Sermon: Pentecost 2

Possessed to Serve
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Pentecost 2, Year A (RCL)
Matthew 7:21-29

One of my favorite childhood memories is of catching fireflies on warm summer evenings. Rummaging around in the basement, I’d find an old Mason jar that my mother once used for canning. Carefully, I’d take a nail and hammer and put tiny holes through its lid, large enough for air to get in but small enough for the bugs not to get out. Then I’d run outside and, as my parents would say and scold me for doing, I’d traipse through the neighbors yards, running from light to light, trying to add to my collection. Once I was done for the night and it was time to go inside, brush my teeth and go to bed, I’d keep my newfound glowing friends in their glass prison, set them on my desk in my room, and fall asleep to their occasional neon yellow blinks.

In the morning when I woke up, I remember being devastated that my collection of fireflies hadn’t made it through the night. Shaking the glass jar, I tried to wake them up, assuming that like me, they had fallen asleep to their own blinking. Pouring them out on my desk, they fell from the jar like grains of rice, their tiny legs neatly crossed and stiff, their antennas weak and folded back towards their bodies. I remember thinking that I should have let them go the night before. But because I wanted the light for myself, I took these little guys from their source of light and life and they died.

I was reminded of my chasing fireflies a few weeks ago as I sat on a hill at Shelburne Farms and watched Emma run from dandelion to dandelion, picking them one by one and forming a most beautiful bouquet. After waiting close to an hour for our name to be called for a tour of the house, Emma had formed quite a collection of dandelions, and from sniffing them along the way, her nose was now bright yellow. Throughout the rest of that Sunday afternoon, her bouquet never left her side, and that evening, she left it on her dresser with the hope of sharing it with her friends the next day.

The next morning when she awoke, she found her bouquet limp and lifeless. The bright yellow blossoms had all but closed, while the stems that stood upright and strong the day before were now flaccid and rubbery. She was devastated and came running to us, wanting to know what we could do, how we could bring back her bouquet from the day before. We explained to her that we couldn’t bring new life to her dead flowers; that we’ll have to go back to Shelburne Farms or to the park and collect more dandelions for a new bouquet. We reminded her that when we pick flowers they eventually die, that’s why mommy and daddy ask her to bend down and smell the flowers which we plant in our yard at home, so that they will live and we can still enjoy them.

While it’s clear that if we catch fireflies and pick dandelions that they’ll eventually die, what’s less clear is the death that comes through that same instinct, our instinct as human beings to catch and pick and possess the world. Like grown up kids, we plunge pipes miles into the earth to pump out oil and gas, excited when our cars buzz here and there because of these natural resources, but crestfallen when we wake to find our ozone layer being depleted and our Mason jar running short on oxygen. We remodel buildings and flip houses, excited by new lights, new countertops and new appliances, while many times blind to the natural resources consumed to make these new things and the landfills dug to cover the corpses of what is old, what is passé, what is dead.

Like a child trying to capture God’s light in an old Mason jar, trying to hold on to God’s beauty in a fist full of picked flowers, we grasp for God, we reach for something more, we spend out lives trying to posses that which, once he have it, eludes our happiness, leaving us hungry and wanting more. We take literally God’s commandment in Genesis for us fill and subdue the earth, using it to justify our God-given right to use creation as we will; for us to possess creation even as it dies under our iron grip. Last week walking through the parking lot at Hannaford’s I noticed a bumper sticker which read: “The best things in life aren’t things”. Unfortunately, many times we forget this.

Our Gospel from Matthew reminds us today to look and to consider. Look at the birds of the air and how our heavenly Father feeds them. Consider the lilies of the field and how God clothes them in glory. Our Gospel for today invites us not to reach out and to possess the birds of the air or the lilies of the field, that we might capture their grace in flight and song, their beauty in blossom. Instead, Jesus encourages us to consider these things; not to possess them but to be possessed by them, to be enraptured by God’s love, grace and compassion as found in creation. Jesus gives us an option, we can either serve the God of our ego by feeding it with our wealth; with what we possess, or we can serve the God beyond ourselves, the God of all creation, by being fed, by being possessed by God’s nurturing grace.

