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John 10:11-18
I have a button that I sometimes wear in December that says, Santa: Define “Good.” I feel the same way when I approach this scripture. How do we define a good shepherd? The problem is, of course, the over-simplification we do. We automatically assume the opposite of good is bad. I did that with our children’s sermon this morning, but I think we can dig a little deeper. After all, I don’t think a good shepherd is necessarily one who gets himself killed. I am pretty sure that even in ancient Israel, that was not in the job description. The original Greek word translated as “good” is “kalos,” which means good, but also “that which is ordered, sound, noble, ideal, model, true, competent, faithful, and praiseworthy.”[1] beautiful, wonderful, and ideal. It means a model shepherd. Jesus was in a conversation with the pharisees, the religious leaders of the day, and this was a conversation about leadership.
That still doesn’t tell us a great deal. How do we define good leadership? In the movie Babe, there is a young pig on the farm who likes to watch the herding dogs herd the sheep. They are very well trained and come from generations of herding dogs. The farmer notices the pig’s interest and gives him an opportunity to herd the sheep. The little pig, encouraged by the female dog, runs into the field barking at the sheep. They, of course, laugh at him. The pig runs back to the dog, who tells him he must dominate the sheep. Sheep are stupid, she says. You have to tell them who’s boss or they’ll walk all over you. Bite them. Rule over them. The pig tries, but he just doesn’t have it in him. When he talks kindly to the sheep, when he asks them politely, they do exactly as he asks, even lining up two by two, to the amazement of the farmer and the herding dogs.
Now which animal was the model sheep herder? The animal who was bred and trained for the job, or the sweet little pig? It is a silly comparison, of course, but in our society, we’re not sure what a model leader should look like. Is it the entrepreneur who makes the most money? The CEO who tries to inspire by intimidation? The manager who everybody loves but who doesn’t meet the department’s goals? Compound this lack of clarity with a lack of familiarity with sheep and shepherds, and it’s more difficult than we realize to know what makes a shepherd good.
Jesus tries to make it clear. The good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep. We know, as did the audience for the Gospel of John, what this ultimately meant: that Jesus would lay down his life, that he would sacrifice himself. These types of messages always concern me as a preacher and as a pastor because I don’t know how you’re hearing them. Too many times throughout history those who have little power were expected to sacrifice themselves for the powerful. Maybe not to death, but they were asked or told to sacrifice their wants, their dreams, their freedom, for the good of others. That is NOT what this passage is talking about. If someone is asking you to sacrifice who you are for their sake, that is not a faithful reading of our scripture and is not a healthy relationship. Jesus is comparing his style of leadership to religious leaders who ran away at a time of danger and saved their own skins rather than protecting their people.[2] He also said he was choosing to lay down his life, not being forced to, and that he would pick it up again.
Ultimately, we have to remember that “good shepherd” is one of many metaphors that Jesus uses for himself, especially in the Gospel According to John. He also says he is the Bread of Life, the Light of the World, and the True Vine, among others. I think Jesus was trying to make himself understood by comparing himself to everyday things: bread, light, plants, an occupation they understood. He wanted to comfort them by saying, I am here. I am nearby. I am as close as the bread you eat and the light you need.
Now, the Gospel of John is also the most mysterious, mystical, and expansive of the gospels, the one where Jesus claims a divine status he doesn’t claim in the others. And I think we limit our understanding when we focus on these tangible metaphors at the expense of the mystical. But we also need to protect the familiarity.
I came across a poem this week that really moved me. It is by Chelan Harkin, in a poetry book called ‘Susceptible to Light.’
The worst thing we ever did
was put God in the sky
out of reach
pulling the divinity
from the leaf,
sifting out the holy from our bones,
insisting God isn’t bursting dazzlement
through everything we’ve made
a hard commitment to see as ordinary,
stripping the sacred from everywhere
to put in a cloud man elsewhere,
prying closeness from your heart.
The worst thing we ever did
was take the dance and the song
out of prayer
made it sit up straight
and cross its legs
removed it of rejoicing
wiped clean its hip sway,
its questions,
its ecstatic yowl,
its tears.
The worst thing we ever did is pretend
God isn’t the easiest thing
in this Universe
available to every soul
in every breath.
Jesus was making God relatable to us again, taking us out of this worst thing we ever did. God is not “a cloud man elsewhere” but a shepherd God right here. God is not separate from our lives, but knows us by heart. There is an incredible intimacy here. Jesus says, “I know my sheep, and they know me”— not in an abstract way but a personal, familial way. The sheep recognize the shepherd’s voice, the way you always recognize the voice of your child or your parent or your best friend or your beloved.
The imagery of the shepherd may seem outdated, but “has humanity in the modern world really outgrown its need for someone to love us fiercely and forever the way only a true good shepherd can?”[3] I remember one time as a child falling asleep in the car at night. When we got home, I woke up, but I pretended I was asleep so that my dad would reach into the car, pick me up, and carry me to my bed. I remember opening one eye to peek up at him, and he winked at me, knowing full well what I was doing, knowing full well that I needed to be carried in those strong, capable arms.
A similar thing happened one time when Jackie carried Amelia in from the car. As Jackie carried her to bed, Amelia sleepily said, “This is what it feels like to be a kid.”
This is what it feels like to be a sheep—at least a sheep in God’s fold. It feels like protection. It feels like belonging. It feels like love.
[1] Essex, Barbara J. “Homiletical Perspective.” Feasting on the Word Year B, Volume 2, p. 449-450.
[2] Osvaldo Vena. “Commentary on John 10:11-18.” Working Preacher, April 22, 2018.
[3] Scott Hoezee. Center for Excellence in Preaching. April 16, 2018.