Sunday, April 21st, 2013
Trinity Anglican Church, Bradford
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: John 10:22-30
We stand a step removed from the terrible events of the past
week, and yet the ever-watchful eye of the media draws us into the nexus of the
horror and pain that is felt any time disaster strikes. What if it were us? And so the pain of others easily becomes a
pain we carry, for we can see that it might have easily been one of us, or one
we love. Even though we stand somewhat
removed from the terror, we find ourselves somehow locked in its grasp.
But for those who were there, even as for those of us who
were not; for those who have lost so much, even as for those of us who only
feel their loss from a distance, God searches and seeks for us, in our fear, in
our sorrow, in our grief, and in our loss.
“I am the Good Shepherd, and I know mine own and mine own know me.”
The great comfort of the Christian gospel is that in
precisely moments like these when we ask “where was God?” the answer comes, “here
is God.” We shall never truly understand
the answer as to why God does not intervene to prevent evil, or to prevent the
forces of nature from causing destruction, or to correct human error to prevent
accidents. Perhaps there are moments
when God intervenes, and yet, there are so many when he does not. We have to
deal with a universe that unfolds by defined laws and human free will, but does
that mean that God is not present, that God does not care?
Quite the opposite, I think.
The whole story of the gospel is that God does care; God does care about
the suffering of his people. In the
person of Christ Jesus he enters into our world, into our humanity, and joins
our suffering to his – the true definition of “compassion” – to feel with, to
suffer with. God suffers alongside us
and God feels our pain. What is more,
God is at work in our lives and in our world redeeming our suffering and
redeeming our pain. It is in the moments
in which we feel most abandoned, most alone, most forgotten, that he reminds us
that he has never and will never abandon us: “Even when you walk through the
valley of the shadow of death, I am with you. My rod and staff, they comfort you.” It is in these moments that the Good Shepherd
is seeking us out, calling our names, and reminding us that even though the wrong
seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
His rule is a gentle one. He
rules as a comforter and refuge, a hope in times of trouble. God’s rule is one
in which we learn that the events of the day, as powerful and as awful as they
may be, shall not be the story that shapes our lives, but rather his compassion
and mercy shall shape our story. It has
often been said during this week, and I think the sentiment is a good one, “when
you see evil, when you see harm, look for the helpers.” It is in acts of mercy, compassion,
self-giving and goodness that we shall see the loving hand of the Good
Shepherd.
This brings us to a second thought about the Good Shepherd
in light of the events of the past week.
Many people have died. The same
questions abound, the same “whys” are cried out. And for a time, perhaps the only answer is
silence. However, as I look back on the
losses of my own life, and as I ponder the mystery of death, I come to realize
that although my loved ones have been plucked out of my hands, they have not
been plucked out of the hands of God. A
passage often read at funerals, from the Wisdom of Solomon reminds us, “The
souls of the righteous are in the hands of God.” And again, hear the words of the Good
Shepherd: “My sheep hear my voice, and I
know them, and they follow me; and I give them eternal life, and they shall
never perish, and no one shall snatch them out of my hand. My Father who has given them to me, is
greater than all and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand.” There is nothing else I can do for the
dead. It is a harsh and dreadful
reality, but even though they have been snatched away from me, they cannot be
snatched away from God. In God, even in
death, they find eternal life. So while
human mourning and grief are real, and often crippling, once again, our hope is
not in human hands, but in the hands of the almighty, who will not lose even
one of his own. Thus, we find in the
Christian gospel words of comfort, but the gospel brings not only comfort, but
challenge.
And so this brings me to a third thought, a challenging and
difficult thought, and for this I will veer away from the Good Shepherd for a moment
and to St. Luke’s Sermon on the Plain.
