John 10.22-30
At that time the
festival of the Dedication took place in Jerusalem. It was winter and Jesus was
walking in the temple, in the portico of Solomon. So the Jews gathered around
him and said to him, “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the
Messiah, tell us plainly.” Jesus answered, “I have told you, and you do not
believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me; but you do not
believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. My sheep hear my voice. I know
them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish.
No one will snatch them out of my hand. What my Father has given me is greater
than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand. The Father
and I are one.”
How should
we approach this passage? As a general principle I try to imagine my way into
Gospel stories. I try to see myself as an anonymous member of the crowd as I
try to walk through the story. Who do I most identify with? Who do I sympathise
with? Who irritates me? What if I stood here or over by him? What if I couldn’t
hear properly because of the crowd? What if I didn’t actually trust this man
Jesus? What if I was a Pharisee or a Roman?
I have to
try to imagine my way into the stories because I am almost always disappointed
by the brevity of the gospel accounts and their lack of background detail. I
want to know that there was someone there who kept coughing, or that there were
children playing nearby, or that there were cooking smells or that it had just
rained.
Of course,
to what extent can someone like me, a product of my own times truly enter into
the experience, the sights, the sounds, the smells and, most importantly, the
theological and social conventions of the first century? I can’t. But that
doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.
So, this
morning’s text: the occasion was the festival of the rededication of the temple
in Jerusalem commemorating when Greek invaders had been vanquished and the
temple had been cleansed of the blasphemy – the statue of Zeus. As a consequence
those around Jesus were thinking about freedom: freedom from the invader; freedom
to live without fear; freedom from foreign domination and freedom from
political musclemen and their taxes.
The air at
the time of our narrative for today was thus filled with thoughts of victory,
freedom, and the return of Jewish leadership, but while the temple was now
fully dedicated to God, the land had been lost again, this time to the Romans,
with their brutal, heathen practices which again came all too close to this
holy place, this magnificent temple of God.
So this is
the basic context for my imaginary walking through of the story. I am in awe of
the architecture and the history of this place and all the religious and
historical symbolism that is associated with it. I am conscious of the
occupying army and the problem of the daily compromises we have to make as we
try not to cross the fine line between Roman Imperial theology and the faith of
our upbringing. And the sense of something about to happen is palpable as my
people yearn for religious and political self-determination: a theme that
resonates here today as we watch the on-going outworkings of the Arab Spring.
Am I unaware in all of this of the role this Rabbi from Nazareth might play in
the unfolding events? Well, I’m here and I’m listening closely to the exchange
between Jesus and the crowd, possibly looking over my shoulder: this is the
home of religious orthodoxy after all, with its religious leaders and its
guards – and its informers and, I can’t help but note that this is the point
where Jesus appears to berate his listeners: he tells them they don’t
understand what he's saying because they’re in the wrong team.
Jesus tells
his listeners “You do not belong to my sheep.” I think we can assume, given the
setting of the temple, that he was surrounded by the pious and faithful and we
might be in danger of buying into the standard stereotype of the Pharisee as
some sort of self-satisfied, self-promoting religious thought-police.
No - they
were the good guys in Jewish society: yes they upheld exacting standards and
yes they were literalists as far as the Law of Moses was concerned and yes,
they were on the look-out for heresy, but there were those among them for whom
Jesus’ message resonated. Jesus had sympathisers in this group, men who were
theological thinkers so we mustn’t assume that Jesus’ encounters with the
Orthodox were always encounters of conflict. Sometimes there were genuine
seekers of the truth and sometimes there was a meeting of minds.
Nevertheless,
we read that things turned nasty.
“And they
took up stones again to stone him.” the issue being blasphemy and the fact that
Jesus had said “The Father and I are one”, which provokes a fresh but failed
attempt to arrest Jesus. Why failed? Because there were people in that crowd
who were open to hearing and considering a new perspective. Let’s not assume
that every time we hear of conflict it is as simple as Jesus verses all the
rest.
