The power of life and death
Commentary
In the sci-fi classic The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), the alien Klaatu, having been shot in the back by the "get him dead or alive" crowd, is taken into his spaceship by the giant robot Gort. With a few waves and whirrs he is restored to life, so that he can complete his mission to deliver a message that will save every life on planet Earth.
The sole human witness to this resurrection is Helen Benson, who gasps, "You mean the robot has the power of life and death?"
"No," says Klaatu, "that power is reserved to the Almighty Spirit."
Those lines were added to please the 1950s motion picture censors, who, back in the days of moral protectionism, could not allow the American public to think that an alien robot might infringe on the prerogative of the Godhead. Fortunately for us, those same censors missed the other Christological allusions in the screenplay about a stranger from the heavens who lived with the common folk while conveying his life-or-death message. They didn't even notice the name taken on by the alien during his stay on Earth: "Carpenter." Director Robert Wise has said that the religious allusions in the script totally eluded him when he was on the set. I must admit that I watched this movie numerous times before I, too, caught on.
The Christ story has been a popular base on which to build new stories, and for good reason. Why should we be surprised that the old, old story repeats itself, seeing how often God has repeated it? God keeps repeating. How could it be otherwise, if the resurrection of Jesus is in fact true? Jesus is still alive, and it stands to reason that he will be at work in the same way he has worked before. Resurrection practically requires God to repeat, over and over again.
Acts 9:36-43
The book of Acts sets up the pattern of divine repetition. The early Christians act much like Jesus, who in turn copies the prophets of old. Since it is the power of the Risen One at work in these disciples, their actions closely duplicate that of the master, as well as the prophets who came before them. By tracing these patterns, Acts lets us know that God's work in Israel is not finished, even as the mission moves out toward the ends of the earth.
Acts 9 presents two brief stories that reintroduce Peter as a prophet who acts in the name and power of Jesus. This follows the introduction of Paul, who would become the apostle to the Gentiles (and take up most of the rest of the story in Acts). The narrative movement is toward the conversion of the centurion Cornelius in chapters 10-11; Acts presents the Gentile mission as initiated by Peter, since it was God's plan all along, and thus stems from God's original work in Israel. Even though Paul will carry out the bulk of the Gentile mission, Peter begins it, thus proving that Paul's conversion and commissioning were part of what God had in mind all along. The stories of healing and resuscitation in Acts 9 reestablish Peter's authority in preparation for this important transition. Thus the stories of Peter and Paul are not separate, but intertwined -- all part of God's repeating act, accomplished through prophets who do signs and wonders among the people in the name of the Risen One.
These two similar stories propel Luke's larger story forward: the healing of the paralyzed Aeneas in Lydda, 9:32-35, and our lection, the raising of Tabitha/Dorcas in Joppa, 9:36-43. The two stories are linked by references to the "saints" and the verb "stand up," leading some scholars to suspect that they were combined in whatever source Luke used, and perhaps even attached to the Cornelius story that follows, since they explain why Peter was in the area. Further, both stories result in mass conversions (vv. 35, 42). One cannot help but notice, however, the similarities between these stories and Old Testament accounts of Elijah and Elisha (1 Kings 17:17-24; 2 Kings 4:32-37). More importantly, Peter here replicates the work of Jesus; if not greater works, the disciples at least do the same deeds as Jesus (Luke 5:17-26; 7:11-16).
Luke moves the story toward the Gentiles through setting and description. Joppa was a Greek city, 10 miles northeast of Lydda in the plain of Sharon (modern Jaffa). A seaport for the Mediterranean, it had a thoroughly Gentile environment, signified by Dorcas/Tabitha's dual name, which would have been useful in a mixed society. Her character is portrayed concisely in a few lines, and her description parallels that of Cornelius: "She was full of good works and acts of charity which she did" (Acts 9:36, author's translation; cf. 10:2). No doubt the clothing the widows showed off represented her charitable works (v. 39). The description of Peter also points us forward; Acts shows Peter ready to respond to the need, as he will when Cornelius calls. He works in private and in prayer, relying on the power of God.
The story leaves us with one subtler clue about where it is going: Peter stays with Simon the Tanner. Tanning hides was a despised occupation in Judaism (there must be something morally fishy about anyone who works with such bad smells!). Peter is willing to stay in what must have been a low-class area, despite his fastidiousness about what is clean and unclean (10:14). He will soon join in fellowship with more questionable companions in a much more suspect area (11:3). In doing so he again joins the company of Jesus himself (cf. Luke 5:30).
