The Best of the Worst

John 10:11-21

March 14, 2021 • Mount Pleasant UMC

I grew up in the big town of Sedalia, Indiana, and in our backyard there were several paths. Our yard was not large, but our dog was. We had a beautiful collie named Princess, and several times a day, she would make the trip from the back patio to the back fence to be able, I guess, to look over at the neighbors’ homes and see what was going on. Princess wore a path from the patio to the fence because she took the exact same route every day, several times a day. And, of course, with two boys in the house, we put that path to good use ourselves; it became the first baseline on our baseball/kickball field. We wore out paths around our diamond, too, though not as deeply as Princess did. The yard took a lot of years to recover from the dog and the boys and our well-worn paths.

All of us have well-worn paths, routes that lead us to the familiar. We even do it when we sit in the same pew here at church every week. It’s always fun for me, when we have combined services, to watch people try to figure out where to sit because someone else is in their spot! I get that. Back in the day, when I could go to Starbucks in the morning, I had my seat, my place where I hang out and I didn’t like it when someone else was sitting there. I may or may not have complained about that on social media! We all have certain places we enjoy eating, or being, or events we love attending, movies we love watching. We have favorite shows we’ll watch over and over again, and we have movies we can repeat line for line. There’s comfort in the familiarity; familiarity breeds security. That’s been one of the challenges of the last year, because much that was familiar was taken away or changed or closed. I know I have longed for some of that routine, the security that comes with well-worn paths because the world has not felt safe. Even our church year was challenged. I made the comment the other day that we have officially celebrated every major Christian holiday virtually in the last year. The seasons like Advent and Christmas and Lent and Easter are important. They remind us who we are. No matter how many times we’ve heard the stories, there is still something powerful in reliving, rehearing and re-walking these paths. For me, that’s especially true of Lent. Lent is a well-worn path that brings an odd sense of security to my heart and life.

This Lenten season, we are walking through these “I am” statements Jesus made in the Gospel of John, and so far we’ve talked about his claim to be the bread of life and the light of the world. But this week’s “I Am” statement is a well-worn path for many of us. Maybe you saw it in a stained-glass window at a childhood church. Or maybe you heard it at a funeral or in a children’s program. Jesus told his listeners, “I am the good shepherd” (10:11), and since they experienced shepherds most every day, that imagery was familiar, comfortable, well-known. I’m just not sure they understood everything he meant by it.

So, John says, Jesus is dialoging with the Pharisees (again!). Now, the Pharisees were only one group within the larger faith of Judaism. We might picture them as a small group within the larger church, but the Pharisees were more than that. In the first century they were a growing and powerful group whose focus was following the Old Testament law to the letter. I’ve said it before—Jesus never argues with their theology. In terms of what they profess about God, the Pharisees and Jesus probably have more in common than they have to argue about. What always gets Jesus upset with them is that they fail to live out what they believe. In fact, in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus told the people to follow what the Pharisees taught, but don’t do what the Pharisees do. “They do not practice what they preach,” he says (Matthew 23:1-3). So this teaching is directed to the Pharisees. He calls them “thieves and robbers” who are trying to steal God’s sheep (which, of course, made them like Jesus even more!). And then he says, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (10:11).

When we think of shepherds, we usually picture sheep grazing quietly while a shepherd with a wooden crook stands nearby. That’s what we see in the stained-glass windows and on the greeting cards, and there are images like that in the Old Testament. Moses is described as a shepherd, tending the flock of his father-in-law Jethro during his forty years of exile in the wilderness (Exodus 3:1). David, the greatest king Israel ever knew, was a shepherd when he was a boy (1 Samuel 16:11). And David, in turn, called God a shepherd in his most famous psalm, Psalm 23: “The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing” (Psalm 23:1). Jeremiah talks about God gathering his people as a flock (23:3) and Ezekiel talks about God tending his people as sheep: “As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock when he is with them, so will I look after my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places where they were scattered” (34:12). All throughout the Old Testament there is positive imagery about shepherds (cf. Tenney, “The Gospel of John,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 9, pg. 109).

But by the first century, shepherds were not well-thought-of. They were on, if not the lowest, then one of the lowest rungs of society. The rabbis said shepherds could not testify in court; their witness was unreliable (Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 48). Even more than that, their occupation, working with animals all the time, kept them continually unclean which prohibited them from participating in worship. It would be like if we stopped each person on the way in to worship here, asked what they do for a living, and sent people away who had particular professions. And yet many raised sheep for the sacrifices that were part of their worship. Shepherds were necessary for Jewish worship, but they weren’t allowed in corporate worship (Keener, Bible Background Commentary: New Testament, pg. 194). And in general, people just didn’t like shepherds much. They were poor and generally didn’t own land of their own, so they grazed their sheep on everyone else’s land. They were squatters, of a sort. I suppose they took their sheep one place and when they were run off that land, they just took them somewhere else. So in many people’s minds, shepherds were the worst of society. But Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd.” For most people in the first century, the words “good” and “shepherd” didn’t go together. That would be like saying you were the “best of the worst.”

