Ash Wednesday (MPLS)

John 10:1-18

‘Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.’ Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.

So again Jesus said to them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.

‘I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep.

‘I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.’

Gerhard Frost has a touching poem entitled: “The Demon of Self-Doubt.” It goes: “He’d had a great year in kindergarten, but now the going was hard in first grade. After reflection and brooding, he came to his mother with a sad self-assessment: ‘I don’t think I’m really first grade. I’m more kindergarten type.’ For another, it had been a significant career, fifty-five years of hard and responsible work. But now he sat alone, downcast and discouraged. As I approached him with a greeting he said: ‘I’m no good; I can’t work at anything anymore.’”

Frost concludes: “Two persons, each with a given dignity, both deep in self-evaluation and suffering at the hands of the demon, Self-Doubt, both at a crossroad and needing wise and compassionate friends. Voices are needed, my voice and yours, voices of self-appointed guardians of the fragile egos of the very young and very old, and everyone between; voices to proclaim that God has loved us into dignity and worth forever.”

Jesus is a voice from God. At the outset of the Gospel of John, we hear: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Throughout the gospel Jesus’ I Am statements hint of his divine origin. There’s another in tonight’s reading: “I am the Good Shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.” As Jesus speaks, even if we have doubts, we hear a wise and compassionate shepherd loving us into dignity and worth forever.

Friends, do you know anyone who could use a wise and compassionate word these days? I’m guessing you do. And if you spoke that word, would it be effective? Would you be more like a shepherd or a hired hand?

I had a time during high school when I was a hired hand. I was working on a farm with about 100 goats. It was my job, at least some of the time, to milk those goats. It was my chance to be a shepherd.

When it says in the gospel about the sheep knowing their shepherd’s voice, the same is true of goats. The woman I worked for could step into the pen, call the goats by name, and they would come running. They’d line up in orderly rows and wait patiently for her to milk them.

Contrast my experience. When I entered the pen, I didn’t have to say a word before the goats were scattering in every direction. When I tried calling them by name, they took off and hid behind the shed.

One particular goat named Twinkles was almost my undoing. I’d coax, “Here, Twinkles. Come to me. I won’t hurt you.” But Twinkles didn’t trust me, not for a second. One day I chased her around the pen for the longest time. I finally had her trapped in the corner. As I reached out to grab her collar, she bolted, jumped over the fenced, and strutted away with an indignant look on her face.

Believe me, at that moment I felt like a hired hand and not a shepherd. I guess I had it coming. I didn’t really care about those goats, and they knew it.

Jesus warns us of voices that are competing for our attention. Think: Internet, social media, a variety of news sources, the messages in our own heads. When you listen to these voices, are they pointing you to the kind of life Jesus is offering — to abundant life? Or are they pedaling something vastly different?

In the world in which we live, and especially during our pandemic, the voices we hear may be more important than ever. A Christmas letter comes in the mail. It’s nice to get an update on how little Ryan and Gretchen are doing. But isn’t there a part of us that longs for a sentence or two at the bottom of the page, a note directed specifically to us? The list goes on: those co-workers of ours, those students we attend class with, those individuals we call family — we so hope they’ll be there for us when the chips are down, when we’re having doubts about our own self-worth.

Who cares for you and me? Jesus says it again: “I am the Good Shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.” And as the Good Shepherd, we can be assured that he loves each one of us as if there were only one of us. It’s true! There are 99 sheep safe in the pen, but the Shepherd goes in search of that one little lost lamb. Sometimes the one who is lost is you. There are large crowds surrounding Jesus at every turn. They’re clamoring for his attention. But Jesus stops to help a blind beggar by the side of the road. And sometimes that blind beggar is me.

So, what do you think makes the Good Shepherd good? Perhaps the time he has for us. Nobody else seems to have that kind of time. Maybe it’s the compassion he shows. Nobody cares quite so much. And most certainly of all, it’s his willingness to lay down his life for the sake of the whole world. Who else would be so willing? With amazing love, the Good Shepherd has shown that he is good indeed. And he has loved us into dignity and worth forever.

Are you able to hear his voice? I fondly remember going to visit grandparents when I was a child. Both sets of grandparents lived on farms in Iowa. The ten of us in my family would crowd into our station wagon and drive off for two weeks of vacation, a week at each farm. No doubt, we thoroughly exhausted our grandparents during those visits.

I recall lying in bed early in the morning in the home of my mom’s parents. They got up early to start cooking the oatmeal. When you cook oatmeal as long as they did, you needed to get an early start. They scurried about the kitchen, setting out the pots and dishes. They talked to each other as they worked. I strained to listen. But unfortunately, it was always in Norwegian. I couldn’t understand it. I thought I heard tenderness and concern in their voices, and maybe some anxiety and frustration too. What do we do today with a large brood of children? I so wished I could have understood, but grandma and grandpa were speaking in a voice meant only for them.

In a similar vein, what the Good Shepherd has to say might not immediately understandable, but know that he speaks words of intimate concern and care meant only for you. And the language he uses is probably not Norwegian; it’s the language of love. And often he speaks it through an intermediary – a parent or grandparent, a pastor or friend. “I know your deepest fears,” he says. “I know those things of which you’re most ashamed. I know those times when you have doubts or feel inadequate. It’s okay. I want you to call on me. I want to be your Shepherd. And I want you to be my sheep.”

Author Richard Foster has a book on prayer. He describes the heart of the Good Shepherd as an open wound of love. It’s a heart that wants us to draw near in prayer, where we can hear his voice above all the competing voices of hurry and worry. Foster writes: “Perhaps you are bruised and broken by the pressures of life. You have old, painful memories that have never healed. You avoid prayer because you feel unworthy. Don’t despair. The Good Shepherd’s heart is open wide—and you are welcome to come in.”

Foster continues: “Perhaps you’ve prayed for many years, but the words have grown brittle and cold. Little seems to come of them. God seems distant. Listen to me. The Good Shepherd’s heart is open wide — and you are welcome to come in.”

Or, “perhaps you don’t believe in prayer. You may have tried to pray and were profoundly disappointed. It doesn’t matter. Keep trying. The Good Shepherd’s heart is open wide — and you are welcome to come in.” Foster nudges us closer: “If the key is prayer, the door is Jesus Christ. How good of God to provide a way into God’s heart.”

During the season of Lent we’re going to take a closer look at how Jesus, the Good Shepherd, provides a way for us into God’s heart. Jesus as Friend, as Teacher, as Savior, as Lord, as Way, and as Presence. You can order the book, “Freeing Jesus,” by Diana Butler Bass. You can join a small group and dig deeper. And if you don’t have time for the book or a small group, we’ll be focusing on these themes in our sermons too,

We are living in difficult times. I can’t get the pictures of Ukraine out of my mind. Rockets flying, homes and buildings destroyed, people — especially women and children — fleeing their homeland by the tens of thousands. How incredibly hard it must be for them! You can see the tears streaming down their cheeks. Their hearts are filled will worry and despair.

Prayers are needed, financial support is needed, places of refuge are needed. And finally, as Gerhard Frost says, “Voices are needed, my voice and yours, voices of self-appointed guardians of the fragile egos of the very young and very old, and everyone between; voices to proclaim that God has loved us into dignity and worth forever.” Amen.