The story of the raising of Tabitha thus has symbolic significance for Luke beyond itself. It is an extension of God's work in raising Israel to a new life, which includes a promise to reach out to the Gentiles. Luke has now set up the story so that the next important transition can take place: the Gospel will be delivered to the Gentile Cornelius, paving the way toward full acceptance of the Gentiles in the early church, and the path-setting ministry of Paul.
Revelation 7:9-17
A different view of the resurrected life takes us to John's vision of the heavenly court. The amazing thing is how unsentimental this picture of heaven is, since it acknowledges the bloody reality of death. The book of Revelation is a tale tinged with red. However, this blood turns all that it touches to white.
The heavenly vision given to John begins with a description of God's throne room (4:1-11), the Lamb (5:1-14), and the seven seals of wrath (6:1--8:5). Our lection spans the intermission between the sixth and seventh seals. This temporal gap before the opening of the final seal no doubt reflects the actual experience of early Christians, who did not see the quick end they expected, but rather the great multitude of witnesses that was the church. The sealing of witnesses that takes place during the intermission (7:1-8) contrasts ironically with the seals of wrath: those who are faithful witnesses are protected by God's seal, whereas the seals have a completely different effect on those who oppose God. The passage also looks forward to later developments in the story, as it presents a contrast with the seals that will be applied by the Beast (13:16-17), and the oppression of the multitudes by Babylon (17:15).
Chapter 7 draws heavily on Old Testament images as it integrates the previous visions of God and the Lamb in the throne room. The image of the blood that cleanses is reminiscent of the Passover (Exodus 12:7, 13, 22-23). The "great multitude" (which may include but is not limited to the 144,000) represents the fulfillment of the promise to Abraham of an uncounted multitude of offspring (Genesis 22:17; 32:12). That they are from "all tribes and peoples and languages" signifies that the Gentile mission has in fact been fulfilled. Their white robes represent their heavenly existence (v. 9; cf. 3:4; 4:4; 6:11), and their palm branches are symbols of victory (1 Maccabees 13:51; 2 Maccabees 14:4; John 12:13). Their cry of "salvation" echoes the Psalms (v. 10; cf. Psalm 118:21, 25).
Chapter 7 is introduced by 6:17: "The great day of their wrath has come, and who is able to stand?" There are two answers to the question: 144,000 will stand on the earth (7:1-8), and a great multitude of martyrs will stand before the heavenly throne (7:9-17). The identity of these martyrs is confirmed by John's heavenly guide (vv. 13-17). Here the theme of the "great ordeal" is introduced, in anticipation of what is to come later in the book. The paradoxical metaphor of blood that washes garments white signifies both the martyrdom of the multitude in the great ordeal, and their reliance on the Lamb for their new heavenly position. In contrast with Babylon, who gets drunk on the blood of the witnesses, these martyrs sing clear-headed praise to God and to the Lamb (cf. 17:6; 18:24).
In heaven, the witnesses have new jobs: they are to worship before the throne (v. 16). It is a service economy; they "serve" God day and night (latreuo, translated "worship" in NRSV). It is a camp service, since God "shelters" them as if in a tent (skenoo recalls the glorious presence of God in the Exodus, the Shekinah). The idyllic scene in heaven contrasts with the destruction caused on earth by the seals (cf. 6:6; 16:8-9). Ironically, the Lamb becomes a shepherd who guides the flock to the waters of life (v. 17; cf. 21:6; 22:1, 17). Since "Shepherd" was a stock metaphor for kingship in Israel, the Lamb thus takes on the characteristics of royalty (2 Samuel 7:7; Isaiah 44:28; Jeremiah 3:15; Ezekiel 34:23). Under the Shepherd-King's tender care, there is no need (v. 16; cf. Isaiah 49:10), and sorrow is no more (cf. 21:1-5; Isaiah 25:8). The resurrected life is the perfect peace that follows the storm, all made possible by God and the Lamb.
John 10:22-30
This passage from John may seem an odd choice for an Easter lection. But John is an Easter book that looks backward from the perspective of Jesus' "hour" -- his death, resurrection, and ascension understood as a single moment in God's time. For John, the line between the earthly Jesus and the Risen Christ is thin indeed -- this is why his Jesus sometimes seems to walk a few feet above the ground. Furthermore, the Fourth Sunday of Easter is traditionally considered to be "Good Shepherd Sunday," and this lection follows John's "Good Shepherd" discourse (10:1-21). Thus the lection fits well with the other readings: Revelation speaks eloquently of the Shepherd, and the emphasis in Acts on the Christian prophets who duplicate the works of Jesus finds its parallel in John, where disciples do the works of Jesus, who works the work of God.
