Jesus the Good Shepherd

Sermon Easter 4

Jesus the Good Shepherd

Sunday, April 29. 2012

Every child has cried out in fear of darkness and night, of monsters under the bed, of danger hidden in the shadows. For the child, comfort begins when a door opens into the darkened room and the familiar figure of Mother or Father enters in. It’s not what a parent says or does but simply that he or she is there. This is what comforts the child and calms the troubled heart. It’s not in the unrealistic promise that fears will never return. There will be monsters under the bed and nightmares and fears hiding in the shadows tomorrow night as well. It’s enough that Dad or Mom is there, for in his or her presence, there is comfort. There is hope. There is peace.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for

Thou Art with Me . . . When Things Go Bump in the Night.

I.

Just like the child who cries out in the night, every adult has borne the weight of his or her fears in loneliness until someone comes to help. Whether it’s being a solitary figure in a hospital room or waiting by a phone that doesn’t ring or for a doorbell that doesn’t sound, all ages find themselves alone with their fears at some point or another. It’s the terrible captivity that begs for help and aches with the anxiety that no one will come. The evils of the real world are even darker than the childish fears of the night. The enemies are not made up, but genuine. And the comfort is the same—the comfort of presence. Family and friends come to sit on the hospital bed and hold our hands in our afflictions. Love wears the face of neighbors and fellow church members with casserole in hand and a smile on the lips. Again, it’s not some naive idea that there’s nothing to fear or that all our troubles are over that gives us comfort. It’s the presence of those whom we love who sit with us, wait with us, bear with us, and share with us. In these do we find our peace. We are not alone.

For Israel walking in the wilderness of the unknown, the pillar of fire by night and the cloud by day were the sacraments of God’s presence. To a people who had left behind the familiar misery of slavery to meet the unknown of freedom and the land of promise, their comfort along the way took the form of manna and quail from the God who went with them and did not simply know them or direct their journey from afar. For Israel, the only comfort they knew was the promise of God’s presence to lead them when they knew not the way, to guide them through the uncertainties and threats that were around them, and to defend them as much from their fears as from their enemies.

You and I are no different. We are all pilgrims and strangers in the place that should feel like home. Sin has turned the darkness into threat and filled us with fear. There is no greater enemy than death and no greater fear than to surrender our lives before we’ve reached our dreams or accomplished our goals or realized our hopes. Yet if anything about this life is certain, it is that death is near. Its presence shadows us all our lives and connects us to Eden by marking us for a future certain to be filled with pain and sorrow and disappointment.

I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. (v 4)

So we flee for comfort into a passion for the moment, a foolish, fleeting passion that tries to compress a lot of living into a few short days. In the end, that kind of life turns out to be a competition that feeds our loneliness. It turns those around us into our competitors, as if we must steal from them in order to get what we want and obtain contentment and peace. A husband or wife is a means for me to be happy so such a short life won’t seem empty. Somebody else on the side is a source of excitement so what little time I have won’t be a bore. Kids are a feather in my cap so I’ll have something to show for my little time here. A career better provide lots of toys, ’cause when I die that’s what determines who wins. And it better allow me lots of time off, ’cause I don’t have lots of time to play with those toys. Or else it better consume all my time so I won’t have any time think about how soon this is all gonna be over.

We have become the scattered sheep who go our own way in pursuit of an elusive dream, not realizing how lost and vulnerable we are until life comes crashing down on us.

II.

It’s into this valley of the shadow of death that Jesus has come. He is the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for his sheep. He knows his own better than they know themselves. He grants them his Spirit so that they may hear the sound of his voice, know the comfort of his call, the safety of his presence, the grace that supplies all their need, the food that satisfies their hunger, and the water that cleanses and gives them drink. He comes as the one and only who can restore the souls of the lost and clothe their dirt and scars with the righteousness of his name and his obedience.