This past Thursday evening at dusk, Natalie and I were sitting on the couch watching TV. Looking over her shoulder and out the front window, God gave me the same reminder he gave Noah; the reminder to look and to consider. There, airbrushed across the eastern storm clouds hung a rainbow in the sky. From our front porch you could see the entire arch, coming up from Essex High School and returning to earth around the five corners. Quickly I took a picture from the porch, then threw on my shoes to run up to the church to see if I could get a photo of the church with the rainbow in the background. As quickly as it came it left. By the time I got to the church, it was gone. In the flash of a moment, I had possessed nothing but gained everything. Rather than capturing the rainbow, the rainbow had captured me. In an instant, I was reminded of the great gift of the birds of the air, the lilies of the field, and the rainbows of the sky; I was reminded of these gifts and, at the very same time, I was propelled to give back, to serve the one and only master who had shared these gifts with me.

In life, when we are stuck by beauty, we are presented with a choice; we can either take it for ourselves and possess it, or we can share it with others and with God and be possessed by it, motivated by it, called to serve through it. In our affluent and abundant culture, we are presented with a choice; whether we will serve God or mammon. For each of us, there is no escaping this decision; all of us must confirm our loyalties, whoever we are. One of my favorite singers and songwriters Bob Dylan said it best when he sang, “You may be an ambassador to England or France / You may like to gamble, you might like to dance / You may be the heavyweight champion of the world / You may be a socialite with a long string of pearls / But you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed / You’re gonna have to serve somebody / Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord / But you’re gonna have to serve somebody.

Today, let us consider who we will serve, if we will serve the God of creation or the God of wealth. Today, let us consider who will be possessed, whether we will continue to strive to possess the fireflies, the dandelions, the natural resources of creation, or whether we will stop to smell the lilies, to realize the rainbows, to be possessed by our God who created us, redeems us and sustains us. Amen.

Sermon: Trinity Sunday

Trinity: Unity through Diversity
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Trinity Sunday, Year A
Matthew 28:16-20

Today is Trinity Sunday. When you think of the trinity, what image comes to mind? Maybe the image of a wise old man next to a youthful Jesus standing under a descending dove. Maybe you see an image of three persons who look the same, all sitting side by side, breaking bread or sharing wine. Maybe it’s not people at all, maybe it’s a symbol or symbols instead. Maybe you see a diagram of a triangle with the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit all clearly written at the points. Or maybe you see a triangle like that found on the front cover of our bulletin for today, with three separate fish all sharing the same head. There are as many ways to convey the trinity as there are snowflakes or fingerprints. All being unique and expressive and artistic, yet at the same time, all sharing the same truth; all being united in the same hope and underlying meaning.

When I was in seminary I had a church history professor who, in trying to explain the concept of the trinity, shared with the class an elaborate diagram which told us what the trinity was, and what it was not. The diagram was entitled “Shield of the Trinity” or “Scutum Fidei”, but actually looked less like a shield and more like the flux capacitor from Back to the Future. In essence, it was an inverted triangle, with each point clearly labeled the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit. In the center of the triangle was yet another label, another name. In the center it clearly read “God”. Connecting the points of the Father to the Son to the Holy Spirit were lines which each read “Is Not”. Connecting the center “God” circle to the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit were spokes, radiating out, each reading “Is”. Since pictures truly are worth a thousand words, here’s that same diagram, enlarged so that you can see what I’m talking about.

The point the diagram makes, and the point my professor was trying to get across to us, is that while the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit are all a part of God, the Father and the Son are two different things, as are the Son and the Holy Spirit, as are the Holy Spirit and the Father. What the diagram conveyed to me was that while the parts of the trinity are all different, just as you and I are different, at the very same time, they are all the same, just as you and I are the same; they are all the same because they share with each other the same center, the same God. Far better than the flux capacitor that can transport us back to the future, this understanding of the trinity showed me, shows us that diversity and unity are not mutually exclusive; that three can indeed be one, that far from being obstacles, differences can draw us together rather than tear us apart.

