Shepherds Terrible and Good

Sermon for July 21, 2024
Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 23; Mark 6:30-34,53-56; Ephesians 2:11-22

Hearing the Old Testament reading, the Psalm, and the Gospel this morning, you may have noticed a theme – the idea of God caring for us the way a shepherd cares for the sheep.  That notion of Jesus as the Good Shepherd is kind of a stock image for us.  If you picture Jesus in your mind, there’s a good chance you’ll see him with a little lamb on his shoulders, having searched out the lost one and brought it back to join the other 99.  It’s warm and fuzzy and comforting … and it’s true.  Jesus does exactly that, going out to find us when we’ve wandered away, sure we can stand up to the wolves and the bears on our own. 

But that image of Jesus as a shepherd would have meant more for the people of biblical times than it probably does for us.  That’s because the Hebrew scriptures – including Jeremiah this morning – had a lot to say about shepherds, both good and bad.  A “good shepherd” was a metaphor for the very best leader you could imagine – a king who ruled as God’s representative on earth, the viceroy of the heavenly King.  In ancient Israel, the king wasn’t just the next in line in a royal family.  When he was crowned – and it was definitely a “he” then – when he was crowned, the new ruler was understood to be adopted as a son of God, a deputy of the heavenly king (see Psalm 2:7).  So, it wasn’t just political power but God’s own authority the king was wielding.

Of course, if that’s true, you also hold the king to God’s standard of faithfulness.  Beyond simply ruling, the king was responsible for leading the people along Yahweh’s path, keeping them from straying into the worship of other gods.  The king was responsible for the just treatment of those who were poor and alone.  So, a king who loved God and loved his people enough to offer divine servant leadership – that king was a good shepherd.

Unfortunately, over their history, the people of Israel didn’t get many good shepherds.  King David was the best, the gold standard … even with the adultery and the murder.  King Solomon was pretty good … other than the slavery and the thousand wives and concubines.  And, for the most part, it went downhill from there, until finally God’s people were conquered and taken into exile, Scripture says, because of the faithlessness of their kings. 

And the trend kept going downhill, even after the people returned from exile, even up to Jesus’ time.  Remember last week’s Gospel reading, about King Herod and his execution of God’s prophet, John the Baptist.  Herod, who was Jewish, liked to listen to John preach, but he wasn’t interested in the kingdom John was proclaiming.  Herod’s interest was in himself, his status and power as the Roman emperor’s lackey in Galilee.  So, because John was criticizing Herod, Herod had John killed just to keep from looking weak.  Herod is the prototype of the terrible shepherd because, for him, power is all about … him.

So, onto the scene comes Jesus, the Good Shepherd.  He’s the fulfillment of the kind of leader Jeremiah was talking about, one who will bring about justice and righteousness – but not in the role of a secular ruler.  Instead, he’s bringing God’s kingdom into being on earth.

And in today’s reading, he does that first by offering his disciples something they really needed – some time off.  By this point in the story, Jesus has cast out demons, and healed people, and taught in village after village, and stilled the storm, and raised the dead.  And the disciples have gotten into the act, too, going out themselves to cast out demons, and heal people, and call them to turn their lives in a new direction.  Now they’ve all come back together, and Jesus tells them it’s time to get away “to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while” (Mark 6:31).

By the way, that “deserted place” is the same Greek word as “wilderness” – the place where Jesus stands up to Satan at the start of his ministry and the place where Jesus goes off by himself to pray.  We probably don’t associate a desert wilderness with rest, but Jesus does.  It’s a place to reset, to face down whatever tempts you, to remember who you are … and to connect with your true ruler.

