Community Church Sermons
Year C
April 21, 2013
The Fourth Sunday of
Easter
You’re In Good Hands
John
10:22-30
Rev. Rhonda
A. Blevins
Associate
Pastor
It was a moment
of sheer brilliance—one of countless brilliant moments in my growing-up years.
I must have been about nine years old—my big brother was playing J.V. football
for Heritage High School over in Maryville. My parents and I went to watch him
play one night. Can you think of anything more boring for a nine-year-old girl?
My parents trusted me enough, for some reason, to let me walk around the
stadium and entertain myself. So for lack of anything more entertaining to do,
I decided to sit at the railing over the concrete where the players run out. I
sat there for a little bit, my arms hanging on the metal railing, my legs
dangling over the concrete some 25 feet below. Well that wasn’t very
entertaining, so I decided to up the ante. For some reason which eludes me now,
I thought it would be fun to do some pull ups on that metal railing, so I
dropped my derrière off the stands so that I could practice my pull ups. The
only problem was, I couldn’t do a pull up. No matter
how hard I tried, I simply couldn’t pull myself back up. So there I was, dangling
25 feet above a pad of concrete, my hands growing weary, about to give way to
my certain death. I was terrified! Just hanging around.
Dangling to my doom.
Have you ever
felt like that—like you’re just dangling at the edge of destruction? Life
throws all kinds of things at us that can leave us feeling that way . . .most of the time it’s just the way things go
instead of stupidity causing the situation, like in my case. Like one
grandmother said, “God never gives us more than we can handle. I
just wish God didn’t have such faith in me.”1 All kinds of trials find their way into
our lives, leaving us hanging on for dear life, void of the strength to pull
ourselves up without help, almost ready to quit, to let go, to give up.
Into that space,
there in the valley of the shadow of death, we hear the voice of the good
shepherd telling the naysayers that his sheep will be the ones to inherit
eternal life, and that nothing—nothing can snatch them out of his hand. This
metaphor would have meant more in the agrarian culture of Jesus’ day than in
our own. Sheep were in constant danger from predators as well as from thieves.
The main job of the shepherd was to protect the sheep from harm. Jesus sees
himself as the Good Shepherd. His followers, you and me, we’re the sheep. To
suggest that nothing will be able to snatch us from the Good Hands of the Good
Shepherd was powerful imagery to his early followers and it is powerful imagery
for us as well.
In this passage, Jesus suggests two
requirements for being a part of his flock: 1) hearing his voice and 2) following
him. “The challenge for most [of us] is not
following Jesus. We've been taught pretty well about that. The challenge for us
is recognizing Jesus' voice.”2
In the children’s sermon a few
minutes ago, I instructed the children to listen to my voice and follow my
instruction in “Simon Says” style, only I stood behind
them so they couldn’t see me. That was pretty easy until others came up behind
them, giving them opposing instructions. All of those voices talking behind
them made it difficult to listen to my voice and follow my instructions, didn’t
it? So many voices compete for our attention—from all of our media sources to
our own self-centered self-talk—it’s hard to discern that still, small voice of
God, the voice of the Good Shepherd, leading us in the way we should go.
When we can
consistently hear and follow the voice of the Good Shepherd, we know we’re a
part of the flock.
And what variety
exists within that flock! Within the same flock you have the pure, spotless
lambs—and you have the black sheep, and everything in-between. How many of you
would be the “black sheep” in the flock? How many would be the “pure, spotless
lamb?” Outside of Marty and Bob Puckett, few of us are the pure, spotless
lambs. Most of us came with birthmarks—perhaps we were ornery from the get-go.
Nearly all of us have gotten some scars along the way. We like our pet
sins—what’s your favorite sin? (Wait, don’t answer that.) Most of us sheep
bring some amount of doubt or despair or disease or depression to the flock
dynamics. Some of us sheep graze on the edges of the field, not quite ready to sign
the flock’s membership rolls. It just doesn’t matter. The Good Shepherd loves
us despite our imperfections, our hesitations, and our protestations—and twice
in this passage, as if for emphasis, he says that nothing—no one can snatch us
out of his hands. Not even death itself can steal us from his strong grip, as Easter
Sunday reminded us a few weeks ago.
Last week I joined 57
other women for a wonderful weekend of faith, fun, and fellowship at Fall Creek
Falls State Park. One of my favorite moments from the weekend was a guided
meditation led by Sandi Fritchley. In the meditation, Sandi invited us to
consider the strength and
maturity of our hands. Look at your hands—go ahead—consider the strength and
maturity they hold. She invited us to remember the most unforgettable hands we
had known—whose hands would come to mind for you? The hands
of your father, your mother, your grandparents? What about the oldest
hands that have rested in your hands. Think of the hands of a precious newborn
child—remember the incredible perfection, the delicacy of the hands of a child.3
This
exercise that Sandi led reminded me that within every single hand that ours
have touched the indelible imprint of God exists. The hands of the Good
Shepherd, the hands that will not let us go no matter what, take on various
forms throughout our life. What have the hands of God looked like in your life?
When have your hands been the hands of God?
It
seems that every time there’s a tragedy, heroes are born. Since the bombings in
Boston on Monday, I have been reminded how ordinary people, people like you and
me, become the hands of God in a broken world. There are numerous stories about
stranger helping stranger—one man who carried another man to a Red Cross
tent—another who carried a wounded child five blocks before he found an
ambulance. These men and women who risked their own lives to tend another
didn’t wake up that morning thinking, “I want to be a hero today.” But they
became heroes when they became the tangible expression of God’s care, God’s
comfort, and God’s healing in the midst of darkness and evil. These heroes—some
people of faith and some not—the hands of these heroes were the hands of God in
our world. Thanks be to God for these everyday heroes.
Now,
back to hanging out at Heritage High School. So there I was, dangling over a
slab of concrete 25 feet below. Unable to pull myself up, hands growing weaker
by the second, so scared I couldn’t even scream for help. Then out of nowhere,
arms reached under me, lifting me to safety. I looked to see who helped me. It
wasn’t my mother. It wasn’t my father. It was a man I’d never seen—a mystery
man in a sea of people. That man saved my life, or at least some broken bones. You might say those hands were the hands of a strong but gentle
do-gooder. I’d have to agree. But I say those hands—the hands that lifted me
from fear—even possible death, those were also the hands of God. The same hands
hold me to this day. The same hands hold you. Through joy,
through pain, through doubt, through fear, through all that life throws at you.
The hands of God hold you—and they’re never, ever going to let you go.
He’s got the whole world in
his hands
He’s got the whole world in his hands
He’s got the whole world in his hands
He’s got the whole world in his hands
[1]Karyn Wiseman, “Commentary on John 10:22-30,”
Working Preacher, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1620
(accessed 19 Apr 2013).
2 David Eward, “John 10:22-30,” Holy Textures, http://www.holytextures.com/2010/03/john-10-22-30-year-c-easter-4-sermon.html
(accessed 19 Apr 2013).
3Chris
Gribble, “A Celtic Meditation Exercise—Hand Meditation,” http://www.chrisgribble.com/2006/11/24/a-celtic-meditation-exercise-hand-meditation/
(accessed 19 Apr 2013).