Taking a minute to study the diagram, one thing is clear. It’s clear that were it not for God, nothing would hold us together in our differences. Were there no center to the triangle, there would be no “Is”; there would only be “Is Not”, there would be the utter and complete lack of relationship, companionship, and meaning. Without God, we would be solitary planets, orbiting the same center of nothingness, never touching, never interacting, never growing in love and compassion. Yet with God’s gravitational pull, pulling us back towards the center, we bump into each other, we rub elbows, we share our stories and our lives. Being oriented towards the center, focusing on God, we are able to see the God in the other even though we ourselves may have absolutely nothing in common with them. God, the center of the trinity, introduces us to strangers in the hope that we ourselves will share and learn and grow.

As I was thinking about all of this this last week, about the parts and the whole of the trinity, it occurred to me that today is Trinity Sunday for another reason as well. Today is Trinity Sunday not only because it’s the day when we think about and meditate on the three in one, but also because today is the last Sunday of the winter schedule; today is the last three-service Sunday until the fall. Instead of having three services at 8am, 9:15am and 11am next week, throughout the summer months we’ll be having two services at 8am and 9:30am. And as I was thinking about our last three-service Sunday for the school year, as I was thinking about the Holy Trinity, I wondered how the two are related; I began to apply the model of the trinity to our model of three services.

Over the past year that I’ve been here at St James, a few parishioners have shared with me a sense of mourning and of loss for the way things once were. They’ve shared with me their desire for us to return to two Sunday services instead of continuing on with three. They’ve shared with me their sense of being disconnected from others. They’ve shared with me their hope in once again having St James feel like one big happy family. They’ve shared with me their longing to be in community in that same way that the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit are in community, one with the other.

I’ve heard these concerns, and this last week, found counsel in that inverted triangle diagram of the trinity. And again, since a picture is worth a thousand words, here’s that same diagram, revised to include all three services at the points and “St James” in the center. Just as the trinity is about unity in the midst of diversity, so too is this the case here at St James. The 8am service is not the 9:15am service, the 9:15 is not the 11, the 11 is not the 8. Nor should they be, for each of them serves a different part of St James, each of them serves a different part of the body of Christ. Yet at the very same time, through the body which is St James, each service is and must be connected. Just as the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit are all in relationship through God, so too are those at the 8am, the 9:15am, and the 11am services all in relationship through all of them being a part of the parish of St James.

Like spokes on a wheel, God holds the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit together in tension; keeping each part of the trinity focused on the community, on the communion, on the relationships that they share. So too is that the purpose of St James; to draw our differences together in tension; keeping each service, each part of St James focused on who we are as a community of faith, as a ministry and mission to the people of Essex Junction, Vermont, our country and the world. The Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit work with each other, not for each other, in order that God might be glorified. So too is that true for us, the 8 o’clockers, 9:15ers, 11am folk, we are to work with each other, not for each other, in order that the mission and ministry of St James, in order that God might be glorified in this little corner of Vermont.

For the wheel not to fly off of the bikes, the spokes must be strong. For the planets to continue along their courses, the gravitational pull of the sun must be strong. For the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit to remain in relationship, working and ministering in concert, the Godhead that holds them together must be strong. For those who attend the 8am, the 9:15am, and the 11am services here at St James, the mission and ministry of our church must be strong. If we are feeling pulled apart, separated in time and space, then it is because the spokes, the gravity, to pull of this place has weakened over time. Rather than pulling ourselves together at the expense of the beautiful differences that make us who we are, we must once again center ourselves on that which we share in common; our worship of God, our proclaiming the Gospel, our serving those in need in our community, both at home and abroad.

Jesus said it best in today’s Gospel when he came to his disciples and instructed them to go out into the world and to make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. In the giving of the Great Commission, Jesus told his disciples to go out into the world to create unity through diversity, not at the expense of diversity, but through it; through the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Today, we too must do the same. We must go out into the world, acknowledging and embracing and cherishing our differences, while at the same time holding firm to what unites us; our common humanity, our being created in the likeness of God. Today, may we come to see our differing worship times, worship styles, ways of praying, so forth and so on, may we come to see them as strengths and not impediments to unity. Today, may we come to learn to love our differences, just as we have come to learn to love St James, this place, this church home which calls us each by name. Amen.