John 6-10 covers a second phase in Jesus' public ministry that focuses on several feasts: Passover, Tabernacles, and here, Dedication. The Feast of Dedication (Hebrew, Hanukkah) in December commemorated the rededication of the Temple by Judas Maccabeus in 165 B.C., following its destruction by Antiochus Epiphanes. The time shift from the Feast of the Tabernacles in September-October (7:21--10:21) is conveyed by a reference to wintry weather, which in turn explains why Jesus would have been walking in the protected shelter of the Portico of Solomon on the east side of the Temple. The passing of time, fall to winter, reminds us that his "hour" is approaching, and at this point John's story slows down to concentrate on the last period of Jesus' life. The public ministry is over; the passion looms large.
Thus 10:22-42 serves as a narrative climax and a theological conclusion to Jesus' public ministry. The central focus here is a theme reiterated throughout John, the identity of Jesus. Exactly who is Jesus? (10:24). The answer is that he is Messiah (10:22-31) and Son of God (10:32-39). Both responses draw a violent reaction from his enemies (vv. 31, 39).
"How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly" (10:24). The problem is that the duplicitous question has already been answered in the Good Shepherd discourse (10:1-21): Jesus is the Shepherd-King who takes care of his own. John puts into the question more than the enemies of Jesus might intend: the idiom for "keep us in suspense" might mean "annoy, bother," but literally translates as "take away our life." Jesus as the source of life might take it away, but only because he provokes judgment on those who do not hear his voice. To further the irony, Jesus has used a metaphor, that of the Shepherd, rather than saying it straight out. The true problem, however, is with the ears of the hearers. Jesus' works are witnesses to who he is; his identity is plain for all to see (v. 25). His enemies do not believe, because they are not his followers; belief in the Shepherd is only possible for sheep (vv. 26-27). Only to the sheep can the Shepherd offer protection (v. 28; cf. our lection from Revelation).
The truth about Jesus' identity is made clear in a comparison and contrast between Jesus and the Father (vv. 29-30). No one can snatch the sheep out of the Shepherd's hand, because the Father has given them, and no one is powerful enough to snatch them from the Father. Jesus concludes this section with the ultimate comparison: "The Father and I are one." This is not to be read in light of later Christological controversies; Jesus is not making a metaphysical statement about the Godhead. Rather, he is talking about the ways he shares the work of the Father. Jesus and the Father do one work, which is impossible to distinguish. Jesus shares fully in God's work. Jesus is one with God's work for the salvation of the world, and only those who know and follow him can understand this. Only those with direct experience of Jesus at work tending the sheep can know his true identity.
Application
For the last 10 years I have been involved in intentional interim ministry; I serve as a kind of temp worker for parishes that are in transition between settled clergy leadership. Many people are surprised by my choice; they sometimes ask me, "Don't you want a church of your own?" In my more ironic moods, I'm tempted to reply, "Yes, but I haven't saved up enough box tops yet." Then I usually find myself having to explain further that clergy don't own churches, and that there's no such thing as "permanent" ministry (if there were, they wouldn't need me).
By far a better response, I have discovered, is to explain that interim ministry is a resurrection experience. The transition period gives a church the chance to die and live again; to remake itself in a new image from God; to start life afresh with new direction. I find it an exciting time to be in a parish. It is a concrete experience of the truth that God keeps repeating. Death and resurrection are fundamental to existence.
It is the custom in some quarters to make fun of "resurrectionless" Easter sermons, where the character of Easter seems to involve the first birdies of spring and the little buds that herald the change of the season. Easter, the critics say, has more to do with the empty tomb than balmy breezes. It is not about the switch to Daylight Savings Time, but about the resurrection of Jesus.
That's all well, good, and true. The Christian Easter is indeed a celebration of resurrection, not an equinox festival. But that doesn't mean that the signs of spring are out of place in our preaching. I don't think the dividing line need be that sharp. If the Bible tells us anything, it is that God keeps repeating. The coming of spring can herald God's new work in the world, as much as the renewal of a congregation between pastors; as much as the early Christian prophets who repeated Jesus' work in new contexts; as much as the story of the heavenly martyrs who encouraged believers to try their hand at faithfulness; as much as the Shepherd-King who knew and was known to his sheep. Resurrection is a fundamental category for understanding how God has put things together for us.
