Archived Sermons Homepage

Back to

“Somebody’s Calling My Name”

Rev. Dr. Marisa Laviola

John 10:11-18

May 3, 2009

 

We’ve all seen them:  pictures of Jesus with a lamb curled around his shoulders, crook in hand; the same crook that was probably used to rescue the lamb from a ditch.  Such a gentle image.  Makes us want to sigh with contentment.  The imagery the gospel writer uses for Jesus’ words in this passage, however, is not quite so content and gentle.  The imagery betrays an underlying commitment of this shepherd, a commitment to protect no matter what the cost, willingly, deliberately.  “I am the good shepherd.  The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.  No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord.” 

This imagery reveals a deep and intimate knowing of the other, based in profound trust of parent and child.  “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.”  This imagery discloses a radically inclusive welcome to all, from all areas of the world, from all walks of life. “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.”

Perhaps to even better appreciate the imagery in this passage, we could visit the actual shepherd’s life in ancient times. It was far from easy. When the shepherd had taken his flock far from home to feed in a good pasture, it was not possible to return home every night. So a rough sheepfold of stone or perhaps a thicket of thorn bushes was built in a safe location near the good pasture. There the shepherd gathered the flock for the night and then lay down at the gate so that no wild beasts or thieves could enter.

As gatekeeper, the shepherd provided the necessary security. In the morning, he would lead the flock back to pasture calling each one by name. The walls of the sheepfold were not so high that a hungry wolf could not leap over them. In so doing, however, the intruder would cause panic among the sheep as they ran from danger. The danger to the shepherd was equally great. A shepherd who had been hired, but did not own the sheep would have greater interest in assuring his own safety than the safety of the flock

Even today in the Middle East, Bedouin shepherds know their sheep and their sheep know them, intimately.  When several shepherds and their flocks come together at a watering hole, the different flocks mingle together until the fleece look like one large flock.  But the shepherds do not panic that they may lose their sheep.  When it is time to go, the shepherd blows a distinctive whistle or sings a unique song, so that only his flock comes along and follows.  When a shepherd walks among his sleeping flock, they do not stir.  However, if a stranger walks among them, they scatter in terror.  “I lay down my life for my sheep.  I know my own and my own know me.  I am the good shepherd.”

Does this imagery seem a bit outdated, based on a practice of centuries ago, or perhaps too far away, half a globe away, for us in the 21^st century western hemisphere to grasp its significance?  We do not know of the culture of shepherding that requires such fierce commitment of life and limb, such fierce and intimate devotion to a four-footed animal.  Perhaps we can relate more to the hired hand who will save himself first if a predator attacks, or only knows the sheep for what monetary gain the sheep provide.

And yet, perhaps, just perhaps, we can relate to this imagery.  Certainly, humanity in the western, modern world has not outgrown the need for someone to love us fiercely and forever the way only a truly good shepherd can.  We have not lost our desire to be known intimately by name, through soulful meeting of hearts and spirits. In our quiet and secret moments, do we not yearn for someone stronger and wiser to take care of us? 

Those of us who were raised in loving homes have the memory of not having to worry about anything that would threaten us when we were young children.  We were content in knowing that our parents would take care of us no matter what, including sacrificing their own lives for ours. Kids who are so fortunate, go to bed without worry about whether or not ice will back up under the shingles and cause the roof to leak, burglars will attempt to gain entry, if there is enough money to pay the bills, if there will be enough food on the table the next day.  Many of us knew without question that if we cried out in the middle of the night with our worries, the one who knows our name, who knows us intimately, would run to our side before we were fully awake.