But instead of a retreat, what awaits the Good Shepherd are … more sheep.  He and the disciples come to the shore and find another huge crowd waiting for them.  And Jesus has “compassion for them,” the story says, “because they were like sheep without a shepherd” (6:34).  Now, his spiritual director would have told him to set better boundaries, and turn off his phone, and take his day off.  But instead, Jesus chooses to teach the lost sheep about God’s kingdom and to feed them all from five loaves and two fish (part of the story that today’s reading cuts out, oddly enough).  Then, Jesus and his friends cross the lake to another village … where the same thing happens:  The crowd again presses in; and the true king comes through, healing everyone with broken bodies or broken lives.  It’s royal shepherding like no one had ever seen before.

OK.  It's tempting to think, “Well, that was a long time ago.  And, by the way, the Good Shepherd got himself killed for all his trouble.”  What are we supposed to do with this contrast model of power and authority 2,000 years later?

Well, sometimes verb tense matters.  Go back to the familiar words of our psalm this morning about the ideal shepherd, the Lord God.  Psalm 23 is deeply comforting; I mean, there’s a reason it’s read so often at funerals.  And I think part of the reason it’s so comforting is that the God it describes is so personal and so present.  This is no historical reflection; this is a prayer for whatever is challenging you right now, this morning, because Psalm 23 reminds us that God’s always got your back.  “The Lord is my shepherd,” the psalm says.  “He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters.”  “He revives my soul and guides me along right pathways.”  In the worst that life dishes out, “I shall fear no evil; for you are with me … and my cup is running over.” (23:1-5 BCP)  The psalm wraps up looking to the future in hope, certain that God’s “goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life” (23:6).  In fact, in the Hebrew, it’s more like God’s goodness and mercy will pursue me and chase me down.  This God goes after us, protects us, restores us, leads us into right relationship, provides for us, and dwells with us – all present tense. 

That’s pretty good news – that the Good Shepherd cares enough for you – specifically you – to provide what you need, and come after you when you’re lost, and bring you home. 

But the good news doesn’t stop on the personal level.  As we look around at our world today, I think we see a lot more of Herod in the headlines than we do Jesus.  The terrible shepherds tend to get the press in our political culture.  But that doesn’t mean the Good Shepherd has abdicated the throne.  The deep mystery of our time, of any time really, is this: that, despite everything we bemoan about the world around us, despite feeling like we’re out in the desert wilderness on our own, Jesus the Good Shepherd is still there.  The cosmic CEO is still in charge, still guiding all creation toward the goal of God’s reign and rule that casts out the brokenness in which we dwell.  Down the road, the faith of the Church tells us, Jesus the king will return in glory, remaking earth back into the oneness it shared with heaven “in the beginning” (Genesis 1:1).  As far as I’m concerned:  Bring it on, Lord.  How about this afternoon?  We’ll have BLTs to celebrate.  But even if the kingdom doesn’t come in all its fullness this afternoon, Christ is still at work, ruling both in heaven and through the body he inhabits now on earth in this in-between time – the Body of Christ right here, right now.  That’s us.  We disciples are Christ’s body now.  And we must choose to act that way.

We get a glimpse of that in the letter to the Ephesians this morning.  Part of Jesus’ project in this in-between time is bringing us together, across the worldly differences that divide us, uniting us as we follow the shepherd who brings all good to life.  Those who’ve been “aliens” and “strangers … have been brought near” by Jesus’ work to reconcile us with God and each other (2:12).  “For he is our peace,” Paul writes; “in his flesh, he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us” (2:14). 

The work’s already been done – on the cross and at the empty tomb.  From there, the risen Christ sent the Holy Spirit to empower us to live as his broken body made whole.  And our Good Shepherd keeps chasing us down even now to walk alongside us, protect us, provide for us, restore us, and lead us into right relationship. 

What we have to do is follow.  What does that look like?  It means doing what you can to heal the breach.  Given the chance to tear down, build up.  Given the chance to dismiss, respect.  Given the chance to advance your own interest, serve someone else.  And insist that the people who represent you in our common life do the same.  For, despite all the pretenders to the throne, there is only one truly Good Shepherd, and his way of Love is the only path that leads to life.