If we open our eyes, we can see the Risen One at work all around us.
Alternative Applications
1. Acts 9:36-43. What about those who have not been raised? The French film Ponette (1996) is a sad little story about a girl whose mother has died. She hears from her nanny that Jesus raised the dead by saying Talitha cum! But no matter how often and heartfelt her own Talitha cums are, her mother is not going to rejoin her. It is painful to watch her learn that lesson.
The preacher must beware of infantilizing Christians with empty promises of a resurrection that would avoid pain and death. None of the Gospels, and certainly not the book of Revelation, skirt the inevitability of death. Jesus truly died and the martyrs shed red blood. The resuscitation miracles in the Gospels and Acts do not preclude death. Lazarus was raised to earthly life, still inevitably to die, as was Tabitha. These stories function symbolically by pointing toward God's larger promise for a risen life. Resurrection is built into God's creation, but it cannot take place without a death preceding it. Even the promise of life involves the painful witness of martyrs. Our preaching should focus on the symbolic function of the story. The power of the biblical prophets to circumvent death must be acknowledged as rare, and always temporary in nature.
2. John 10:22-30. Who is Jesus? John's particular take on the identity of Jesus is that he can only be known by experiencing him. The lesson for the preacher is to let John do his work. The reading of the Gospel of John is the experience of Jesus that John has left for us. It is a long, sometimes tortuous route, as John's writing seems to cascade back on itself again and again, its words and themes tumbling over each other in multiple combinations. Reading snippets in church does not give us the full flavor of the experience of Jesus according to John, nor does summarizing "what John has to say." A better approach would be to step back to let John's story work. Read the story and tell the story, with all its twists and turns. Anything the preacher can do to let John's story work on people would be helpful to the listener. Take a wider view of the sermon text than whatever little bit "preaches." Classes dealing with the Gospel would be a nice supplement to a preaching series. The point is the encounter with John's text. To be a sheep, you have to follow Jesus through the entire Gospel of John.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 23
This well-known psalm, rich in so many themes and images, is drawn into service during the Easter season primarily because of its shepherd imagery. Jesus says, "My sheep hear my voice. I know them and they follow me" (John 10:27). The psalm details in marvelous language what, as Christians, we have come to celebrate and what it means to follow Jesus as the Good Shepherd.
But the psalm had life before the advent of Jesus. The shepherd imagery was associated with God before Jesus personified the image of "the good shepherd." In fact, it even can be argued that the psalm gave definition to Jesus' work rather than Jesus giving particular meaning to the psalm.
There are many compelling themes in the psalm but no more evocative than the phrase, "even though I walk through the darkest valley ... you are with me." It is this promise of God's presence even at the extremes of our existence that has made this psalm a regular feature at funerals or in hospital visits.
Which may be unfortunate, as the psalm clearly seems to be more about how we should live rather than die. The psalm is a steady reflection on the blessings that come to a life focused on God. As we allow God to guide us to "good pastures" and "still waters," a healthy stability begins to emerge in our life. We experience a sense of purpose, perhaps renewed purpose as if our very souls have "been restored."
Following God as Shepherd means God leads us down "right paths." This is more than just a nod toward moral and virtuous living, though it certainly includes that. Following right paths means living for and wanting the right things. As we walk with God we begin to understand something about God. We begin to notice how God deals with people. We begin to appreciate God's commitment to justice and kindness.
Following God as Shepherd allows us to develop a certain confidence about life. The psalmist declares that God has prepared a table "in the presence of my enemies." Those who follow begin to experience a sense of having been set aside, of having been carefully and lovingly chosen (anointed).
It is in the context of following God as Shepherd that the psalmist's words about "the darkest valley" begin to be fully understood. God's presence with us at those moments of great stress and despair are not like an emergency room scene where an injured person is wheeled into the presence of the doctor for aid. The image, rather, is of a shepherd and a sheep that suddenly falls or becomes threatened. The shepherd turns to aid or defend. The shepherd does not come from somewhere else to the place where the sheep falls. The shepherd is there to help the moment it happens.
It is in the darkest valley that the shepherd most needs and uses the rod and staff -- the rod for guidance, the staff for defense.
