Sermon preached by The Reverend Dr. Harold T. Lewis - EASTER DAY

SERMON PREACHED BY THE REVEREND DR. HAROLD T. LEWIS, RECTOR CALVARY EPISCOPAL CHURCH, PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA ON THE FOURTH SUNDAY OF EASTER
13 APRIL 2008


"My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me." (John 10:27)

I have often extolled the virtues of the Bible. I am fond of saying that it is the all-time best-seller because in its characters we can find every manifestation of human nature. Maybe the Bible is the all-time best-seller because Madison Avenue continues to market it creatively. On my way to picking up some shaving cream at Giant Eagle recently, I came across two Bibles on a swivel display stand. One was called the "Ultra-Slim Bible, Men's Edition" --- King James Version, no less (I guess the women's edition was sold out). The other, obviously geared for the busy executive, was called "The Bible in 90 Days." But one drawback of the Bible, despite such updated packaging, is that its metaphors are mostly agrarian, understandable given when it was written, but bad news for us 21st century urban types. Few of us have up-close-and-personal relationships with sheaves of wheat, granaries, or fig trees (which are mentioned no fewer than 19 times in the New Testament)! Today's Gospel, therefore, may be problematic to many of us who have little experience relating to sheep.

So perhaps a crash course in Biblical Shepherding 101 would be in order. In the 10th chapter of St John's Gospel, Jesus provides us with a job description of a good shepherd, and by extension, of himself, the Good Shepherd. The good shepherd is not a thief or robber. He doesn't take advantage of the sheep; he is devoted, rather, to taking care of them. Moreover, having legitimate business, the shepherd enters through the gate, and not through some back door or over a wall. Indeed, Jesus also describes himself as the door to the sheep, which, we are told, is a reference to the fact that the shepherd might actually sleep in the doorway to the sheepfold, to protect his charges from intruders. Nor is the good shepherd a hireling, someone who is paid to take care of the sheep but has no interest in them. (The word for "hireling" in the French New Testament is, appropriately, "mercenaire.") There is an intimate relationship between shepherd and sheep, so much so that when the members of several flocks are grazing together, the sheep recognize the voice of their particular shepherd, and follow him.

All these wonderful characteristics of shepherds, I suppose, is why clergy and their congregations are often referred to as shepherd (or pastor, Latin for shepherd) and flock. The only problem with that imagery is that it is rather unflattering to parishioners, since sheep, as you know, who follow trustingly and even blindly, are not exactly the Einsteins of the animal kingdom. For this reason, a friend of mine, a seminary professor, suggested that the clergy be called not shepherds, but sheepdogs, reminding us that we are all animals together, reserving the appellation "shepherd" for Jesus himself. But that, perhaps, is another sermon!

But in describing the relationship between shepherd and flock, Jesus is doing far more. He is also painting a picture of how he envisions the church. First, it is a church characterized by unity --- "one flock under one shepherd." Second, it is a church characterized by missionary endeavor --- "Other sheep I have which are not of this fold." But most important, by stating "My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me," Jesus is affirming, as one theologian put it, that the church is meant to be "neither an aggregate of isolated autonomous individuals nor a faceless corporation, but a community in which each member is taken up into the life of God to form with others a single whole."

We may well ask how are we measuring up? As the world watches us --- "us" being the Episcopal Church as well as the broader Anglican Communion of which we are a part, we may get a C-plus, if we're lucky. And that's probably because many in our midst who are, by definition, the consummate shepherds, the ones who carry the shepherd's crook, are the ones who are misbehaving. A group of them, including the bishops of our diocese, following the example of some half dozen primates (the super-delegates of the ecclesiastical world) have announced that they are boycotting the Lambeth Conference, and like petulant schoolboys have decided to shoot their marbles in another playground. They claim to represent orthodox Anglicanism, but we wonder. If Lambeth is the Archbishop of Canterbury's party, to which he invites all those in communion with him, what message is sent by those who rudely refuse the invitation?