Sermon: Day of Pentecost

Mother’s Day Sermon
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Pentecost, Year A
John 20:19-23

Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side…. [Then] Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

Today is Pentecost; the birthday of the church, the day when we receive the Holy Spirit, the day of when the risen Christ gives us the gift of peace. And this year, on this Day of Pentecost, we also celebrate Mother’s Day; the day when we give thanks for the spirit of mothers, the day when we are to be reminded of Christ’s gift of peace to us and our being sent out into the world as apostles to share that peace with others.

When most of us think of Mother’s Day, we think of white carnations, afternoon brunch, and Hallmark cards which tell our moms, our wives and our daughters just how great they are as mothers. For most of us, Mother’s Day is about Mom, it’s about those special women in our lives who have nurtured us and been with us through both the good times and the hard times. For most of us, Mother’s Day is much like any other holiday; a time for us to eat, a time for us to visit with family, a time for us to reflect upon all that’s good and right in this world. Mother’s Day is the day when moms get the day off, dads work a little bit harder, and the kids try to be on their best behavior.

Yet this wasn’t the original intent of Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day wasn’t originally a day of appreciation and celebration. Originally Mother’s Day was to be a day of protest, a day of solidarity, a day when all women would come together to stand up against war in all of its forms and stand up to their husbands and their sons going to war at all costs. Today, we have regrettably lost sight of this and instead focus on the meekness of mothers, rather than on their strength; their ability to bring about peace in a war-torn world. Today, sentimentality has all but washed away the original purpose and passion of this day. Instead of diplomacy, we focus on dining out and are easily satisfied with waffles made-to-order rather than with the struggle of peace and justice in our world.

Yet this wasn’t the case in 1870 when Julia Ward Howe, the author of that famous hymn “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”, sought to convene women from around the world in order that they, as one body, could bring about peace and justice on earth. For Julia, there were only two causes truly worth fighting for—world peace and equality for all. During the Civil War, Julia not only saw some of the worst effects of war, not only the death and disease which killed and maimed soldiers, but in working with the widows and orphans of soldiers on both sides, she also realized that the effects of war go beyond the battlefield and consume even the home.

It was because of this life-changing experience during the Civil War and the beginning of the Franco-Prussian War that, in 1870, Julia called for all women around the world to rise up and oppose war in all its forms. She wanted women to come together across national lines, to recognize what we hold in common above what divides us, and to commit to finding peaceful resolutions to conflicts. It was with this hope that Julia issued her declaration, hoping to gather women in an assembly of action. It was with this hope that Julia gave birth to a Mother’s Day of Peace. So in the spirit of Mother’s Day, in the spirit of the original meaning and mission of Julia Ward Howe’s Mother’s Day of Peace, I’d like to share with you all this morning those stirring words which were to convene mothers from around the world on this day in history.

Julia writes:

Arise then...women of this day! Arise, all women who have hearts! Whether your baptism be of water or of tears! Say firmly: "We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies, our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience. We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

From the voice of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with our own. It says: "Disarm! Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice." Blood does not wipe our dishonor, nor violence indicate possession. As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war, let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel. Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead. Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means whereby the great human family can live in peace, each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar, but of God. In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask that a general congress of women without limit of nationality, may be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient and the earliest period consistent with its objects, to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the amicable settlement of international questions, the great and general interests of peace.

Some one hundred and thirty years later, not much has changed. It’s been five years now since our mission was declared “accomplished” in Iraq, yet we’re still there. And since the invasion of Iraq, over 4,000 US soldiers and over 1.2 million Iraqis have died. And the US of course isn’t the only country at war. There are wars going on today in Columbia, the Congo, India, Israel, the Ivory Coast, Nepal, Russia, Sudan, Uganda, and Afghanistan, all defined by the United Nations as “major wars”; military conflicts inflicting at least 1,000 battlefield deaths per year. And while only the deaths of soldiers make up these 1,000 casualties, most victims of war are civilians. While during World War 1 civilians made up only 5 percent of all casualties, today, 75 percent or more of those killed in war are civilians.