Is it too
fanciful to assume that some of these people had been following Jesus since he
arrived in Jerusalem? Is it reasonable to assume that some present in the
Temple with Jesus here had already been present when Jesus had made some other
pretty startling claims? We’ve already
heard Jesus proclaim to the crowds “I am the bread of life: he who comes to Me
shall not hunger”, “I am the light of the world: he who follows Me shall not
walk in the darkness, but shall have the light of life.”, “I am the gate; if
anyone enters through Me, he shall be saved” and “I am the good shepherd; the
good shepherd lays down His life for His sheep.” So we can easily see the
question posed by the crowd at the start of today’s Gospel segment, “How long
will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.” as part
of that on-going dialogue.
So what
then? Why does any of this matter? Why has the Lectionary designated this
passage as worthy of our analysis this morning? Just a point to consider: when
we read the Gospel stories we would do well to consider who Jesus’ target
audience was and then to consider whether today we might be the implied
audience. Can we hear in Jesus’ words to this group, his words to us?
I think it’s
right that we try; otherwise this story will remain on that level: merely a
story; an interesting piece of religious history which therefore doesn’t have
the power to touch us or challenge us.
Well, I’d
like to pursue the theme of discipleship and link that to today’s theme of the
identity of Jesus. “The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me” says
Jesus, or to put it another way, “Come on folks, you’ve seen me and what I do
for long enough surely to know that what I do is from God”, followed in pretty
short order by, “The Father and I are one.” As disciples, how do we present
Jesus by our works and by our words?
Why are we
here this morning? Well, at the heart of our presence here is surely some
affirmation that we, unlike Jesus’ listeners in the Gospel extract, are in the
right team. “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them
eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my
hand”, he tells the crowd. Well, the “them” and the “they” he refers to here
includes us. Like the crowd, we’ve been following Jesus for some time. We are
the sheep of this shepherd and our presence here this morning is evidence of
that.
What about
tomorrow morning when we aren’t here? What’s the evidence of belonging to Jesus
then?
That’s a bit
challenging isn’t it?
We do not
live in a time of persecution. Our discipleship does not need to be hidden.
Indeed, I think Jesus provides us with a model of discipleship in this passage.
“The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me” says Jesus and “The
Father and I are one.” It’s as if he’s saying “Look, I’ve shown you and now
I’ve told you.”
“The works
that I do in my Father’s name testify to me.” The works that we do in the
Father’s name testify to him. “The Father and I are one” becomes “The Father
and Jesus are one.” To put it another way: what we do and what we say reveals
our discipleship. That seems to be the pattern Jesus gives us here.
So, what we
do: there’s no list here as if there were some simplistic formulae: we’re
mature adults and most of us are mature in the faith, so beyond the principle
of being a role model what are we talking about?
Some years
ago, when I was at vicar school – not a million miles from here as it happens,
I was privileged to meet Desmond Tutu. One of the things he said to us as he
looked around the room was “God has chosen you for who you are. Do not let
others change you.” And at that point he made eye contact with me. Now that was
a general injunction but it hit me very personally and really made me stop and
think. God has chosen me for who I am and that’s as true for all of us here as
much it was for all of us sat in that room at Mirfield. We have a God given
personality – and we can talk about the Gifts of the Spirit as part of that
general conversation – but the point is you are who you are and God has called
that person to discipleship.
Who are your
religious role models? Who are the Christians out there who inspire us and who
we would love to emulate in our own discipleship?
I love
Desmond Tutu. I love him for his enthusiasm and his love of life. I love him
for his humanity and his compassion for the underdog. I love him for his
bravery. Could I have some of that please Lord?
I love Giles
Fraser. I love him for his prophetic voice, for his approachability and his
everyday blokishness and I love him because he’s a bit gobby. Gobby in the name
of the Lord. Could I have some of that please Lord?
And I love
American Bishop John Shelby Spong. I love him because he’s a thorn in the side
of the established church. I love him because he’s a theological thinker and I
love him because in a very real way he is the conscience of American
Christianity.