The psalm concludes with a vision of a life continuing in God's blessing, continuing in God's care, continuing in God's presence. The shepherd, once the sheep are in the fold, is careful not to lose them.
The sole human witness to this resurrection is Helen Benson, who gasps, "You mean the robot has the power of life and death?"
"No," says Klaatu, "that power is reserved to the Almighty Spirit."
Those lines were added to please the 1950s motion picture censors, who, back in the days of moral protectionism, could not allow the American public to think that an alien robot might infringe on the prerogative of the Godhead. Fortunately for us, those same censors missed the other Christological allusions in the screenplay about a stranger from the heavens who lived with the common folk while conveying his life-or-death message. They didn't even notice the name taken on by the alien during his stay on Earth: "Carpenter." Director Robert Wise has said that the religious allusions in the script totally eluded him when he was on the set. I must admit that I watched this movie numerous times before I, too, caught on.
The Christ story has been a popular base on which to build new stories, and for good reason. Why should we be surprised that the old, old story repeats itself, seeing how often God has repeated it? God keeps repeating. How could it be otherwise, if the resurrection of Jesus is in fact true? Jesus is still alive, and it stands to reason that he will be at work in the same way he has worked before. Resurrection practically requires God to repeat, over and over again.
Acts 9:36-43
The book of Acts sets up the pattern of divine repetition. The early Christians act much like Jesus, who in turn copies the prophets of old. Since it is the power of the Risen One at work in these disciples, their actions closely duplicate that of the master, as well as the prophets who came before them. By tracing these patterns, Acts lets us know that God's work in Israel is not finished, even as the mission moves out toward the ends of the earth.
Acts 9 presents two brief stories that reintroduce Peter as a prophet who acts in the name and power of Jesus. This follows the introduction of Paul, who would become the apostle to the Gentiles (and take up most of the rest of the story in Acts). The narrative movement is toward the conversion of the centurion Cornelius in chapters 10-11; Acts presents the Gentile mission as initiated by Peter, since it was God's plan all along, and thus stems from God's original work in Israel. Even though Paul will carry out the bulk of the Gentile mission, Peter begins it, thus proving that Paul's conversion and commissioning were part of what God had in mind all along. The stories of healing and resuscitation in Acts 9 reestablish Peter's authority in preparation for this important transition. Thus the stories of Peter and Paul are not separate, but intertwined -- all part of God's repeating act, accomplished through prophets who do signs and wonders among the people in the name of the Risen One.
These two similar stories propel Luke's larger story forward: the healing of the paralyzed Aeneas in Lydda, 9:32-35, and our lection, the raising of Tabitha/Dorcas in Joppa, 9:36-43. The two stories are linked by references to the "saints" and the verb "stand up," leading some scholars to suspect that they were combined in whatever source Luke used, and perhaps even attached to the Cornelius story that follows, since they explain why Peter was in the area. Further, both stories result in mass conversions (vv. 35, 42). One cannot help but notice, however, the similarities between these stories and Old Testament accounts of Elijah and Elisha (1 Kings 17:17-24; 2 Kings 4:32-37). More importantly, Peter here replicates the work of Jesus; if not greater works, the disciples at least do the same deeds as Jesus (Luke 5:17-26; 7:11-16).
Luke moves the story toward the Gentiles through setting and description. Joppa was a Greek city, 10 miles northeast of Lydda in the plain of Sharon (modern Jaffa). A seaport for the Mediterranean, it had a thoroughly Gentile environment, signified by Dorcas/Tabitha's dual name, which would have been useful in a mixed society. Her character is portrayed concisely in a few lines, and her description parallels that of Cornelius: "She was full of good works and acts of charity which she did" (Acts 9:36, author's translation; cf. 10:2). No doubt the clothing the widows showed off represented her charitable works (v. 39). The description of Peter also points us forward; Acts shows Peter ready to respond to the need, as he will when Cornelius calls. He works in private and in prayer, relying on the power of God.
The story leaves us with one subtler clue about where it is going: Peter stays with Simon the Tanner. Tanning hides was a despised occupation in Judaism (there must be something morally fishy about anyone who works with such bad smells!). Peter is willing to stay in what must have been a low-class area, despite his fastidiousness about what is clean and unclean (10:14). He will soon join in fellowship with more questionable companions in a much more suspect area (11:3). In doing so he again joins the company of Jesus himself (cf. Luke 5:30).
