One Diverse Flock

Easter 4, April 21, 2024

John 10:11-18

1

Today on our church calendar is commonly called “Good Shepherd Sunday.”

The opening Collect of today’s liturgy, which we say together every year on this fourth Sunday of Easter, starts out like this:

“O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your people: Grant that when we hear his voice we may know him who calls us each by name, and follow where he leads.”

And in today’s Gospel, Jesus says of himself, “I am the good shepherd.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but shepherds—good or otherwise—are not people I come in contact with on a daily basis. As I drive around the mid-South, I don’t see too many sheep. Maybe some cattle from time to time, but almost never sheep.

So, I did some reading; and, you know, as far as animals go, sheep aren’t stupid.

Ever hear anyone say this, that sheep are stupid, good for little more than shearing and slaughtering?

I once endured a forty-five-minute sermon on today’s Gospel passage where that seemed to be the preacher’s main and only point: sheep are stupid.

Well, how does that make you feel? I mean, if Jesus is supposed to be our Good Shepherd, then that makes us sheep. And when someone stands before me and proclaims that sheep are stupid, witless beasts, well, I’m not feeling it. How about you?

But also, three of the sources I read as I prepared for this sermon—not just one, but three—say that that rumor was started by cowboys.

Yeah, those guys who ride their horses and swing their ropes and whoop and holler behind the cattle to drive them forward.

Well, what happens when you try to get behind sheep and drive them forward?

They don’t move forward at all but instead try to run around to get behind the driver.

Sheep aren’t stupid. They just don’t want to be pushed. They want to be led.

And so, cowboys called them stupid and witless beasts because sheep don’t behave like cows. They don’t want to be bullied. Pun intended.

But, as any toddler will tell you, sheep aren’t the same as cows. And that makes me feel a little better. For now I feel more like this is something I want to be a part of: a community that’s not pushed and prodded to get us to go where the cowboy wants us to.

Say what you will about cowboys, but a good shepherd doesn’t bully, coerce, or manipulate.

Instead, we smart sheep are led by the Good Shepherd himself, Jesus; who shows us by example that we are to put others first, that we are maybe even, in the extreme, to lay down our lives for someone else.

And there’s that piece in there about sheep knowing their shepherd. It’s not just some comfortable platitude.

At night, while the flock is tucked in its cozy sheepfold, safe and warm, the beloved and trusted shepherd can walk in and among them without a single sheep stirring.

But if you or I or anyone else other than their shepherd were to walk in among them, the sheep would wake up and begin to bleat nervously.

Sheep aren’t stupid; they know the difference between their shepherd and a cowboy.

2

However . . . sheep are temperamental, needy, smelly, and now and then they butt heads apparently for no reason at all.

Kind of like people.

Which is to say they/we need shepherding.

So, at this point, I think we all can relate to sheep just fine; instead, let’s try to put ourselves in the shepherd’s shoes.

The flock we oversee has been together for many years; generations, in fact—baby, parent, and grandparent sheep all living together in community, trying to get along comfortably enough with all the other baby, parent, and grandparent sheep.

But the heat of summer comes around again and the waterhole dries up and the pastures turn brown and dust coats their throats and wasps sting . . .

Some of the sheep, the flock’s alphas, grow grumpy and begin to argue with one another: they butt heads. Annoyance levels spread throughout the flock and rise. Triangulation happens. Factions form.

As the shepherd, what should we do?

Well, one option is to drive the biggest alpha out into the wilderness.

Notice, I said drive. Like a cowboy. For if the shepherd tries to lead the alpha out, the rest will follow. To preserve the flock, the individual, rogue alpha must be driven out.

What happens to this lone sheep out in the wilderness doesn’t really matter, this shepherd reasons; for the flock will be better off with the alpha’s absence.

I call this method of shepherding—or pastoring—the Independent Cowboy. And, in case I haven’t been clear enough already, I’m not a fan.

So, a second option for a shepherd is to divide up the flock.

For instance, one alpha is unhappy with another. The one alpha believes she was predestined to be a part of this flock and has convinced many other sheep of her opinion; whereas the other alpha believes it is his choice, his free will, to be a part of this flock, and has likewise convinced several others of his opinion.

The shepherd understands this head-butting and decides that the best way to keep the peace is to divide the flock up, a kind of reformation because of the protesting, to establish two separate and distinct flocks—two separate and distinct denominations according to doctrinal differences.

This method is what I like to call the Judging Protestant shepherd. Also not a fan.

Then there’s a third shepherd who believes in tough love. She has a rod and staff; and she knows how to use them.