What a
dinner party: Desmond Tutu, Giles Fraser, John Shelby Spong … and
Joanna Lumley obviously.
What do
these Christians have in common? They are men of God, compassionate, well
informed, outspoken and without an ounce of piety between them. That’s the
model of discipleship I aspire to, but there is more than one model. Of all the
passages of scripture that the Holy Spirit might have laid on my heart, the one
that stays with me is, “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling”
from Philippians. Put that together with your own personality type and the
things you admire from your Christian role models and you have your model of
discipleship. What did Jesus say? “The works that I do in my Father’s name
testify to me” and as the implied audience of this discussion between Jesus and
the crowd, we turned that into “The works that I do in my Father’s name testify
to him.” Active discipleship: it’s the life we lead.
So let’s
turn to the second part of Jesus’ template for discipleship: the things we say.
“The Father and Jesus are one” is pretty much the foundation for our
conversations about God. And again, we can wriggle uncomfortably here can’t we.
Does anyone here find it easy to talk to others about your faith? If you do,
you’re really blessed because it’s something the rest of us struggle with. I
suppose for those of us who are “professionally” religious that comes with the
territory.
“Sir, are
you religious?” Well it’s all about perceptions isn’t it? I don’t tend to think
I am, but the question isn’t asking me for my philosophy on pietism. It demands
a clear answer.
“Sir, are
you a vicar?” “Do you go to church?” I wish I had a fiver for every time, but I
have a public profile of being a person of faith. How does that work for you?
How do you deal with such approaches? My wife Rachel often finds herself in
that Monday morning conversation: you know, the work recap on what you did at
the weekend and I remember her saying once: “Well, I found myself making cotton
wool sheep for children’s church.” This was followed by some anecdote about
four year olds and the perils of unsupervised glue. But it led into a
conversation which has subsequently led into others. I have a colleague who is
a Muslim and he said to me once, “Christianity, Islam – it’s all the same.”
That’s a
conversation which has gone on, on and off, for months.
What those
two examples have got in common is that we found common ground and actually now
that I think about it we both responded to someone else’s approach, much as we
found Jesus responding in the Gospel extract, and that’s why, earlier, I
suggested we needed to be careful about the voice tone we ascribed to Jesus in
this passage. Confrontational or conciliatory? A judgemental statement or part
of an on-going dialogue? Judgemental attitudes close down conversations:
conciliatory attitudes keep them open. Confrontational wins us no friends.
Conciliatory does, but by conciliatory, I don’t mean compromising. Listening
respectfully and entering into discussion is always good but defending the
basis of our beliefs remains an essential part of that.
I suppose
the other observation I would make is a cautionary one: what is it that we view
as an essential part of our faith? How much of what we perceive to be Christian
is actually essential to the defence of Christianity. How easily are we
sidetracked into more cultural or political issues such as abortion and gay
rights? So perhaps my specific challenge to all of us this morning is to spend
some time in thought, prayer and discussion with friends about what the essence
of our faith is: what needs to be on that list and what doesn’t? I think being
clear about that will increase our confidence as we seek to talk to others of
our faith.
Of course,
this is about mission, the Missio Dei – the Mission of God. I remember sitting
through a lecture series on mission. As someone who has participated in various
parish or diocesan missions – often having strong reservations which I found
hard to rationalise, I was brought up short and challenged by one model of
mission. We were asked to consider to what extent mission is a human initiative
or a divine initiative? And the answer was, it’s a divine initiative so rather
than wasting hours in committees and discussion groups about mission perhaps we
should seek instead to discern where God is already at work … and join in. I
think that’s a pretty good approach for our own witness and evangelism: let the
Holy Spirit take the initiate and lead us to where we can respond to the needs
of others where we might be able to say, “The Father and Jesus are one.” In the
meantime, may “The works we do in our father’s name testify to him.”
Amen.
your writing is so exceptionally crisp and engaging, i find myself stopped dead in my tracks by a biblical story i thought i knew well but now i'm not so sure.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much. How kind. I'm glad it was helpful.
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