The story of the raising of Tabitha thus has symbolic significance for Luke beyond itself. It is an extension of God's work in raising Israel to a new life, which includes a promise to reach out to the Gentiles. Luke has now set up the story so that the next important transition can take place: the Gospel will be delivered to the Gentile Cornelius, paving the way toward full acceptance of the Gentiles in the early church, and the path-setting ministry of Paul.
Revelation 7:9-17
A different view of the resurrected life takes us to John's vision of the heavenly court. The amazing thing is how unsentimental this picture of heaven is, since it acknowledges the bloody reality of death. The book of Revelation is a tale tinged with red. However, this blood turns all that it touches to white.
The heavenly vision given to John begins with a description of God's throne room (4:1-11), the Lamb (5:1-14), and the seven seals of wrath (6:1--8:5). Our lection spans the intermission between the sixth and seventh seals. This temporal gap before the opening of the final seal no doubt reflects the actual experience of early Christians, who did not see the quick end they expected, but rather the great multitude of witnesses that was the church. The sealing of witnesses that takes place during the intermission (7:1-8) contrasts ironically with the seals of wrath: those who are faithful witnesses are protected by God's seal, whereas the seals have a completely different effect on those who oppose God. The passage also looks forward to later developments in the story, as it presents a contrast with the seals that will be applied by the Beast (13:16-17), and the oppression of the multitudes by Babylon (17:15).
Chapter 7 draws heavily on Old Testament images as it integrates the previous visions of God and the Lamb in the throne room. The image of the blood that cleanses is reminiscent of the Passover (Exodus 12:7, 13, 22-23). The "great multitude" (which may include but is not limited to the 144,000) represents the fulfillment of the promise to Abraham of an uncounted multitude of offspring (Genesis 22:17; 32:12). That they are from "all tribes and peoples and languages" signifies that the Gentile mission has in fact been fulfilled. Their white robes represent their heavenly existence (v. 9; cf. 3:4; 4:4; 6:11), and their palm branches are symbols of victory (1 Maccabees 13:51; 2 Maccabees 14:4; John 12:13). Their cry of "salvation" echoes the Psalms (v. 10; cf. Psalm 118:21, 25).
Chapter 7 is introduced by 6:17: "The great day of their wrath has come, and who is able to stand?" There are two answers to the question: 144,000 will stand on the earth (7:1-8), and a great multitude of martyrs will stand before the heavenly throne (7:9-17). The identity of these martyrs is confirmed by John's heavenly guide (vv. 13-17). Here the theme of the "great ordeal" is introduced, in anticipation of what is to come later in the book. The paradoxical metaphor of blood that washes garments white signifies both the martyrdom of the multitude in the great ordeal, and their reliance on the Lamb for their new heavenly position. In contrast with Babylon, who gets drunk on the blood of the witnesses, these martyrs sing clear-headed praise to God and to the Lamb (cf. 17:6; 18:24).
In heaven, the witnesses have new jobs: they are to worship before the throne (v. 16). It is a service economy; they "serve" God day and night (latreuo, translated "worship" in NRSV). It is a camp service, since God "shelters" them as if in a tent (skenoo recalls the glorious presence of God in the Exodus, the Shekinah). The idyllic scene in heaven contrasts with the destruction caused on earth by the seals (cf. 6:6; 16:8-9). Ironically, the Lamb becomes a shepherd who guides the flock to the waters of life (v. 17; cf. 21:6; 22:1, 17). Since "Shepherd" was a stock metaphor for kingship in Israel, the Lamb thus takes on the characteristics of royalty (2 Samuel 7:7; Isaiah 44:28; Jeremiah 3:15; Ezekiel 34:23). Under the Shepherd-King's tender care, there is no need (v. 16; cf. Isaiah 49:10), and sorrow is no more (cf. 21:1-5; Isaiah 25:8). The resurrected life is the perfect peace that follows the storm, all made possible by God and the Lamb.
John 10:22-30
This passage from John may seem an odd choice for an Easter lection. But John is an Easter book that looks backward from the perspective of Jesus' "hour" -- his death, resurrection, and ascension understood as a single moment in God's time. For John, the line between the earthly Jesus and the Risen Christ is thin indeed -- this is why his Jesus sometimes seems to walk a few feet above the ground. Furthermore, the Fourth Sunday of Easter is traditionally considered to be "Good Shepherd Sunday," and this lection follows John's "Good Shepherd" discourse (10:1-21). Thus the lection fits well with the other readings: Revelation speaks eloquently of the Shepherd, and the emphasis in Acts on the Christian prophets who duplicate the works of Jesus finds its parallel in John, where disciples do the works of Jesus, who works the work of God.
