this pandemic with a mild (or worse) case of collective post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Trauma changes us, you know.
I was recently talking with an old friend of mine—he and his wife adopted a daughter from Africa a few years ago. Their daughter was less than two years old at the time of adoption, but the trauma of abandonment from her birth parents remains just below the surface of what seems to be a happy and well-adjusted kid. My friend was telling me about a time when his daughter was maybe 9 or 10, and he was taking her to a father-daughter dance, which they had done several times before and she always seemed to enjoy. But this time she was resistant to the idea, and acting strangely about the whole thing. And finally, when they were in the car on the way to the dance, all dressed up, my friend driving and his daughter in the back seat, she began to cry. He looked back and asked her, “Honey, why are you crying?” And she said through big crocodile tears, “What if you don’t come find me after the dance?” My friend pulled the car over. He turned to look at her. He said, “Look at me. I am your father. For the rest of your life, I will always come find you.”
This beautiful story of a father’s love reminds me of a story Jesus told about a shepherd going to find the lost sheep:
What do you think? If a shepherd has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray? And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray. So it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost. —Matthew 18:12-14
Jesus will always find the lost sheep, even you, even me.
This shepherd imagery was a favorite of Jesus. In the passage from the Gospel of John that I read earlier, Jesus again compares himself to a good shepherd, protecting the sheep from the thieves that would kill, steal and destroy.
Jesus undoubtedly used the metaphor of sheep and shepherd because it was a common sight around Judea—the people would immediately connect with the story. Sheep would usually graze during the daytime under the protection of the shepherd, and then at night, the shepherd would corral the sheep into a small fenced in area. There would be one opening, just wide enough for one sheep at a time to pass through. And a good shepherd would stand at the gate inspecting each sheep as it entered the sheepfold at night, tenderly checking to make sure each sheep was ok, removing any burs, etc. One by one, counting each sheep, caring for each one as it entered the safety of the sheepfold. And then the shepherd would take his place at the narrow entrance once all the sheep were safely inside. And there the shepherd would stay until daybreak. The shepherd literally became the gate. No wolves could get in, no sheep could get out, because of the shepherd’s dutiful presence.
“I am the gate,” Jesus tells his listeners. Jesus is our protector.
What does that mean when the thief that wants to kill, steal and destroy isn’t a wolf, but a virus that’s only 0.0000047 of an inch.
I have been . . . what’s the right word . . . mortified? Dumbfounded? By people suggesting that the coronavirus can’t hurt them because they’re Christian. That’s the biggest bunch of poppycock I’ve ever heard! Might as well go jump off the Empire State Building or even more reckless, touch your face or something crazy! It would be like saying, “I can’t get cancer because I’m a Christian,” or “getting shot won’t hurt me because I’m a Christian.” Where do people get these crazy ideas?
And while I’m certain no one worshiping with us today would have that mentality, this passage does beg the question, in what way is Jesus our protector?
The indwelling Christ is with us at all times and in all places, whether we’re inside the sheepfold, or grazing on the hillside—sequestered at home or braving Publix. And just like the wolves and the sheep, Christ’s presence with us does not mean there aren’t wolves, and it doesn’t mean the wolves aren’t dangerous—Christ’s presence with us does not mean there isn’t a coronavirus or that the coronavirus isn’t dangerous. But the sheep know the shepherd’s voice and follow the shepherd’s leading. That voice resides with us at all times through the indwelling presence of the eternal Christ. It speaks to us externally in the form of knowledge from medical experts. It speaks to us internally the form of wisdom. We must listen to both so that we can discern whether it’s safe to leave the sheepfold, or better to stay inside the sheepfold and watch Netflix.
The church board and I met last week to establish a set of criteria for when we will gather once again for worship. I believe this decision to be one of the most consequential decisions of my ministry, and a heavy decision for the board and me to make. The wolves are being pushed back, but they are still out there, posing a serious threat to many in our flock. Just because we are beginning to reopen the economy doesn’t mean the virus doesn’t pose a serious threat—it simply means that most hospitals will have capacity now. Know this: to this pastor, nothing is more important than the safety of the flock. Nothing.
Some among us are more susceptible to the wolves—to the virus—than others due to risk factors. And though at some point within the next couple of months we will likely open the gate for corporate worship once again, some of you will need to stay in the sheepfold, because again, nothing—NOTHING—is more important than your safety. We all must listen to the voice of the good shepherd in the form of knowledge of the experts and wisdom from within, discerning whether we can safely emerge from the sheepfold to graze the hillside with each other.
These are challenging days for us as individuals, for us as a church, for our community, for our nation, for our world. But with Christ as our protector, standing in the gap for us, offering knowledge and wisdom, we will eventually step out in faith and lie down in green pastures once again.
There’s a beautiful hymn I’ve chosen that articulates my prayer for our church during this tenuous season we find ourselves in: “Savior, like a shepherd, lead us, much we need Thy tender care.” Let us pray as we sing, each from our homes—may this prayer meet the ears of the Good Shepherd who hears us when we pray.