Today, it is more apparent than ever that we need Mother’s Day to find its roots and to once again become for us a Mother’s Day of Peace. As we remember this day the love and the warmth and the respect that our mothers have shown us over the years and taught us to carry with us throughout our lives, so too must we remember that these same principles must be applied to international diplomacy as well. Our mothers loved us even when we were unbearable, so shouldn’t we love our enemies when they are intolerable as well? Our mothers sought to nurture, to cloth, and to feed us when we were immature and helpless, so shouldn’t we seek to nurture, cloth, and feed the poor of the world? Our mothers forgave us when we misbehaved and gave us countless chances, so shouldn’t we do the same? This Mother’s Day, go to brunch, enjoy spending time with your family, tell your mother, your wife, your daughter that you love and appreciate them, but also remember, in the true spirit of Mother’s Day, to pray for peace. Amen.

Sermon: Easter 6

The Spirit of Sitting by One’s Side
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Easter 6, Year A (RCL)
John 14:15-21

Jesus said to his disciples, “I will ask the Father, and he will give you a Paraclete, to be with you forever.”

I know what you’re thinking. What on God’s green earth is he talking about? A parakeet? God’s gonna send his disciples; God’s gonna send us a small blue and yellow bird to stay with us forever? God’s gonna send us out to Petsmart to pick up a small little chirpin’ feathered friend to support us? Fr. Ken has done lost his mind. Or did he say pair of cleats; pair of soccer shoes that will carry us along and support us. How on earth will sports equipment help us? What on earth is Fr. Ken talking about? Maybe he got too much sun yesterday or not enough sleep last night.

No, I’m not talking about a pet bird. I’m not talking about soccer shoes. I’m talking about the Greek word parakletos; the word which gets translated in our version of today’s Gospel as “advocate”. In other versions of the Bible, that same word has been translated as “counselor”, sometimes even as “lawyer”, or in a more general sense as “helper.” Unfortunately, any time we translate from one language to another, we are forced to leave out essential parts of the each word’s meaning in order to avoid run-on sentences and to simplify things for the modern reader. What that usually does however is leave us with translations of texts which are far from being true to the original meaning and sentiment of the words themselves. The Greek word parakletos is a prime example, for the spirit, the being, the entity that Jesus asks the Father to give to us is much more than a “helper”, much more than a “counselor” or “lawyer”, much more than an “advocate.”

Generally when I think of a “helper”, I think of someone who is doing something for me; someone who is helping me to complete some task or action. Maybe it’s because I’m a man, but usually when I’m asked to help someone, I try to fix things. It’s hard for me to help by being an active listener because I often times find myself searching for solutions. “Oh, you’ve got this problem, maybe you could do this.” It’s always most tempting for me to suggest action steps, lifestyle changes, doing things in a new and different way; to suggest that belief follows behavior. Even at home this seems to be the case; that a “helper” is someone who is doing something for another. Natalie calls Emma her “big helper.” Why? Because Emma does something for Natalie; she helps her watch Amelia when Natalie is in the shower or making dinner or answering the phone. Yet the Paraclete really isn’t a helper in this sense; the Paraclete isn’t a spirit or being or entity whose primary job is to do something for else, to act for us in the world. That really isn’t why Jesus asked the Father to give what he calls the “true Spirit”.

At the same time, the translation of the Paraclete as being a “counselor” or “lawyer” or even “advocate” doesn’t really work either. Generally when I think of a “counselor” or a “lawyer” or an “advocate”, I think of someone who is saying something to me, or someone who is saying something to others on my behalf. In working with counselors in the past, in working with social workers and psychologists, I’ve often found that while they do a great deal of listening, they also do a great deal of talking, in offering guidance, comfort and consolation. In taking counsel in twelve step meetings in the past, I’ve often found that they offer hope and strength for a new day through the saying and sharing of personal stories of failure, redemption and faith. In having had to retain legal counsel in the past, I’ve learned that it is through their letter writing, their phone calls, their conversations with the judge and other attorneys, it is through their saying something to others on my behalf which proves most beneficial to my case, to my situation. Yet it is not in this sense either that the Paraclete comes to us; it is not through its words to us or to others that it graces us with its presence. Indeed, it is much more than this.