John 6-10 covers a second phase in Jesus' public ministry that focuses on several feasts: Passover, Tabernacles, and here, Dedication. The Feast of Dedication (Hebrew, Hanukkah) in December commemorated the rededication of the Temple by Judas Maccabeus in 165 B.C., following its destruction by Antiochus Epiphanes. The time shift from the Feast of the Tabernacles in September-October (7:21--10:21) is conveyed by a reference to wintry weather, which in turn explains why Jesus would have been walking in the protected shelter of the Portico of Solomon on the east side of the Temple. The passing of time, fall to winter, reminds us that his "hour" is approaching, and at this point John's story slows down to concentrate on the last period of Jesus' life. The public ministry is over; the passion looms large.
Thus 10:22-42 serves as a narrative climax and a theological conclusion to Jesus' public ministry. The central focus here is a theme reiterated throughout John, the identity of Jesus. Exactly who is Jesus? (10:24). The answer is that he is Messiah (10:22-31) and Son of God (10:32-39). Both responses draw a violent reaction from his enemies (vv. 31, 39).
"How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly" (10:24). The problem is that the duplicitous question has already been answered in the Good Shepherd discourse (10:1-21): Jesus is the Shepherd-King who takes care of his own. John puts into the question more than the enemies of Jesus might intend: the idiom for "keep us in suspense" might mean "annoy, bother," but literally translates as "take away our life." Jesus as the source of life might take it away, but only because he provokes judgment on those who do not hear his voice. To further the irony, Jesus has used a metaphor, that of the Shepherd, rather than saying it straight out. The true problem, however, is with the ears of the hearers. Jesus' works are witnesses to who he is; his identity is plain for all to see (v. 25). His enemies do not believe, because they are not his followers; belief in the Shepherd is only possible for sheep (vv. 26-27). Only to the sheep can the Shepherd offer protection (v. 28; cf. our lection from Revelation).
The truth about Jesus' identity is made clear in a comparison and contrast between Jesus and the Father (vv. 29-30). No one can snatch the sheep out of the Shepherd's hand, because the Father has given them, and no one is powerful enough to snatch them from the Father. Jesus concludes this section with the ultimate comparison: "The Father and I are one." This is not to be read in light of later Christological controversies; Jesus is not making a metaphysical statement about the Godhead. Rather, he is talking about the ways he shares the work of the Father. Jesus and the Father do one work, which is impossible to distinguish. Jesus shares fully in God's work. Jesus is one with God's work for the salvation of the world, and only those who know and follow him can understand this. Only those with direct experience of Jesus at work tending the sheep can know his true identity.
Application
For the last 10 years I have been involved in intentional interim ministry; I serve as a kind of temp worker for parishes that are in transition between settled clergy leadership. Many people are surprised by my choice; they sometimes ask me, "Don't you want a church of your own?" In my more ironic moods, I'm tempted to reply, "Yes, but I haven't saved up enough box tops yet." Then I usually find myself having to explain further that clergy don't own churches, and that there's no such thing as "permanent" ministry (if there were, they wouldn't need me).
By far a better response, I have discovered, is to explain that interim ministry is a resurrection experience. The transition period gives a church the chance to die and live again; to remake itself in a new image from God; to start life afresh with new direction. I find it an exciting time to be in a parish. It is a concrete experience of the truth that God keeps repeating. Death and resurrection are fundamental to existence.
It is the custom in some quarters to make fun of "resurrectionless" Easter sermons, where the character of Easter seems to involve the first birdies of spring and the little buds that herald the change of the season. Easter, the critics say, has more to do with the empty tomb than balmy breezes. It is not about the switch to Daylight Savings Time, but about the resurrection of Jesus.
That's all well, good, and true. The Christian Easter is indeed a celebration of resurrection, not an equinox festival. But that doesn't mean that the signs of spring are out of place in our preaching. I don't think the dividing line need be that sharp. If the Bible tells us anything, it is that God keeps repeating. The coming of spring can herald God's new work in the world, as much as the renewal of a congregation between pastors; as much as the early Christian prophets who repeated Jesus' work in new contexts; as much as the story of the heavenly martyrs who encouraged believers to try their hand at faithfulness; as much as the Shepherd-King who knew and was known to his sheep. Resurrection is a fundamental category for understanding how God has put things together for us.