In life and in death, we are not alone. Threatened by evil and surrounded by our enemies, we are not alone. He is with us. It cost him nothing less than his own holy life surrendered on the cross into the death that should have been ours, in order that we might be found and restored. He rose that the secret of this victory might no more be hidden but revealed to us and to the world. You are not alone. He is with us.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. (v 4)

This is not some abstract imagery of poet or philosopher, but the hope of children who still cry out in darkness looking for comfort and peace. This is no promise of the huckster who says if you get it right and get right with God, you’ll have all you want and even more of health and wealth and happiness and pleasure. This is no shallow Gospel that speaks hope without the stark reality of the cross or peace as the world might give a pat on the back: “It’ll be okay.” This is honest and real life, honest and real fears, honest and real troubles—all met by the honest and real Savior who willingly gave up heaven for the reality of this mortal life and all its wounds and hurts. This is the honest and real Savior who judged us worthy of his life offered into our death on the cross and declared us righteous and holy in the ultimate act of grace and mercy. This is the honest and real Savior who whispers to us in the midst of all our fears, worries, threats, anxieties, and wants, “I am with you.”

For you are with me. (v 4)

And so we come . . . to sit at the Table he has appointed, while our enemies stare with surprise into the God who has become the Shepherd of his people and their food. And so we come . . . to have our soiled and wounded heads anointed with the oil of healing and gladness by the Good Shepherd who calls each one of us by name. And so we come . . . to see our cup of blessing overflow with a generous grace that is embarrassing in its lavishness and richness.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our lives, for God is with us. Our sin could not turn him away, and our death could not contain him, just as his death could not contain him. And we shall dwell in his house here for as long as time is given and forever in the place where time is counted no more.

III.

The great temptation is to separate Jesus from his gifts or grace, to separate Jesus from the means of his presence (the Word and Sacraments), or to separate Jesus from the good news of the Gospel. What calms our fears and plants hope in our hearts is not the promise that troubles will fade away, enemies will disappear, or life will be good, long, happy, and filled with pleasure. What calms our fears and plants hope in our hearts is that the Good Shepherd is here and among us—within the troubles of our lives, in the presence of our enemies, amid the disappointments, burdens, wounds, and problems of this mortal life. He is here, and where he is are all the gifts and graces to cleanse us from our sin, to sustain us for the journey of this mortal life, to carry us through all the uncertainties to come, to keep us in his protective care, and to open to us the gate and door of life everlasting. It is not that Jesus is here with goodies—more toys for us to play with—in his hands, but that Jesus is here. Period. The Good Shepherd lays down his life for his sheep and takes it up again, that he might give it to us.

To the child who cries out in the night, nothing is more welcome than the comforting presence of Mom or Dad who comes to him. It is not what they bring but that they are there. In the same way, it is not what God gives to us that is our comfort and our joy, but his very self. The Good Shepherd has made himself everything for you—green pasture, restful waters, food, dwelling place, righteousness, goodness, and peace. He gathers us lambs in his arms and carries us in his bosom. He leads us, young and old, where hunger, thirst, death, and fear are no more (Is 40:11). He is what the table he prepares offers; it is in the presence of our enemies, but it’s also his presence. It is his presence that is our gift and our joy, to calm our troubled hearts and to teach us to rejoice. It is the rest of his very presence with us now in Word and Sacrament that gives rest to our fears, to our weary hearts, and to our harried lives. His rod and staff are the Means of Grace that bestow on us the presence that gives welcome pause to us in all our needs and provides us more than enough to sustain us in the journey of these days and lead us to our eternal home.

 

The Good Shepherd stands among us today. “I am here,” he says. He is with us not as the current feeling of the heart or the fleeting thought of the mind or the passing goodwill of the moment, but in the Means of Grace, concrete and real—our Baptisms, set in stone on a date and moment in history, his Table that is here, undeniably, visibly, to be tasted, today. “Do not fear,” he says. He is here with all his grace, power, and mercy to forgive our every sin and overcome even death and the grave. “I know your name,” he says. He knows us not as one knows a fact, but as here on earth a father and mother know and love their child and all his or her needs. “Trust me,” he says.

He will not abandon us. He will not depart from us. He has invested too much in us to turn away from us now. And this is all we need to know for now and all we need to supply all our wants for this day and for eternity.

The Lord is my shepherd (v 1). Amen.