Fourth Sunday of Easter (B) — John 10:11–18
A few years ago, the New England bishop’s office offered leadership training for congregations, and the churches I led joined their second cohort. One month, our homework was simple. Go out into public places and eavesdrop. Sit in a restaurant or bar, and just listen to what people are talking about. I’m a a Starbucks junkie, so it was easy for me to do.
I think the plan had been for us to take note of what people care about—perhaps their children’s sports games, or the newest cell phones, or medical issues, or whatever—and then think about how the Church might be present in those places. How do we go where people are? A good question, because I think that’s what Jesus does.
But anyone who teaches knows that if you ask your students to do an experiment, you should be prepared for unexpected results. As I sat in the coffee shop, overhearing people’s conversations, one topic kept coming up again and again: Faith. Whether it was the way faith carried them through a health crisis, or the search for centeredness in a too-busy world, or even the crazy things those Christians believe, everyone had God on their minds.
And it struck me that in many of those conversations, it was evident that most people have a yearning for deeper spiritual lives. But most of them were not part of a church community. Sometimes we think people are uninterested, but many constantly seek God. It’s just that they don’t think they’ll find God here.
Jesus calls himself the perfect Shepherd. In the Gospel of John, this image goes beyond simple comfort. Sheep are quite stupid animals. They don’t know much. For example, if a sheep falls over, it usually can’t right itself. But unlike a turtle, sheep have the physical capacity to do so. They just can’t figure out how.
But the one thing sheep DO know is the shepherd’s voice. They recognize its tone and lilt, the words of comfort at shearing time, the words of frustration trying to get the whole flock in one place. Sheep can tell the difference between their master’s voice and any other person. There’s love in that, one that yearns and chases after the one it loves.
So, if people are yearning for God, and they know God’s voice, why aren’t they coming to Church? Don’t they hear God’s voice here? Why? There are a couple of possible reasons.
Is Jesus not speaking? Of course he is. We said it last week, and all the time. God makes himself known to us in powerful, tangible ways. In the forgiveness of sins, the assurance that nothing can impede God’s love for us. In the Word of God, how we are part of God’s great story. In the water of Baptism, through which we are reborn. In the bread and the wine, where we come face to face with Jesus himself. In one another, where we see God’s new society enacted in mutual love.
God is constantly speaking to all creation, in and through this thing we call Church. There may be times that we do a poor job of amplifying God’s voice. But God is certainly speaking.
So maybe it’s the listener. Are people deaf to what Jesus is saying? I don’t think that’s it either. After all, the experiment in the coffee shop shows people want to hear.
We know how it is today. Some people listen to almost everything. They talk about the healing power of crystals, and the spiritual benefits of hot yoga, and inspiring popular speakers. I’m not opposed to most of these things, though I’ll admit I’m a bit skeptical that rocks have the ability to heal.
But certainly people are listening. The yearning God instills in our hearts, the way we unconsciously crave the Holy Spirit… no, the listener isn’t the problem. God has given us the ability to hear and the desire. It’s out of our control. We listen.
So the speaker and the listener are in good shape. There’s only one possible culprit left. The message.
Is the gospel what people really want to hear? In light of those crystals and things, perhaps not. In fact, there are other churches whose message does get heard. Maybe we’re proclaiming the wrong thing?
If we look what does seem to be working, the message is pretty different than ours. For example, there are those saying that if we are strong enough, faithful enough, pray enough, trust enough, God will bring good into our lives. People attach themselves quickly to that idea. When many of our lives are full of trouble, this message feels like a lightbeam of shining hope, promising a way out. They know what to do. The method is simple and clear.
Easy answers seem great, and that is definitely not what’s going on in our church. There are no easy answers. Life is difficult, and our connection with Jesus doesn’t fix that. God, our shepherd, may right us when we fall over, but we still fall over, and we still can’t right ourselves. The faith we proclaim is complex and subtle. Maybe that’s why people don’t listen; it’s too much.
Except throughout history, the truth has borne out: Easy answers don’t last. This week, I read about the Second Great Awakening, a Christian movement 150 years ago. Traveling preachers swept through the American landscape, calling people to repentance and effecting many conversions. It looked great on the surface. But then the preachers would go to the next town, and leave behind what some have described as a “spiritual wasteland.”
The truth is that some may want easy answers, but we all need something deeper. Not necessarily a “complex theological framework,” or anything like that. What we need is just one thing: Jesus. We need the good, perfect shepherd, one we can come to know, whose voice stirs within us excitement and yearning for more. Love isn’t always easy, but it is the gospel message we need.
God has given us passionately listening ears. God has given us a compelling message. And God is the speaker we yearn to hear. God has taken care of it all. What then is the problem?
Simply this: We erect barriers for people. We say all are welcome, but sometimes, we don’t really mean “all.” And so people have been wounded by the church, and that keeps them away. Or God’s love matters so much to us in just the way we’ve experienced it in our lives, and it’s difficult to imagine anyone might experience it differently. And so we demand people find God’s love on our terms, and that keeps them away. Or sometimes, the step over the threshold of the Church door is just too steep. People are afraid, or have misconceptions, or have been taught Christianity is foolish. And so long as we keep the message on this side of the door, it keeps them away.
Maybe the original point of that experiment was right. Maybe we ought to to go out, to take the gospel to where people are. Because we can be sure of one thing: God is already there. When we categorically refuse to allow people into the sheep pen, the Shepherd leaves the pen and chases them even more fiercely than their hearts yearn for him. If people seek God, and God goes to them where they are, perhaps we don’t need to attract people to the church. Perhaps we are simply called to witness what God is already doing in their lives. And then, even with the other sheep that do not belong to this fold, we will see that there is indeed one flock, just as there is one Shepherd. Amen.