When Jesus says this, he is contrasting himself with a hireling, and since he’s talking to the Pharisees, we can pretty much assume he’s equating the Pharisees with the hireling. Here’s what he says: there are two kinds of folks who tend sheep: hired hands and shepherds. To a hireling, shepherding is just a job, a paycheck. And when a predator, a wolf comes along and attacks the flock, the hireling heads for the hills. They’re just stupid sheep, after all; no use risking your life for a paycheck. The hireling is not a true shepherd. He’s not a good shepherd. He doesn’t care about the sheep. Jesus says a true shepherd was born to the job; in fact, it’s not a job, it’s a life. A true shepherd began tending sheep almost as soon as he could walk. The sheep are his friends and companions, and he doesn’t even think twice about defending the flock when the wolves attack. In fact, as Jesus says, “the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (10:11; cf. Barclay, The Gospel of John, Volume 2, pg. 61). The difference is in the attitude. The hireling may do the job but he won’t risk his life for the sheep. The shepherd will do absolutely anything to protect the sheep (cf. Tenner 109). That’s Jesus. He will do absolutely anything for those under his care, including taking a fate that was meant for them. That is the very definition of love: “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). Jesus will do that; the Pharisees (the hirelings) will not.

Jesus is the good shepherd, welcoming you and me to his flock. We are welcome when we trust in him, but then Jesus goes on to say this strange thing: “I have other sheep that are not of this sheep pen. I must bring them also…there shall be one flock and one shepherd” (10:16). A lot of people argue about who the “other sheep” are, but many of the arguments I’ve read seem to ignore the context. In this passage, Jesus is talking to the Jews, the chosen people, the Pharisees in particular who believed they had an “in” with God just because of their ethnic background. But Jesus has a much larger mission in mind, one that (thankfully) includes you and me, the Gentiles. He’s already reached out to several Gentiles in the book of John—most notably the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4. The “other sheep” Jesus has in mind are you and me, and he intends to welcome even those of us who are not part of the first flock. He will be our shepherd as well. All that’s required of us is that we listen to his voice, follow him, trust him and do as he commands (cf. Tenney 109). 

Here’s another thing the image of a “Good Shepherd” tells us: Jesus knows us by name. Good shepherds not only knew how many sheep they had; they also knew each sheep by name. When Jesus says, “I know my sheep and my sheep know me” (10:14), it’s not just about recognizing the other person or the animal. The word “know” there has the sense of trust, intimacy (Tenney 109). You’re not just a number to God. A baby born today is not human number seven billion and some. The good shepherd knows the name of each of his sheep. In the Old Testament, there’s this beautiful picture in the book of Isaiah, where God is speaking to his people in the midst of a difficult time, and he wants to reassure them, to give them hope. He says this: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine” (43:1). To the Good Shepherd, you are not, “Hey, You!” You are [names]. He calls you by name.

And all of that is what makes him good. The word “good” there might be better translated as “beautiful” or “lovely.” There are other words in the Greek language that can be translated as “good,” but John specifically chose one that refers to attractiveness, kindness, graciousness. We’re not talking about physical attractiveness; that’s not the point. The shepherd is someone you want to be around, someone that draws you to himself, fills in a part you didn’t know was missing. In other words, when this shepherd calls, people want to come. The Good Shepherd calls us by name, and we want to respond—and that makes me wonder why more people don’t respond to him today. What is it that’s getting in the way today that causes people to not hear him call? Why do people not draw near to him today? Maybe it’s us (cf. Barclay 63; Wright, John for Everyone, Part One, pg. 154).

Sometimes, his sheep don’t live out the message of the good shepherd in a way that draws others to him. Maybe you, like me, learned this verse early on in life: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). I wish I had also learned the next verse early on. John goes on to say this: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him” (John 3:17). Judging by the behavior of many Christians today, you’d think that verse wasn’t in the Bible. More people know what we are against than what we’re for, especially if you read our social media accounts. Christian researcher Thom Rainer says one of the top five reasons why the church is more ineffective today in reaching people than perhaps we’ve ever been is because we’ve forgotten that Jesus is a good shepherd who has come to save his people, not condemn them. We’re more likely to condemn. That person isn’t acting in the right way. Oh, did you hear about so-and-so? I saw their car parked outside a bar; obviously they’re inside getting drunk. They don’t believe the right thing politically; if you’re a Christian, you obviously can’t support…fill in the blank. And on it goes. We easily condemn while the Good Shepherd comes to give his life in order to save. And here’s the truth: there is no one for whom Christ did not die. There is no one he wouldn’t seek out. As his sheep, our calling is to offer salvation and grace and hope to people, not condemnation. Do you know whose job it is to judge? It’s God’s, not ours. Our calling is to invite people into the flock, to introduce them to the good shepherd who can save.

Jesus the good shepherd saves people, and he welcomes people. We don’t get to decide who is welcome, who belongs in the body of Christ and who doesn’t. The Spirit will call and help people respond to the shepherd’s welcome, but again sometimes we get in the way. If we don’t get this right, if we don’t warmly and adequately welcome people with the love of the Good Shepherd, then everything else we do is pretty much useless. I know it’s hard in a pandemic, but it’s still possible. We just have to work at it harder. When people walk through these doors, they ought to know that this is a place they will be welcomed and wanted.