Given that this year's Lambeth Conference will be the first since the "recent unpleasantness" has erupted, one would hope that the bishops would see fit, as Isaiah has urged us, to "come let us reason together though our sins be like scarlet." But no, ascribing to what I call a theology of toxicity, they have decided that they would be contaminated by breathing the same air in Canterbury Cathedral as our Presiding Bishop. The same thinking has led to the theologically specious and quite un-Anglican commitment to re-alignment, which will result in jurisdictions based not on geography but ideology. We at Calvary are painfully aware of this reality, living as we do in a diocese whose bishop deems it inappropriate to visit us because our theological differences have impelled us to seek redress through canonical channels.

As the name of our church would imply, we take bishops seriously. We fully concur with Tertullian who said "Nullus episcopus, nulla ecclesia" --- no bishop, no church. We agree with Cyprian, who held that the bishop is the "glutinum," literally the glue that holds the church together. But that's not the whole picture. Last time I looked, the Catechism described the ministers of the church as "laypersons, bishops, priests and deacons." So how do we measure up? We all know that Jesus, the Shepherd and Bishop of our souls, is good, but are we being good sheep? Do we allow the Good Shepherd to lead us into good pasture, or do we give him a map and tell him where we would like to graze --- taking our cues from far too many seeking ordination in the church today, who unlike Isaiah, who declared "Here I am, send me," they declare to their bishops and anybody else who will listen, "Here I am and this is where I am willing to go?" Do we follow Jesus or do we become like the sheep of whom Isaiah (not Handel) prophesied, "All we like sheep, who have gone astray, and turning everyone to his own way?"

And like good sheep do we recognize the fact that the pastures in which we exercise our ministry are expensive to maintain? I have always been mathematically challenged, so I truly rejoice that I can share with you that I have recently learned --- and understood --- an arithmetic fact. I have long known that "mean" is the same as a mathematical average, and that "median" is that figure half-way between the highest and lowest. But only recently did I learn what a mode is. A mode is that figure in a group that appears the most often. When you look at the list of pledges made to Calvary Church, the mean is about $2,300; per annum, the median is about $1100, but the mode is zero! More people pledge nothing than any other amount. "What is your bounden duty and service as a Christian?" asks the old Catechism. "My bounden duty is to worship God every Sunday in his Church, and to work, pray and give for the spread of Christ's Kingdom." We sheep do well to remind ourselves of that promise from time to time.

I grew up under the watchful eye of the Good Shepherd. St. Philip's Church, Brooklyn, New York, where I was baptized and confirmed, and where my priestly vocation was nurtured had been, in a previous incarnation, the Church of the Good Shepherd, so its east window had a larger-than-life size depiction of the Good Shepherd, which I saw every Sunday of my life as I served at the altar or sang in the choir stall. It was not a spectacular work of art. It was probably a mass-produced, standard issue piece of Victorian stained glass. But it was a powerful image nonetheless. Jesus held a staff in his right hand, and cradled a lamb in his left arm. Our Lord was not smiling but he had a reassuring expression on his face. He exuded both strength and gentleness. He was Shepherd, Lord, Guardian, Protector.

My friends, Jesus said, "My sheep hear my voice and I know them. And they follow me." Unfortunately, the Good Shepherd's voice has too often been drowned out by a cacophony of competing voices, as we are "tossed to and fro with every vain blast of doctrine." We must strain to hear the Shepherd's voice, but what is he saying?

He says, "Feed my sheep." People --- those who are or are desirous of becoming members of the flock of Christ, are hungry for the message of the Gospel, and for the comfortable --- that is, strength-giving message that it offers. They don't want to be categorized, pigeon-holed, or dismissed, declared unfit for fellowship. Rather they seek to be loved, welcomed, embraced, and fed, assured that they are children of God and inheritors of the Kingdom of Heaven. I have been racking my brain to remember where the word "flock" appears in the old Prayer Book, and it occurred to me that it is in the Baptismal office. At the Chrismation, the priest says: We receive this child into the congregation of Christ's flock, and do sign him with the sign of the Cross, in token that hereafter he shall not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ Crucified, and manfully to fight under his banner against sin, the world and the devil, and to continue Christ's faithful servant unto his life's end.

I pray that we might be equal to the task.

Let us pray The King of love my shepherd is, whose goodness faileth never, I nothing lack if I am his, and he is mine forever. AMEN.