Some of us as adults carry that memory of security and intimate knowing in our hearts and we yearn for something like it again. Some of us who do not have such memories, yearn even more because of the memory of painful childhood deprivation.  We all need comfort and safety as we maneuver in this dangerous world of illness and disease, human indiscretion and violence, fear for life.  We all need to know that someone knows us in the secret places of our deepest thoughts and feelings.  We yearn for someone to be with us during news of the results from a pathology lab. We yearn for someone to know us in our deepest grief when we say our final goodbyes to a cherished loved one.  We all need someone who will willingly lay down life and limb so that we may live forever.  We all need someone who knows our every pain, our every fear, our every need for healing touch.

             And we need to know that whatever fold of which we are a part, whatever fold to which any of us identifies, we belong.  We belong wherever we go and whenever we go there.  We are loved fully and intimately wherever we go and whenever we go there.  And we need to know that whoever crosses our path, whoever comes to our flock, in this fold, our precious church, they belong here, they are known here, they are radically welcomed here by the One who willingly lays down life and limb, who knows all  intimately, with a love that has no boundaries:  The Good Shepherd.

             And so this morning we gather at the table of the Good Shepherd.  We partake in the Shepherd’s life-giving food and drink, given willingly to us for our life in this world and forever.  We share in the meeting of our spirits to the Spirit of the Shepherd, who knows us and calls us each by name, who travels with each of us closely along every road of our life journey. 

We gather together at this table as a faith community, a community that follows the shepherd into ministries of grace and service out of hearts of responsive love and gratitude.  We welcome all to this table, no matter who you are or where you are on your life’s journey, for this is the forever table of the Good Shepherd who gathers all together so that each and every one together may receive the blessing of belonging; so that each and every one together may know the care and comfort of being intimately connected to the forever flock of the Good Shepherd.  Amen.

Archived Sermons Homepage

Back to

“What does this all mean?  On fire and in doubt”

Rev. Dr. Marisa Laviola

Luke 24:28-45

First Congregational Church of Morrisville

April 26, 2009

 

Hearts burn within them as they walk the road to Emmaus, as they walk with this unknown One, as they break bread with this unknown one, only known to them in an after thought--if only for a moment.  ‘Were not our hearts burning within us^* while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?’ they ask in an aha moment.

Hearts burn within us as we walk the road of our spiritual journey, as we break bread with the unknown One only known to us in moments of wonder and unspeakable grace.  “Were not our hearts burning within us at our Easter worship service, at our last meal of breaking bread together, as we hear the scripture opened to us through word and song?, we may ask, in our aha moments?  As much as the hearts burned in the disciples during sacred moments; during the days and weeks following the resurrection, so may our hearts burn during sacred moments during these days and weeks following our celebration of the resurrection.

             And just as they were discussing their burning hearts of new faith, these same hearts suddenly turned to fear and doubt as the presence of the living Christ again filled their space.  How can this experience that is so real seem so unreal?  Is this One flesh and bone or ghost? Real and living presence or apparition? Is what our hearts seek faith or magic? wisdom or folly?  And then, the One who is unknown, who is fleeting, becomes known, showing hands and feet that heal illness and disease, wounded side that has experienced the painful reality of violence and destruction.  This One who is unknown becomes known by taking in as well as giving out nourishment to quench hunger and thirst. 

             And so in our post-enlightenment, post-modern 21^st century hearts, questions also may turn to fear and doubt.  Do we dare to raise our voices with the hearts of so many who ask “where is God in this dreaded world of ours?”  Is resurrection just a specter for those who so want to wish away the very painful reality of illness and disease, violence and destruction, hunger and thirst that appear to overwhelm this world? 

             What does all of this mean?  What did all of this mean for these ones 2000 years ago as they struggled to come to terms with a spiritual leader who is and is not and is again with them on a road and in a room, eating and teaching? 

             What does all of this mean?  What does all of this mean for us today as we struggle to come to terms with a Risen Christ who is and is not with us?--is not with us in body, yet is with us in body every time we share presence together at our communion table, every time we share presence with one another to heal and to comfort, every time we open the Word of Scripture, to learn again and to learn anew God’s message of life and living, every time we share presence together to relieve the suffering in our corner of God’s world? 

