More than Gentle Sheep

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhhVKWYOZPY

THE HOLY GOSPEL OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST

ACCORDING TO JOHN

Jesus said, "Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers." Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them. So again Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly."

JOHN 10:1-10

Sermon: The Rev. Dr. Maryann Amor

Throughout scripture we are often compared to sheep.

Today, on the fourth Sunday of Easter—often known as Shepherd Sunday—we hear Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd,” we are the Lord’s sheep. In John’s Gospel, Jesus calls himself the gate through which the sheep enter. As the gatekeeper calls out, the sheep follow. Again, we are the sheep.

It’s easy to hear this imagery in a soft, sentimental way. There’s even that cute song I played at the start of the sermon, often sung in Vacation Bible Schools, about wanting to be sheep. We picture ourselves as vulnerable lambs, being held in the loving arms of Jesus, protected and safe.

Church, then, becomes a kind of pasture—green, quiet, and keeping us away from the wolves of the outside world. A place we come to be restored, to feel held for a moment, before heading back out into the wilderness around us.

Now, to be clear—this image isn’t wrong. We are vulnerable and we do need the protection that young sheep sometimes need. Everybody needs comfort and security, especially in a world like ours. But our way of looking at ourselves as sheep is incomplete.

The people who first heard the words of Psalm 23 and the Gospel of John knew sheep far better than we ever could. They lived alongside them, depended on them—and they knew that sheep are not nearly as gentle as we might imagine.

Sheep can be aggressive. They push and fight. In moments of stress, they can harm one another, even trampling the smaller and weaker lambs.

They live within a social order where some dominate while others are pushed aside. Rivalry and tension can take hold of a flock, leaving it restless, irritable, and unsettled—until the shepherd steps in, his voice is the only one sheep will listen to.

And if left to themselves, sheep will choose comfort over change. They follow the same paths until they become deep ruts. They graze the same ground until it is stripped bare and filled with parasites. What once gave them life becomes depleted, even diseased.

This fuller picture of sheep is very different from the warm, fuzzy image we might prefer. And it adds something important to the metaphor.

If we are honest, this image of sheep sounds familiar.

We, like sheep, can be aggressive—pushing for what we want, sometimes without noticing who gets hurt along the way.

We, like sheep, get caught up in comparison and status, creating tension even within the communities we care about the most.

And we, like sheep, are creatures of habit—returning to the same patterns, the same ways of thinking, living, might we even say worshipping, even when they no longer give life.

We see this more often than we might like. Not always in big, obvious ways—but in small ones.

In the meeting where we’ve already decided what we think before anyone else speaks.

In the quiet resistance when something begins to change.

In the way a conversation can turn tense over something that, at its heart, isn’t really the issue.

We go down the same paths again and again—because they are familiar, even when they are no longer giving life.

The point of this isn’t to shame us. It’s to help us see why the metaphor of us as sheep works so well...sometimes the way sheep live isn’t healthy for them, but they can’t see it. They cannot guide themselves to a better way. So to be healthy and function well, they need a shepherd or a gatekeeper. They need someone who can see the bigger picture and lead them to the healthiest place.

And so, we turn to our God, as the shepherd in our lives. We name Christ as our gatekeeper and we allow him to call to us and we listen to him. But this doesn’t mean any of this is easy, because in reality it isn’t. Because what is healthiest for us is not always the comfort we want or the pastures we prefer—but the discomfort and change Christ offers.

Throughout the Gospel we see that Christ calls people to a life that is challenging. We are called to move beyond our comforts, to move beyond our self-interest to instead turn toward people we might rather avoid, toward generosity instead of hoarding resources for ourselves, toward placing others first.

Our shepherd nudges us toward a different way of life. And when we resist, as we often do, he places gentle pressure on us—not to harm us, but because the shepherd knows that staying where we are will not give us life.

And yes, this is more demanding. It is more uncomfortable. But it is also where life is found.

So while the image of us as sheep can be one of warmth—of being held, of finding comfort and safety—it is also so much more than this. To be sheep is also to recognise that we need guidance. That left to ourselves, we do not always choose what is good for us or for others.

And so we listen for the voice of the shepherd.

The one who opens the gate and calls us through. The one who guides us, and yes, sometimes presses us forward. The one who says: come this way. You may not want to. It may not feel comfortable. But trust me—this is the way that leads to life.

Amen.