St. Paul’s Church in
Bergen, Jersey City NJ
May 7, 2017
Year A: The Fourth
Sunday of Easter
Acts 2:42-47
Psalm 23
1 Peter 2:19-25
John 10:1-10
Life in the Sheepfold of Jesus Christ
Alleluia!
Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
It’s
the Fourth Sunday of Easter – it’s still Easter – but today we shift our focus
from stories of the Risen Christ appearing to the disciples – today we shift
our focus to one of the best-loved Christian images: Jesus the Good Shepherd.
Jesus
the Good Shepherd calls us to live in his sheepfold.
The
question is: how do we know that we’re hearing the voice of Jesus the Good
Shepherd?
And,
while we’re at it, how do we know that we’re really living in the sheepfold of
Jesus Christ?
For
an answer, we need to look at today’s first lesson, the reading from the Acts
of the Apostles – a passage that gives us a glimpse, maybe a little idealized,
but a glimpse of what life in the sheepfold of Jesus Christ looks like.
We’re
told that these very early Christians were baptized and “devoted themselves to
the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the
prayers.”
We’re
told that the apostles performed “wonders” - and that these early Christians “had all things in common”
and “distributed their wealth to those in need.”
And,
we’re told, “they ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God
and having the goodwill of all the people.”
That’s
what the Christian life looks like.
We
know that we’re hearing the voice of the Good Shepherd – we know that we
haven’t gone astray – we know that we’re living in the sheepfold of Jesus
Christ – when our life – and, when our church – is marked by prayer and
fellowship and generosity and joy.
A
couple of weeks ago, I heard the voice of the Good Shepherd when I attended a
conference in Chicago with Episcopalians from across the country.
The
conference was about what they called “the unholy trinity” - the unholy trinity of racism, poverty,
and gun violence.
I
heard the voice of the Good Shepherd when we gathered in that city so scarred
by violence and traded stories of suffering and loss, traded stories of how the
Church has or hasn’t responded to this scourge.
I
told the group about our Good Friday Stations of the Cross and our all too
frequent clergy prayer services whenever there’s a homicide in Jersey City,
prayer services that have become not so very well attended, perhaps because
many have become numb to the bloodshed on our streets.
The
heart of the conference was a march through the streets of Chicago, led by many
of our bishops in their flowing red robes, led by some of us carrying tall,
stark wooden crosses, all of us singing songs of hope.
We
gathered in a park and heard from a white Roman Catholic priest, Fr. Michael
Pfleger, who has served for many years as an activist pastor in a mostly
African-American parish in Chicago’s South Side.
He’s
a passionate speaker who had no trouble getting the crowd fired up. The phrase
that’s stuck with me was when he declared that the church has developed a case
of “laryngitis.” He called on us to clear our throats and to speak up and speak
out on the great moral issues of our day, that most unholy trinity of poverty,
racism, and gun violence.
There,
on the streets of Chicago, I heard the voice of the Good Shepherd.
And
then, this past Thursday night, I had another experience of living in the
sheepfold of Jesus Christ.
On
a day when many of us witnessed the grotesque spectacle of a group of mostly
rich men celebrating at the White House after voting in favor of effectively
taking away health insurance from an estimated 24 million people, on a day when
it would have been easy to give in to despair, a couple of hundred Jews, Muslims,
and Christians – including Bishop Beckwith and Cardinal Tobin - gathered at a
Baptist church in the heart of Newark, declaring that we were going to stand
with our neighbors who are under attack – who have been under attack by both
the previous administration and, with even more intensity, by the current
administration.
We
heard stories of ICE agents going after the “low-hanging fruit,” certain easy
to catch people who are undocumented, like the man who was picked up as he
dropped off his 13 year-old daughter at school, arrested as the girl looked on
in terror, or the honors student at Rutgers who maybe spoke out a little too
loudly, drawing unwanted attention.
We
heard the haunting question asked decades ago by the great African-American
theologian, Howard Thurman:
“What
does the message of Jesus have to say to people whose backs are against the
wall?”
At
the end of the event, all the clergy were invited up to the sanctuary and all
of the lay people were invited to stand, and, holding hands, we sang, and we
pledged that we would stand beside those whose backs are against the wall,
determined to build and defend the beloved community.
And,
there in a Baptist church in Newark, I knew I was living in the sheepfold of
Jesus Christ.
Finally,
here at St. Paul’s, we know we’re hearing the voice of the Good Shepherd when
we not only feed ourselves, which we’ve always been good at, but when we feed
our brothers and sisters out there, our neighbors who are so hungry, hungry to fill
their stomachs and hungry to fill their hearts.
We
know we’re living in the sheepfold of Jesus Christ when we prepare and serve
our monthly lunch at the homeless drop-in center, offering food every bit as
good as what we serve parishioners and family, serving food and hospitality and
love and joy to people who will never be able to repay us.
We
know we’re hearing the voice of the Good Shepherd at our Stone Soup suppers
when all different kinds of people, parishioners, neighbors, friends,
strangers, all break bread together, enjoying delicious food and lively conversation,
a reminder that it is so good indeed to be together.
We
know we’re living in the sheepfold of Jesus Christ when at our Tuesday
afternoon tea, a neighbor we had never met before showed up, anxious and
desperate for community, starving for human contact, and here – right there in
Carr Hall – she found people ready and willing to offer her refreshment, and
cake, and conversation, and, simply, welcome.
We
know we’re living in the sheepfold of Jesus Christ at coffee hour, when we’re
as welcoming to the person who’s here for the first time as we are to the
friends we’ve known for years, when we pace ourselves with the food to make
sure everybody gets something, and when we receive whatever food has been
prepared for us and offered to us, never with criticism, but always with
grateful and joyful hearts.
How
do we know that we’re hearing the voice of Jesus the Good Shepherd?
And,
how do we know that we’re really living in the sheepfold of Jesus Christ?
We
know that we’re hearing the voice of the Good Shepherd – we know that we
haven’t gone astray – we know that we’re living in the sheepfold of Jesus
Christ – when, like the first Christians, our life – and, when our church – is
marked by prayer and fellowship and generosity and joy.
And,
if we live and act that way on our own - and together here at St. Paul’s - and, the more we hear the voice of the Good Shepherd and live in his sheepfold, then
more and more hungry and lost people, more and more people with their backs
against the wall, will look at us, and they’ll know, and they’ll say…
Alleluia!
Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Amen.
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