Back in the summer of 2000, I was fulfilling my seminary requirement of one unit of CPE, or Clinical Pastoral Education, and working as a chaplain intern at Beth Israel South hospital in New York City. That summer, through many disappointments and reflections, I learned what it meant for me to be a hospital chaplain. At the start of the summer, I was eager to help patients by doing something for them. Here, let me close the blinds for you, let me pour you more ice water, let me ask about your medical condition—as if I were their doctor. Quickly I realized that that wasn’t my job; that there were nurses and doctors and others already there to take care of their physical needs. So, I moved on to something else; I moved on to offering counsel. Half way through the summer, I became eager to help patients by saying something to them, or by advocating for them with nurses and doctors and the like. Again, I soon realized that that wasn’t my job either; that there were patient advocates and social workers and others already there to take care of their social and psychological needs. Finally, by close to the end of the summer, I had an epiphany. It occurred to me that I was not there to help by doing, that I was not there to counsel or to advocate by speaking to, or up for, the patients. No, I was there to simply be present; to sit with, to stand beside, to be in relationship with in the most basic and holy of ways, by sharing in the pain and loss and anger and joy of others.

Not through actions, not through words, the Paraclete comes to us simply to be with us. Parakletos literally means “the one who is called to one’s side.” The Paraclete does not come to do our laundry; to bear the hardships of life for us. Nor does it come to tell us what we need to hear or to petition God the Father on our behalf. No, the Paraclete comes to walk with us, journey with us, to sit with us in our pain and to share with us in our joy. The Paraclete comes to us to remind us that we are never, ever truly alone. Jesus, on our behalf, asked the Father to give us another who is called by God to come and stay by our side, to be with us forever. As Jesus left us on our journey to meet up with us later, the Paraclete comes to join us, to be our companion on the way of life.

Today, in a world separated by busy schedules and plane travel, where more and more people both young and old feel lost, unwanted and abandoned, God’s Paraclete, God’s “Spirit of truth”, God’s “true Spirit” still moves among us. On our best days, it beams with us. On our worse days, it sits in sorrow with us. No matter who we are, what we’ve done, where we’re going, God’s “true Spirit” abides with us. Nothing we can say or do will ever take it away; we will never be orphaned because God’s “true Spirit” is with us forever. Today, may we hear this Good News and believe it; may we hear this Good News and share it. Today, may we be mindful of the power of relationship, how it draws us not to do, nor to say, but to be; to be present with God and to be present with one another. Amen.

Sermon: Easter 4

Oh We Like Shepherds
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Easter 4, Year A (RCL)
Psalm 23, 1 Peter 2:19-25, John 10:1-10

I can probably count on one hand the number of times that I’ve seen sheep being herded. It’s not really big back home in Ohio. And since living here in Vermont, while I’ve seen sheep being sheared and grazing in the fields at Shelburne Farm, I still have yet to witness in person the spectacle of sheep being round up and put into pens. In truth, the only time I’ve ever seen shepherds at work was on TV, and they weren’t really shepherds, they were more like dog trainers, for the quick and highly intelligent dogs they used did most of the work. With a series of whistles, the dogs would weave from side to side, in and out, grouping the sheep together and pushing them forward. Having never seen true shepherds at work, I just assumed that without their dogs, they’d have to do the same; they’d have to move from side to side and watch the sheep, pushing them forward.

Probably because of this, I’ve always envisioned Jesus the Good Shepherd doing much the same thing with his sheep. I’ve always envisioned Jesus pushing the flock forward, driving them on to the next pasture for grazing, looking over his sheep and making sure that they were well contained; bring up the rear so that all of the sheep were under his watchful, guiding eye. I think of the parable of the lost sheep, how Jesus must have been watching the sheep to know that the one was missing; how Jesus, noticing that the sheep was gone, left the others to search for and eventually find it. Whenever I’ve envisioned Jesus the Good Shepherd in the past, he’s stood with a lamb across his shoulders and a large flock before him, focusing on every sudden change, focusing on their every move.

