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From The First Baptist Church in America pulpit

Providence, Rhode Island – September 14, 2008

"The Good Shepherd" (John 10:11‑16)

Dr. Dan Ivins, preaching

            Today’s story from the Gospel of John is about the difference between somebody who does something because their heart’s in it, for the love of it, and what they can give to it.  Contrasted with one who does it for the money, or because they have to, and what they can get out of it. Embracing a task that’s not just a job.  If you love what you’re doing, you’ll do it well.  Make it more a matter of pride than profit.  Ownership or its absence, is a chronic issue in human endeavors.  Of course pseudo-ownership often disguised as control; getting to call the shots is always around.  We’ve seen too much of the havoc it wreaks in a community’s trust level.  Pseudo-owners think they have license to do anything they want with their property.  That’s one side of it. 

            The lack of ownership is equally harmful.  It impacts our families, our schools, our government, and churches.  If you’re heart’s not in your marriage, before long you’ll be facing a divorce.  You can’t make somebody learn.  If you’re heart’s not in fulfilling the requirements of getting an education, you’ll be a drop-out. Barely half of Americans take the trouble to vote, because their heart isn’t in it.  Domineering ownership by parties, lobbyists, corporate profits, media manipulation, polarized gridlock.  It’s understandable why America ranks 35,^th when compared to the voter turnout in other countries.  If you’re heart isn’t in it, you’re better off clocking in and out and look forward to payday.  That way you know if the profits belong to somebody else, so do the problems. 

            Congregational lack of ownership makes for all of our weak churches.  If members aren’t committed to responsible stewardship, the finance committee can beg all it wants, to no avail. Giving comes from the heart or it doesn’t come.  Small business owners, pour their blood and sweat into it, and work for months without pay, putting all they can back into it.  Sacrificing for it, in hopes of a return that’s more than cash, but a symbol of hard work and love and dreams. You do whatever it takes to look after it. A no-matter-what kind of caring. When you’ve got that in a church, you’re onto something!  It’s an appealing combination of investment and dependence.  If you’re a worker, you can always take your skills someplace else.  But if you’re the owner, how can you separate when your survival is wrapped up in its success? This is just common-sense stuff. 

The writer of the Fourth Gospel highlights the disparity with his story contrasting the shepherd and a hired hand.  "I am the good shepherd."  What makes him “good” is, his genuine, heart-felt ownership: “he lays down his life for the sheep.” That, and his pastoral care of the flock, his commitment to their best interests, not his.  Authenticity is hard to fake.  “I am the Good Shepherd.”  Why would he need to say that?  Jesus found himself once again in hot water with the religious folks who were smearing his relationship with God.  They didn’t like what he was saying, or that he was soaring in the polls for saying it. Jesus’ shepherding was not about establishing any property-rights on God.  Not that kind of ownership.  But like those reckless ones, staying behind in hurricane Ike, hoping to salvage their life’s work. 

To describe his relationship to his followers, in 9 verses Jesus practically screams 5 times, “I’m the Boss not the wrangler,” paid minimum wage to look after somebody else's sheep.  These are his sheep; that he’s bought and nurtured, doctored and protected.  He’s invested himself in them; they’re his livelihood.  But they’re also his extended family.  They belong to him.  They know his mannerisms, his touch, his gait.  If they’re grazing with 100 other sheep, they’ll separate themselves and follow him home.  His voice is the sound of safety to them; like "still waters and green pastures."

            He knows them by name and disposition.  It's not just a matter of a legal title or possessing something.  It's about being tied to something beyond ourselves, and identifying with it to the extent that it becomes a part of who we are. And if it's missing, part of us is missing too.  When it’s threatened, we'll take it to the limit.  Because we care about it.  Like fighting for our own bodies. 

            And that’s what gets us into trouble.  When we were kids, my Dad used to take us to Chattanooga to Warner's Park, a veritable garden of Eden playground to a small‑town kid.  On the long ride down, I’d spend the time fighting with my nerdy little brother in the car.  I couldn't wait to get out and go my own way at the pool.  I'd go swim in the deep end.  Because it was a place where he, with his plastic inner tube, was afraid to venture.

            While I was waiting my turn on the high diving board, I noticed sure enough, he got himself into a scuffle with a bigger kid.  And I bolted into the water and swam to the ladder, got out and ran to his side.  I saw the kid push him backward and I lit into him with everything I had.  I only remember one thing that was said:  (He didn't know Tommy was my brother).  "Why are you nosing into this, it ain't your fight."  Oh But it was!  Which is why I said, "When you push him, you're pushing me!" That folks, is ownership. 

