The 4th Sunday after Easter - Our Shepherd in Troubled Times

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want."  So begins our psalm this morning and perhaps one of the most famous passages in the Bible.  Within that psalm there is a verse that causes it to be frequently chosen for use in funeral services--and which seemed applicable to this past week as well. You know which one I mean: (verse 4) "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."

Sometimes "the valley of the shadow of death" is translated in another way: "the darkest valley."  The "darkest valley with the shadow of death hanging over it" could very well describe this past week.  The bombing at the Boston Marathon, the explosion at the fertilizer plant in West, Texas, the violent battle between the police and the alleged bombers, and the 6.6 magnitude earthquake in Sichuan Province in China.  And I haven't even mentioned violence in the war zones of the world or the numerous murders occurring every day in our cities.

We may be seeking comfort in a world that seems to be spiraling into chaos. And for awhile things can appear to calm down, but an orderly life may be just an illusion.  Whether we get our news on TV, on the internet, or in a newspaper, this round-the-clock coverage of much of the bad stuff going on can unsettle us.

Our scripture readings this morning speak to the presence of God when we face unsettling moments in our lives.  And exactly what do they tell about the Divine presence?  I'd like to suggest these are the characteristics of God we see revealed in the lessons read this morning: steadfastness, compassion and triumphing over evil and death. 

The steadfast shepherd depicted in Psalm 23 can also be found in Jesus'  confrontation with the religious authorities in the reading from John's gospel.  He shows his steadfastness as he describes his mission: calling the sheep, knowing them, and giving them eternal life. As much as we may wonder whether it' a good thing to be identified as a sheep, we can understand the shepherd-sheep metaphor this way: God has offered steadfast protection--no one can snatch out of Jesus' hand those whom God has given him, because he claims he is the Messiah of God with these words: "The Father and I are one." The shepherd’s steadfastness is also highlighted by his tools: the rod and staff.  The shepherd uses them to fen off predators and to rescue sheep who may have stumbled off the path. So too with us, Jesus Christ, our steadfast shepherd, guards us spiritually.

Next we see compassion revealed.  Tabitha in Acts 9 has shown compassion for others, "being devoted to good works and acts of charity."  Then God's compassion was being enacted through the prayers of Peter and Tabitha's friends allowed Tabitha to be revived. That sort of enacted compassion, resulting in life being resumed, may seem strange to us. This week I am certain we all wish reviving-to-life could have happened when the loss of innocent life once again caused us so much pain.  However, this we do realize: Peter's gift of divine compassion toward Tabitha represented a foretaste of eternal life which all of us may gain.

This foretaste of eternal life—dwelling in the house of the Lord now and forever—leads us to reflect on the meaning of the vision of John of Patmos.  John appears to have written about his visions of God's triumph over evil and death in a time of persecution. Internal evidence in the book suggests that it may have been composed in stages in the latter half of the first century.  Emperors Nero and Domitian persecuted and made martyrs of Christians who refused to take part in making sacrifices to the emperor.  Scholars also blame the persecution and martyrdom of Christians depicted in John’s visions on conflict between Christians and their pagan and Jewish neighbors into which the Romans were pulled.

"The great ordeal" through which those in white robes have come to be understood as the troubled times at the end of the first century.  In John's vision this multitude of survivors appears too numerous to count and very diverse "from every nation, from all tribes and people's and languages."  Jesus, the shepherd-Messiah in the Gospel of John, has become has become the sacrificial Lamb of Revelation. And through the blood of the Lamb the triumph over evil and death has begun.

This vision also defines what how that triumph appears: in the shelter of the Divine One there is no more hunger or thirst.  No burning sun or scorching heat to cope with. Those who have died will be guided to springs of the water of life, and all sorrow will be banished. The image of the Lamb morphs back into the shepherd.  John's vision offered hope to the Christians who suffered during uncertain times--hope that God-in-Jesus had triumphed over evil and death.

So recognizing God's steadfastness, God's compassion, and God's triumph over evil and death, we can turn to God in a week like this week, knowing that God shares the grief we feel and the pain we feel.  God understands our fear of dying, particularly of dying suddenly and unprepared. God even understands why we become angry and consider revenge when we see innocent suffering. 