Yet reading our lessons for today, I noticed that the opposite of this is actually true; that Jesus the Good Shepherd doesn’t follow the flock but instead, he leads them on. Jesus isn’t lagging behind but rather, he’s out in front; he’s treading where they will trod, he’s living the life that they will live, he’s providing for them an example of what to do and where to go. Our collect for today tells us that Jesus’ sheep “follow where he leads”, the 23rd Psalm tells us that our Lord “leads [us] beside still waters” and “guides [us] along right pathways”, the first letter from Peter tells us that Christ leaves for us “an example, so that [we] should follow in his steps”, and finally, our Gospel for today tells us that Jesus “leads [his sheep] out”; that “he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him.” Much to the contrary of my earlier assumption, it seems that Jesus the Good Shepherd doesn’t follow the flock but instead leads them; it seems that he doesn’t focus on the flock but instead, focuses on the way, on the path that is before him.

By leading the flock, Jesus isn’t counting on the flock for direction; he isn’t counting on his sheep to lead the way, to step out into the unknown, to do something he himself hasn’t done. Instead, he looks to something greater to give him direction, to set the path before him, to lead him so that he can lead others. Jesus the Good Shepherd looks to his relationship with God the Father to give him direction. His compass therefore is an internal one, not set by the whims and wanderings of his sheep. He knows his destination just as well if not better than he knows his sheep. While his flock may falter, the direction set forth by the Good Shepherd is certain. And as our New Testament reading this morning reminds us, Jesus the Good Shepherd who leads us leaves us an example; leaves us footsteps in which to follow, leaves us not with words telling us what to do, but with actions showing us how to live.

Many times, when we stop to think about where we fit in this story, we find ourselves identifying with the sheep. And this is true, Jesus is our Good Shepherd and we are his sheep, and the people of his pasture. Yet even still, just as we are sheep, so too are we shepherds. If you are a clergy person, you are a shepherd. And not only this, but if you are a manager, you are also a shepherd. A school principle, you are a shepherd. A teacher, you are a shepherd. A mother or father, you are a shepherd. If others look to you for guidance or advice or encouragement, you are a shepherd. All of us, just as we are sheep, are shepherds too. And being shepherds, all of us have the blessing and the great responsibility as shepherds of choosing how we will lead our flocks; how we will lead those parishioners, employees, students and children in our care.

Often times it’s tempting to shepherd from the rear; to push the flock along to where they should be going, to manager the stragglers and those deviating from their direction, to focus on which sheep are good and which ones are bad. Yet when we as shepherds do this, we many times push others into places they’re not ready to go. When we do this, we many times don’t allow others to get lost and to grow from that experience. When we lead from behind, we many times lose our focus on where we are going because we are so focused on if others are getting there. In church, I sometimes catch myself shepherding from the rear when my focus on God is lost through my focus on what others are doing. Why is that child crying? Why did that man walk out? What will they think of my sermon? All of these questions take my focus off of the path on which I am leading my flock and instead, put my focus on the flock which I am leading.

Instead of leading from the back, Jesus the Good Shepherd leads from the front; leads by living a life worthy of our following, leads by example, by doing what we must do, walking where we must walk, dying as we must die and living as we must live. Almost always it’s difficult to shepherd from the front; to trust in the flock enough to take your eyes off of them, to trust that the flock will hear when you call, to trust that the flock will follow. Yet when we as shepherds do this, we’re better able to discern where God is leading us and therefore to provide our parishioners, employees, students, children, and all our other sheep with right pathways through our experience and example. When we shepherd from the front, when we lead by example, no longer does the crying child in church matter, or the man who walks out, or what people think about us if we stand, sit or kneel to pray, for our focus isn’t on the other sheep. No, it’s on the path that is set before us; on the path that we must tread and leave for others who will follow.

Jesus the Good Shepherd leads us from the front through the thorny briar of life, walking gingerly and setting a path that we might follow. Jesus the Good Shepherd calls us to shepherd others in the same way, leading others into relationship with God not through our pushing, but through our pursuing our own calling from God. May we like sheep follow his example, that we like shepherds may lead others through out lives. Amen.