Philip Yancey once told a story of a friend of his who worked with the down-and-out in Chicago. One day, this friend had a prostitute come to him, seeking food for her two-year-old daughter. She was crying, and confessed that she had even been renting out her daughter to men interested in unspeakable acts so that she could get money for her own drug habit. And that was probably the nicest part of her story; the man didn’t know what to say to this woman, so he just listened. At one point, he asked her if she had ever considered going to a church for help. He said, “I will never forget the look of pure astonishment that crossed her face. ‘Church!’ she cried. ‘Why would I ever go there? They’d just make me feel worse than I already do!’” Yancey commented, “Somehow we have created a community of respectability in the church…The down-and-out, who flocked to Jesus when he lived on earth, no longer feel welcome” (Yancey, The Jesus I Never Knew, chapter 8). We’ve decided that we are the ones who decide who’s welcome and who isn’t. We’ve created a church culture that says you have to get it all together before you come to Jesus, when exactly the opposite is true. Jesus the Good Shepherd welcomes us, welcomes everyone. How can we do any less than he does?

So perhaps that means doing some radical things. Things like making a concerted effort to talk to people we don’t know when we’re at church. I’ve said it before: we can talk to our friends anytime. Are we aware enough to know when someone new comes in? Maybe that person is looking for the Good Shepherd and they need you to welcome them in his name. Welcoming like the Good Shepherd would might also include those of us who are able parking far away from the front doors, even in the gravel lot, so that the closest spots are open in the front for guests and for those who have mobility issues. I once had someone tell me they left because they couldn’t find a spot in the front lot. That’s not a welcoming spirit. Jesus the Good Shepherd makes room for all. In fact, in Matthew 25, he says the difference between those who inherit eternal life and those who don’t is not found in what they believe in their heads. The difference is seen in the way we live. When we invite the stranger in, we are living in a way that is consistent with the Good Shepherd, the one who welcomed even the worst of the lot.

And he knows our name. This is a truth we have to hold onto. In the midst of so many voices that tell us we don’t matter, we’re not loved, or we’re insignificant, the Good Shepherd calls us by name. He loves us—you and me—as if we were the only one to love. Max Lucado put it this way: “If God had a refrigerator, your picture would be on it. If He had a wallet, your photo would be in it. He sends you flowers every spring and a sunrise every morning. Whenever you want to talk, He'll listen. He can live anywhere in the universe, and He chose your heart” (https://maxlucado.com/prayer-a-heavenly-invitation/). It’s the kind of love we have for our children, only more—eternally more. I remember when our kids were born, and that feeling of love that just overwhelms you. You didn’t even know this person before that moment. I mean, you had hopes and dreams and ideas and thoughts, but you hadn’t met them yet. And then suddenly there’s this new person, whom you already love beyond any logical explanation. And you start taking pictures and talking about them all the time and they hold a piece of your heart for the rest of your life. That’s the sort of relationship God wants with you. Jesus called his disciples “children,” not in any sort of condescending way, but to indicate the deep, deep love he had for them. He encouraged them to call God the Father, “Abba,” which basically means “Daddy.” And I love the picture at the beginning of the book of Job, where Satan and other angels are gathering in a sort of heavenly council, and God says to Satan, “Look at my son, Job. I’m so proud of him” (cf. Job 1:8). I think God does that with every one of us, and he whispers to us as only a Good Shepherd can, “I’m so proud of you. I’m so glad you’re mine. I know your name. I love you.” I believe that truth alone could change lives and hearts if we really, fully grabbed onto it and lived as if it were true.

But instead we spend so much of our time trying to prove ourselves to God, trying to do more and be more and study more and whatever more so that God will, we think, somehow approve of us, love us more. Let me put it in context: what could the sheep do that would make the good shepherd care for them more? Is there anything a sheep could do that would impress the shepherd and make him love them more? Could the sheep, perhaps, eat a bigger tuft of grass? Could they drink better water, grow whiter fleece, stand a little taller? Or does the Good Shepherd care for the sheep just because they are? Does he know their name and love them just because they belong to him? And doesn’t God care for us in the same way? Is there anything we can do to make God love us more? Of course not. The things we do, the service we give, is not to make God love us more, but to demonstrate our love and our gratitude for all God has done for us. Those things—feeding the hungry, caring for the stranger, helping those in need—those things are all about showing the world that God loves them, too. When we really believe and know that God welcomes us, has saved us, and calls us by name, we are then free to change the world.

It is a world that’s looking for security, for well-worn paths, the Good Shepherd comes to lead us in familiar places, to green pastures where life can truly happen. In that most famous psalm, David may have thought he was only describing the Father, but in truth he was also describing the Son who would come as the Good Shepherd:

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

He leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul.

He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,

I will fear no evil, for you are with me;

Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me

In the presence of mine enemies.

You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and love will follow me

All the days of my life,

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever (Psalm 23:1-6).

Jesus is the Good Shepherd. His sheep know his voice and they follow him. And he knows them by name. Let’s pray.