Sheep With A Shepherd

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Mark 6:30-34, 53-56. An audio version of this sermon is available here.

When Jesus saw the crowd he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

When Jesus saw the crowd he saw that they were disorganized, lacking focus, without direction, scattered. There were so many, coming and going, this way and that, rushing around, so busy but so disconnected, with no leisure, no rest, no quietness, no peace, not even to eat. And when they saw Jesus there, they gathered around him, they flocked to him, because they could feel that he had something genuine, they could feel he had a real life — and even though they were so disorganized, so scattered, they didn’t know what they wanted, they knew they wanted what he had. So they flocked to him, they crowded in around him — even though they could tell he has trying to get away to a quiet place, a retreat, with his disciples, they came anyway, they waylaid him on his way, because their souls were so scattered and their need was so deep.

And when Jesus saw them, he had compassion for them, he was moved for them — he felt for them in his belly, in his innards, the Greek says — that kind of deep-down, visceral, undeniable connection you feel with someone you really care about. So he gave them what he had to give: he taught them. He taught them many things. And when he taught them, he taught them in parables. Remember that Mark says Jesus always taught the crowds in parables — that “he did not speak to them except in parables” — and parables are a very particular form of teaching. Teaching in parables is not like saying “Do this” or “Don’t do that” or “Believe this” or “Behave this way.” Teaching in parables doesn’t just lay out information or direction and expect the learner to follow automatically. Teaching in parables always comes at the point indirectly. Teaching in parables always sets you up for one expectation, and then gives you something else, and the learning is in the difference between them. Teaching in parables doesn’t just dump information in your head, but makes you participate in your own learning. Teaching in parables makes you work for what you learn, it makes you figure out for yourself what’s really going on, what God is really doing, beneath the apparent surface story. Teaching in parables makes you co-create with your teacher the thing that you have learned. Teaching in parables doesn’t just convey knowledge, it creates wisdom. And creating wisdom is forming in the very soul the creative image of God.

So when Jesus teaches the crowd in parables because they are like sheep without a shepherd, he is doing for them a very specific thing: he is not just telling them what to do, but he is putting them in touch with God, he’s helping them grow wisdom in their souls so that they can better know what God would have them do, and where God is calling them to go, and how God is leading them in their lives. When Jesus sees the crowds are like sheep without a shepherd, he helps them know their true shepherd is God.

And that is the promise of this gospel for us: that the teaching of Jesus will be there for us to form wisdom in our souls when we feel lost, and scattered, and disorganized, and at loose ends, and like sheep without a shepherd. When the bottom seems to drop out of life for us; when the ways and means and patterns we habitually use to make our lives feel ordered and sensible and meaningful suddenly don’t work anymore; when tragedy or disaster upset the delicate balance we’ve made out of all the desires and duties and aspirations and responsibilities that tug in different directions for us; — then the promise is the Wisdom of Christ is there for us, to help us look beneath the apparent surface of the story, to help us look beyond our own understanding or lack thereof, to put us more deeply in touch with what God would have us do, and where God is calling us to go, and how God is leading us in our lives. The Wisdom of Christ is there for us to help us know our true shepherd is God.

And the fact is our lives can feel very fragile, very vulnerable, very close to the edge of feeling scattered and wandering and shepherdless. A windstorm blows up, and knocks down trees and powerlines and cable connections, and suddenly pumps and water and freezers and communications stop working, and roads are blocked and cars can’t get through — and suddenly a lot of the common infrastructure we so easily take for granted in daily life isn’t there for us, and things just don’t work the way they’re supposed to — and that can make us feel lost, and scattered, and like everyone’s rushing around without any order, and shepherdless. An occasion of vocational change or career move or educational advancement comes up, and anticipation-and-excitement and anxiety-and-trepidation tug both ways within you, and you start to wonder about what you’ve done so far and question what you might be yet to do, and you can almost feel the ripples of change beginning to spread out through all your relationships and all your activities and all your connections — and that can make you feel lost, and scattered, and out of focus, and shepherdless. A gunman carrying an assault rifle walks into a crowded theater during a popular movie and opens fire, and when we hear about it we feel horror and sadness and compassion for the victims and anger at the shooter, and perhaps we begin to feel how our own safety hangs by a thread and our own security is never quite assured and we never know when someone with a gun might be coming close to us — and that can make us feel lost, and scattered, and wandering in the valley of the shadow of death, and shepherdless. We come to church, even, seeking a place of stability and tradition in the midst of a changing world — and we find that God’s mission for us to proclaim the gospel in a changing world requires that we change, that we find new ways to live out the timeless truth that make sense and are engaging and are transforming for the times at hand — and even that can make us feel a little lost, and scattered, and unsettled, and shepherdless. It doesn’t take much to show us our lives are more fragile than we like to think.

And that is when Jesus sees us, and has compassion for us, and teaches us many things, so that we can come to know ever more deeply that, even when we feel most scattered, our true shepherd is God. That is when the Wisdom of Christ is at work in our souls, opening our eyes to see what God is doing beneath the apparent surface of the story, helping us to recognize the new possibilities for compassion and justice and peace and right-relationship and wholeness of life that God is creating even out of the ashes of tragedy and disaster and dis-ease, helping us to realize how God is calling and empowering us to be co-creators with God of those new trajectories for good. Even when we feel most vulnerable, God is as work: a community rebuilds after storm; a career, a vocation, an education enters a new stage, and even though it is challenging, relationships and connections readjust; people gather to grieve, and to sympathize, and to pray, and to work together to change the conditions that lead to violence so that peace may prevail instead; a church turns to mission and faith-practice and not just being an institution but living the Gospel in the timely ways of daily life. Even when we feel most vulnerable and lost and scattered, God is at work — and the Wisdom of God forms in us the mind of Christ, teaching us many things, so that we may know and trust and work with and follow the true shepherding of God.

That is the promise of the Gospel today. Let it be so for us. Amen.