These—her tools of the trade—will comfort her sheep, she believes, by giving them what they deserve, by keeping them in a state of submission so they don’t run off to the wolves.

Fear is the motivator here. She knows what her sheep need much more than they do, after all. Got to keep them in line somehow!

Well, so, I call this the Medieval Catholic shepherd—or, alternately, the Micromanaging School Marm shepherd—take your pick. But for the record, again, I’m not a fan.

So, again, what should we do? How should we shepherd? I mean, really, is any of these what the Good Shepherd would do?

3

Now, to complicate the matter further, in today’s Gospel, Jesus says that he has other sheep that do not belong to our fold.

In other words, there are lots and lots of sheep out there, about which we know nothing.

Well, what does that mean? Other churches? Other denominations? Other people outside of Christian churches?

Remember, there was no such thing as a Christian church when Jesus walked the planet.

So, yeah, when Jesus says that there are lots and lots of sheep out there about which we know nothing, I’m thinking this probably includes:

• Independent, non-denominational sheep
• Opinionated, judgmental, fundamentalist, Protestant sheep
• Conservative evangelical sheep
• Liberal mainline sheep
• Social-justice oriented Catholic sheep
• Religiously unaffiliated sheep
• Unchurched sheep
• Jewish sheep
• Muslim sheep
• Buddhist sheep
• Atheist sheep
• Sheep who belong to a different political party than you
• Sheep who live below the poverty line
• Incarcerated sheep
• Refugee sheep, migrant sheep, and sheep seeking asylum

There are lots and lots of sheep who hear Jesus’ voice about whom we know nothing . . .

They know their true shepherd’s voice.

If we are to take seriously what Jesus says about there being only one flock, then Jesus is their Good Shepherd just as much as he is ours.

There will be one flock, one shepherd, Jesus says.

If we believe this, I mean really believe this, then we can’t say that Jesus’ approach to his mission is the Independent Cowboy, the Judging Protestant, the Medieval Catholic, or the Micromanaging School Marm.

Jesus’ mission never bullies, coerces, manipulates, divides, or excludes.

If anyone ever suggests that Christianity seeks to guide society through “tough love,” fear, guilt, or shame, plug your ears and run away.

Instead, Jesus’ flock makes inclusive room for the other, meaning those who are not just like us.

Talk about potential for head-butting!

4

Some of you know, I journeyed from parachurch Bible studies in my youth to non-denominational churches to Baptist to Presbyterian to Reformed before—finally, after about twenty years—becoming an Episcopalian.

Lots of spiritual dominoes had to fall to get me here, for, though I believed for a long time that there was only one flock, I held that it was small and rather exclusive; that it had a monopoly on the truth that all those other flocks, all those false flocks led by false shepherds, failed to have.

Then, one day, at long last, there I was with my family, worshipping in a small Reformed church built upon its exclusive theological confidence. And, like in the Episcopal Church, this little offshoot of a Reformed church would confess its faith corporately in the words of the Nicene Creed.

So, coming to the line that says, “We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church,” something in my mind clicked. I looked around at the twenty-five or so other people saying the same thing—in a city with a population of 1.5 million—and I almost laughed out loud.

“No we don’t!” I said to myself. “We don’t believe in a universal church. We’re a tiny sect that has splintered off from another tiny sect. We believe in only our church! ‘One holy catholic and apostolic Church’? My foot!”

What clicked for me on that day was this: Christ calls us to be unified, not divided; to community, not isolation. Christ calls us to be one flock.

5

But unity in the wider church around the world?

“There will be one flock,” Jesus says, “one shepherd.” But as I look around me today, I’ve got to ask: How?

With all the religious disagreements in the world today, from small-scale denominational debates to large-scale wars and everything in between, it feels impossible.

One flock? Unity?

My foot!

But like with so many other difficult, spiritual questions, it begins here, with us.

There’s no other way.

We are called to live in harmony: with one another; and with those outside these four walls—those who are not just like us.

When we butt heads, like sheep do, our response shouldn’t be to drive the alphas from our midst; but to listen to our shepherd’s voice, to work through our differences, knowing that we will become a stronger body for it.

We don’t coerce by threat of judgment or manipulate each other through fear, shame, or guilt.

Rather, we practice the greatest commandment of all, love: in inviting, welcoming, and including all; and in carrying our good shepherd’s message and mission of good news outward.

***

There will be one flock, Jesus says, one shepherd.

My exhortation for us today?

Let’s change the tense:

Let’s live our lives like there already is only one flock, the flock of humanity;

And let’s dwell together now, in harmony under the love and care of Jesus our Good Shepherd.