Yes, the ordeal of living for all us was played out across our TV and computer screens this week.  In this moment we have not been called to be martyrs for our faith.  Rather God has called us to live as people who long for, pray for, and work for a world where swords have been beaten into plowshares and violence no longer plagues human relationships. We are called to trust in the Good Shepherd.  Despite all our troubles, the unsettling and frightening moments in our lives, in our communities, and in our world, we are called to trust in the promises of the risen Christ. Yes, through the eyes of John of Patmos and his mystical revelation, we understand that Jesus Christ, God who took on flesh and lived among us, our Good Shepherd, will lead us to springs of the water of life and to a place of shelter and peace, both now and forever.

3rd Sunday of Easter - Expectations and Experiences: Encountering the Risen Christ

Sometimes our expectations are confirmed by our experiences and sometimes they aren't.  Until two Mondays ago when I placed my grandson in his crib for an afternoon nap, I expected him still to be in the crib either drifting off to sleep or calling for me after the nap was done. Last Monday, however, he repeated his new skill of climbing out of the crib before I had even made it down the stairs!
 

This past week from Monday evening until Wednesday noon I took part in a clergy retreat at the Quaker retreat center called Pendle Hill.  Until this year we had gone there at the end of January.  Although we didn't expect snow or gray skies, we were not prepared for the how much color we saw.  Ground cover displayed bright yellow flowers everywhere. Near the conference center building two mature cherry trees burst with pink blossoms.  And, of course, spring bulbs added to the joyful mixture of wonderful hues.

Our gospel readings for Easter Sunday, last Sunday, and today told stories of expectations and experiences full of surprise: Mary Magdalene thinking the tomb would have Jesus' body, Thomas not trusting what the other disciples told him about seeing Jesus, and finally today Peter, the beloved disciple and some other disciples going out in the evening to fish and encountering the risen Christ.

I believe the gospel writer chose the format of expectation--or lack of expectation-- and surprise to describe these encounters, because he saw that as the way God reveals God's self.

Within the story we heard this morning the risen Christ and Peter engage in a conversation that Peter probably never expected to happen. After finding Jesus' tomb empty, he and the beloved disciple went home.  And we remember that Peter had denied that he had been Jesus' companion the night before Jesus' crucifixion.

Today's reading tells us Peter decided to go fishing and some of his fellow disciples decided to go with him.  Jesus stands on the shore suggests that the disciples, who have nothing to show for their night's work, might catch some fish if they cast their net on the other side of the boat.  The beloved disciple finally recognizes the risen Christ, and Peter reacts by jumping into the water to reach the shore first. The gospel writer doesn't report any immediate response to Peter by Christ until all the disciples had eaten the breakfast of bread and broiled fish.

The disciples' experience in that moment addressed whatever expectations they had: "Now none of the disciples dared to ask him 'Who are you?' because they knew it was the Lord." But what of Peter?  What were his expectations?

Whatever they were, Peter's experience of hearing Christ's questions and answering them profoundly affected the rest of his life.  No more turning away for home; no more checking out how his old occupation might work out if he tried it again.  His new vocation involves caring for those who will follow "The Way," as we heard it called in the account of St. Paul's conversion—and to follow Jesus in the way of the cross.

The story we heard from the Book of Acts about Saul's expectations and his experience on the road to Damascus may be the most clear example ever of God's revealing God's self to someone who was totally unprepared for that revelation. Where Peter had been with Jesus for his entire ministry, Paul had been an enemy.  A religiously educated man, Paul did probably understand Jesus' message to the religious authorities that loving God meant discovering God in serving the outcasts of society, that loving God meant putting people before the rules and yet keeping the spirit of the rules to the nth degree.

I doubt if Paul ever expected to experience God, in following the way of the risen Christ. I doubt if he ever expected to lead Gentiles to faith in the risen Christ, but his experience on the Damascus road left him but one choice--to follow.

What are our expectations this morning?  We will soon have the opportunity to come forward for healing or to pray for those who do.  We will have the opportunity to receive Holy Communion when Christ has told us he will be with us.  We will have the opportunity to greet members of our community when we pass the peace of Christ and when we share coffee or a cold drink and snacks with them. And finally we will have the opportunity to engage in a Holy Conversation with other members of our community about the possible repeal of capital punishment.

Do we expect to experience Christ's presence among us at all these times?  Do we hope to know "the peace of the Lord"?  Do we trust that in all these moments we will find we are being cared for within our community--even when we come from various perspectives and points of view?

I believe that bidden or unbidden the Holy One is always present with us.  We may expect to find the Holy One in “holy” moments such as receiving prayers for healing and at Eucharist.  But in ordinary moments, at unexpected times, we may well encounter the Risen Christ—and find ourselves changed by that experience.