There was a catchy song back in the ‘50's about two sisters familial loyalty.  But they had a higher loyalty: “Lord help the mister, that comes between me and my sister....And Lord help the sister that comes between me and my man!”  "When you push him, you're pushing me!"  That’s family!  He’s not just any old kid.  He may be a brat, but he’s my brother.  And I was more than willing to risk getting my nose bloodied, in order to protect his. Not because Tippee couldn't defend himself, he was holding his own against the bigger kid.  But because I cared for him.  We’re connected by birth.  Belonging to ... each another, as no other.

            And this isolated society of ours suffers from the curse of uncaring.  Last week we took a ride through the Smokies.  Just as we crossed the Tennessee border we had a flat tire.  Then I discovered there was no jack in the car we had recently bought.  Cell phones were out of range.  All I could do was flag down a car.  After being passed by several I was aware that it was getting dark.  Then a guy in a pick-up hit his brake lights and I remember the relief I felt.  He came back and loaned us his jack so I could put on the spare.  I told him all I had was a credit card, we spent all our cash on a roadside fruit stand.  He just said “The next time you’re in the area stop by my church in Newport.”  This guy wasn’t his “brother’s keeper,” but he was his brother’s brother.  When’s the last time you were helpless and somebody stopped to be a “Good Samaritan?” 

            Then there are the Over-protectors, who overdose on caring.  Can we care too much?  By all means, if we have to get so involved in other people's problems that it crippled both parties.  Because rescuing erodes personal responsibility. Sparing others from their hard knocks, prevents them from experiencing the consequences of their own actions and maintains their illusions about themselves.  Rescuers get to be heroes in the bargain.  But everybody deserves to have the opportunity to fail.  How else can we learn that we’re human?

But we also deserve to have somebody to go to bat for us:  "Lord help the sister...”  “When you push my brother, you're pushing me!"  That's not codependence, it's agape!  Willingness to go to the mat.  Self‑sacrifice…the kind of love the Good Shepherd practiced and taught. Speaking to the wolves, he said: “Yeah you can waste me. But to get to my sheep you’ve gotta go through me first!”  Can you think of anybody you’d like to have on your side, than Jesus?     If the shepherd was a hired hand, we’d never have known his name.  Because a hired hand’s just in it for the money.  It’s easy to tell when somebody’s doing something for what they can get out of it.  Like on Capitol Hill or in nursing homes or car repair shops or at the swimming pool.  Or at church.   A hired hand would’ve taken one look at the wolf and split!  If he’s a religious hired hand, he might’ve said, "God bless you son!  I'll pray for you!"  And then disappeared.  It’s the nature of hired-hands to do only the minimum they can get away with, if that.  

            Saving Private Ryan, a story about a squad of U.S. Army Rangers, assigned a detail to find a soldier whose 4 brothers were killed in action in the Pacific theater.  Tom Hanks starred as Captain John Miller, who led the squad through all kinds of pitfalls: a machine gun nest, sniper fire, 20 mm cannons and Tiger tanks. Finally when they found Ryan and he learned about the mission to take him home safely, he refused to leave his buddies.  After a private moment of grieving the loss of his brothers, Ryan said, “These are my brothers now!”  In the end, all but three of them gave their lives trying to save his, and a key bridge into Germany. Private Ryan was no hired-hand, who’d never risk his neck for anybody but himself.  “Greater love hath no man, that to lay down his life for his friends.”  Like “the Good Shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”  And that’s why Saving Private Ryan began and ended in a graveyard. 

            Because sometimes all you have left are the sheep, without a shepherd, because he’s “laid down his life.” What happens to the sheep then…after the shepherd’s gone?  One preacher offers this explanation.  On the night before the Shepherd died, they had a big meal and went to sleep with the comforting sound of the Shepherd's voice.  While they slept they had a nightmare: of wolves with clubs and torches who came out of the darkness, arrested their Shepherd, and tore him to shreds on a hill outside of town the next day.

            The sheep huddled close for safety, so scared that they were unable to think, or move.  And they shuddered in fear that the wolves would soon be back to finish the job.  But on the 3rd day, they heard a familiar voice; far away at first, then drawing nearer and it woke them up.  And lo and behold, the sheep stood once again in the presence of their good ol' Shepherd.  Just like old times. Everything was the same as before.  Except there was one difference.  Looking around at each other, something happened to them: they went to sleep as sheep.  But they awoke, as shepherds!             

            And as they stared at one another, he handed them all a staff with a crook on top, just like his.  And then sent them out to shepherd their own flocks. We call it the church.  Even for those who are “not of this fold.”  "Y’all do for them as I’ve done for you," he said, "and I’ll be with you to the end of the age."  That's all.  “He’ll be with us.”  Can you think of anybody you’d rather be with, than Jesus?  Nothing more is needed.  Nothing less will suffice.