If we open our eyes, we can see the Risen One at work all around us.
Alternative Applications
1. Acts 9:36-43. What about those who have not been raised? The French film Ponette (1996) is a sad little story about a girl whose mother has died. She hears from her nanny that Jesus raised the dead by saying Talitha cum! But no matter how often and heartfelt her own Talitha cums are, her mother is not going to rejoin her. It is painful to watch her learn that lesson.
The preacher must beware of infantilizing Christians with empty promises of a resurrection that would avoid pain and death. None of the Gospels, and certainly not the book of Revelation, skirt the inevitability of death. Jesus truly died and the martyrs shed red blood. The resuscitation miracles in the Gospels and Acts do not preclude death. Lazarus was raised to earthly life, still inevitably to die, as was Tabitha. These stories function symbolically by pointing toward God's larger promise for a risen life. Resurrection is built into God's creation, but it cannot take place without a death preceding it. Even the promise of life involves the painful witness of martyrs. Our preaching should focus on the symbolic function of the story. The power of the biblical prophets to circumvent death must be acknowledged as rare, and always temporary in nature.
2. John 10:22-30. Who is Jesus? John's particular take on the identity of Jesus is that he can only be known by experiencing him. The lesson for the preacher is to let John do his work. The reading of the Gospel of John is the experience of Jesus that John has left for us. It is a long, sometimes tortuous route, as John's writing seems to cascade back on itself again and again, its words and themes tumbling over each other in multiple combinations. Reading snippets in church does not give us the full flavor of the experience of Jesus according to John, nor does summarizing "what John has to say." A better approach would be to step back to let John's story work. Read the story and tell the story, with all its twists and turns. Anything the preacher can do to let John's story work on people would be helpful to the listener. Take a wider view of the sermon text than whatever little bit "preaches." Classes dealing with the Gospel would be a nice supplement to a preaching series. The point is the encounter with John's text. To be a sheep, you have to follow Jesus through the entire Gospel of John.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 23
This well-known psalm, rich in so many themes and images, is drawn into service during the Easter season primarily because of its shepherd imagery. Jesus says, "My sheep hear my voice. I know them and they follow me" (John 10:27). The psalm details in marvelous language what, as Christians, we have come to celebrate and what it means to follow Jesus as the Good Shepherd.
But the psalm had life before the advent of Jesus. The shepherd imagery was associated with God before Jesus personified the image of "the good shepherd." In fact, it even can be argued that the psalm gave definition to Jesus' work rather than Jesus giving particular meaning to the psalm.
There are many compelling themes in the psalm but no more evocative than the phrase, "even though I walk through the darkest valley ... you are with me." It is this promise of God's presence even at the extremes of our existence that has made this psalm a regular feature at funerals or in hospital visits.
Which may be unfortunate, as the psalm clearly seems to be more about how we should live rather than die. The psalm is a steady reflection on the blessings that come to a life focused on God. As we allow God to guide us to "good pastures" and "still waters," a healthy stability begins to emerge in our life. We experience a sense of purpose, perhaps renewed purpose as if our very souls have "been restored."
Following God as Shepherd means God leads us down "right paths." This is more than just a nod toward moral and virtuous living, though it certainly includes that. Following right paths means living for and wanting the right things. As we walk with God we begin to understand something about God. We begin to notice how God deals with people. We begin to appreciate God's commitment to justice and kindness.
Following God as Shepherd allows us to develop a certain confidence about life. The psalmist declares that God has prepared a table "in the presence of my enemies." Those who follow begin to experience a sense of having been set aside, of having been carefully and lovingly chosen (anointed).
It is in the context of following God as Shepherd that the psalmist's words about "the darkest valley" begin to be fully understood. God's presence with us at those moments of great stress and despair are not like an emergency room scene where an injured person is wheeled into the presence of the doctor for aid. The image, rather, is of a shepherd and a sheep that suddenly falls or becomes threatened. The shepherd turns to aid or defend. The shepherd does not come from somewhere else to the place where the sheep falls. The shepherd is there to help the moment it happens.
It is in the darkest valley that the shepherd most needs and uses the rod and staff -- the rod for guidance, the staff for defense.
The psalm concludes with a vision of a life continuing in God's blessing, continuing in God's care, continuing in God's presence. The shepherd, once the sheep are in the fold, is careful not to lose them.