This question has to do with those who hurt us. I first began to
formulate these thoughts earlier in the week when I heard of the sickening
behaviour that was taking place in London after Lady Thatcher’s death. As we have all heard, parties broke out and
people began singing “Ding, Dong, the witch is dead,” and danced on her
grave. Anyone who participates in such
behaviour and calls themselves a Christian is due for a serious reality check
and a review of the words of Jesus found in St. Luke’s Sermon on the
Plain. Now, I would be the last one to
eulogize Lady Thatcher for the way she governed. There are many that credit her with saving
her country and there are others who claim great suffering under her
regime. First of all, this is the cost
of democracy. We shall have leaders who
will pursue policies we do not like, and we shall have the freedom to stand
against them. We shall have leaders that do harm, and leaders that shall do
good, and we shall often disagree on what constitutes harm and good. We shall have leaders that we hate. But I ask you to consider the words of Jesus
from Luke chapter 6, and consider what transpired in London: “But I say to you
that hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who
curse you, pray for those who abuse you.”
In our Bible study on Luke this week, we reflected on this passage. This is perhaps the most revolutionary and
world-changing claim of the gospel. Judaism knew “Love your neighbour,” and
indeed that is a core value for us, but “love your enemy?” We find this a hard pill to swallow. Aren’t we supposed to hate our enemies? Not if we are Christians.
And what does it mean to “love our enemy?” Well, Jesus tells
us: do good to them, bless them, pray for them.
This means that what happened in London when people danced on the grave
of Lady Thatcher was the most profoundly unchristian, and indeed,
anti-Christian act that one could imagine.
Do the words of Jesus mean anything to us when we behave in such a
shameful way. Now we may say that was
not us; that we were not there dancing on the grave, but now consider the
events of Boston. There was much
rejoicing at the killing of one suspected perpetrator and the capture of
another. Should we rejoice that an
evildoer is caught? By all means. Should we congratulate those who bring
wrong-doers to justice? By all mean.
Should we breath a sigh of relief that the innocent are once again safe?
By all means. But should we rejoice in
the death of a sinner? I dare say, we
should not. Should we rejoice in the humiliation
of a deluded young man? I dare say, we
should not. To be sure, justice is a principle of the gospel,
as well as mercy. People must be kept
safe and those who are dangerous must be removed so as to ensure the public
good. And yet, we can be merciful in all
of this. We should not puff ourselves up
with false pride and dance on the grave of a young man who, for whatever
mystifying reason turned to wickedness and chose to harm his fellow human
beings. We should not abuse the abuser
with torture or humiliation, for even the sinner is still a child of God. It may be hard to love ones such as these,
but can we at least aspire to a greater humanity than what has been
demonstrated by their actions? Shall we at least do good to them, where they
were unable to do good to us? Shall we
pray for them with hope in our hearts, where they felt their prayers of no
avail for us? Shall we find mercy for them,
where they felt no mercy for us? Jesus
reminds us with these very words, “that God is kind to the ungrateful and the
wicked,” and then admonishes us, “be merciful, even as your Father is merciful.” These are hard words. But then I realize that those two boys could
just as easily have been my children, or you children. Even in the midst of all that they had done
wrong, would I still not desire mercy even as justice is accordingly meted
out? Would I still not hope, beyond hope,
that something good might be salvaged in them?
Would I not pray for them if they were my children, or your children? And here is the rub, they are God’s children,
as wicked as they might be, and we learn that God is kind to the ungrateful and
the wicked, and that we ought to be merciful as he is merciful.
We need not condone what they did. Nor should we suggest that justice should not
be done. Yet we ought not to descend
into a mutual or similar barbarism and rejoice in wrongdoing or bloodlust. That is not the Christian. That is not Christian holiness. That is not the way of Jesus. The Good
Shepherd is a loving shepherd, a merciful shepherd, a shepherd that seeks out
the lost, all the while caring for those closest to him. And so an old prayer from the prayer book comes to mind as I draw
this to a close,
“Be mindful, O Lord, of thy people bowed before thee ….
Succour all those who are in tribulation, necessity or distress. Remember for good all those that love us, and
those that hate us, and those who have desired us, unworthy as we are to pray
for them. For thou art the helper of the
helpless, and the saviour of the lost.” Amen.
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