             Yes our hearts can fill with fear and doubt as we look upon and are overwhelmed with the wounded hands and feet of all those who suffer.  And yes we can ask, where is God in all of this suffering?  But then, as we pause, as we dare to see and to listen with our hearts, we see the familiar eyes of our Savior gazing at us with loving glance, we may hear the voice of the Savior speaking to us as to the disciples long ago: 

             Be not afraid.  It is I.  Every time you look upon the wounds of the world, the hands and feet that have been wounded, that are wounded over and over again, it is I.  Look with your hearts upon my hands and my feet and see me.  Touch the wounds of the world, for they are the wounds of my flesh and bone.  They are the wounds that I came to heal and to comfort, that I came to speak words of peace and instruction for healthy living, to bind and to gather unto myself for all time.  They are the wounds that I call you to heal and to comfort, to bind and to gather together for all time. 

             For my presence is made flesh in you, my cherished disciples, whose hearts burn in your chests.  Be not afraid.  For I am right here.  As spirit and flesh we walk the earth together. We journey together as I call you to bring creation back to the beauty for which it was first designed.  Yes, there is pain and anguish, illness and disease, violence and destruction.  But there is goodness and there is creativity.  There is also hope and there is love, all crying out for release.  I have called you to abide with me, flesh and spirit, to eat of the bread, to drink from the cup, to open your hearts to the word, to receive life anew over and over again, in resurrection hope and joy. 

             I call you to share me over and over again, flesh and spirit, with all of creation, with humans and all creatures, with every member of this breathing planet, through bread and drink, through word of comfort and instruction, through wounded hands and feet that heal and that make all things new. 

             Christ began the encounter of new resurrection presence with breaking bread, because at the core of our story and at the center of who we are from the very beginning, is sharing common loaf and cup together with Christ as the head.  Christ then asked the disciples to touch his wounds, just as Christ asks us to touch the wounds of the creation to heal, to feed the hungry, to quench the thirsty, to touch whoever is in need in spirit and in body.  Christ taught his disciples from scripture, to learn of God and to learn of the ways of God in this world, just as Christ asks us to open scripture and study its relevance for living as Christ’s disciples in the world today.  Christ invited the disciples to touch his wounds, to be fed by and feed his hunger, to receive his blessing.  In the same way, Christ invites us to touch the wounds of the world, receiving and giving healing through such touch; to feed all who are hungry; and at the same time to hunger for God’s blessing and break bread together in the name of the Christ who first taught us to feed one another. 

             God did and is doing something new in the resurrection of Jesus.  God did and is doing something new as we this church family in this local church, as we the church universal throughout the world and throughout the centuries, travel together, fear together, question together, share our questions of faith and doubt together.  And every time we fear, every time we question, every time we study, every time we allow our hearts to burn with wonder, God is doing something new, because in each of these times we experience the presence of the risen Christ anew in our lives.

             And as we journey throughout our lives, each of us will, each of us must, continue to ask, “What does all of this mean for my life and for the lives around me?”  And as we dare to faithfully ask these question together, to share these questions together, to study together, to break bread together, feeding one another; every step of the way we are feeding Christ.  We are touching Christ. We are sharing in the spirit and flesh of the wounded and resurrected Christ. 

             Let us come to the One who has created us, who travels with us every step of our journey in spirit and in flesh, who calls us to receive blessing and to give blessing after blessing, who transforms our lives along the journey, as we receive and give blessing after blessing.  In such sharing together, beginning right here, Christ is truly with us, just as Christ was with the disciples on the road to Emmaus and in that small room.  And as with those disciples, surely our hearts will burn.  And as with those disciples, surely our doubts and fears will turn to faith, a faith that grows in ways greater that we can ever imagine.  And as with those disciples, surely our joy will be renewed and multiplied.  For the more we receive and give out blessing, the more our joy abounds.