Good Shepherd Sunday

April 25, 2021
Fourth Sunday of Easter
Acts 4:5-12
Psalm 23
1 John 3:16-24
John 10:11-18

Please pray with me,
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable and suitable in your sight, O God, our rock, our strength and our redeemer.  Amen. 

Welcome to the fourth Sunday of Easter…yes, it’s still Easter…which means,
Christ is Risen! He is risen indeed! 

The fourth Sunday of Easter is often referred to as Good Shepherd Sunday.  It’s the Sunday where the gospel of John refers to a passage where Jesus talks about being the good shepherd and the appointed Psalm is Psalm 23. 

What I like about this Sunday is that we (you AND me) are reminded that the Good Shepherd or should I say THE Good Shepherd is Jesus.  Right? 

Sometimes as a pastor, myself and others, are seen as shepherds of their flocks. 
That is in part true.  You all called me to serve in this place as your pastor to care for and love, to nurture, to foster growth, to deepen faith, to live out our lives together as members of the Body of Christ.  So yes, in a way, pastors are called to shepherd their flocks. 

But today is that staunch reminder that neither your pastor, nor your vicar, is THE Good Shepherd. 
If anything, I’m Faithfully Mediocre. 

Yup, Pastor Jen, the Faithfully Mediocre Shepherd. 

I know I tell people not to sell themselves short or to not trust in their own abilities…but here I am totally willing to sell myself short.  I am NOT the Good Shepherd.  I am not the child of God sent into this world to save it.  That’s Jesus, the messiah.  Not me. 
Right? 

Lest you confuse the two. 
Jesus, Son of God, Savior of the World, Resurrected One, Messiah, fully divine and fully human, The Good Shepherd. 

Me, child of God, wife, pastor, runner, angler, reader, preacher, fully human, The Faithfully Mediocre Shepherd. 

And, as I thought about this difference this week, I realized there were some things I needed to get off my chest.  Some of my best musings comes in the form of writing, so here’s my letter:

Dear Good Shepherd,

Holy moly.  This year has been rough, like really rough.  Downright hard. 
Look, I know I am called to serve in this place for such a time as this, but Jesus, really…all of this stuff this year? 

I am feeling the heartache, the worry, the sadness and the grief of the people here.  And let me tell you, this is a weight that is hard to bear, because time apart just seems to amplify the intensity of our feelings. 

I am aware that each of the people and families connected to this place is going through a challenging year:

Some have had to bury parents or loved ones without being able to be surrounded by the fellowship and relationships of this family of faith. 
Some have lost jobs and have struggled to make ends meet.
Some have seen long friendships crumble due to this painful and painfilled political climate. 
Some have seen relationships come to an end because working and living at home has brought underlying issues to the surface. 
Some have thrived with online learning and schooling while others have felt deeply disconnected not being part of in-person schooling.
Some have contracted COVID and fared well, thankfully, while many have known others who have not. 

Jesus, so many people have died in our nation and around the world from this virus, we need time and space to just grieve that. 

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again, these people, are grieving, not only all of the above and then some…but they are also grieving the death of their senior pastor. 
So yeah, Jesus, this year has been hard. 

And in the midst of finding space to grieve, wondering what the future will bring and wanting to be together…we may have hit our limit. 

Our collective limit, that is. 

Because here’s the thing…I’m trying.  Really trying.
To love your people. 
To keep your people safe. 
To create to connections and maintain old ones while we still find ourselves in a pandemic. 
And you know what, Jesus?  It’s hard. 

I know there are some people who are worshipping elsewhere because other churches are offering indoor worship.

I know there are some people who have up and left Trinity because they did not agree with the tone or tenor of the sermons over the past year.  

I know there are some people who feel disconnected because they are not computer savvy or choose not to be. 

And Jesus, this breaks my heart.  

It breaks. My.  Heart. 

Me?  I’m fed by a congregation in camp chairs and blankets in a parking lot. 
Me?  I’m thankful for online worship when the weather isn’t good knowing that in some way, we are extending the body of Christ and the fellowship of Christ into people’s homes where they are safe. 
Me?  Am I thankful to receive Holy Communion in the form of a wafer alone…well, thankful for the gift even though I miss bread and wine…but I know this is the safest. 

And like you, Jesus, I pray for and long for the time when we can all be back together or at least back in the building. 
But the hard part, is that we’re just not there yet. 

Jesus, this is a wonderfully large congregation, which is a wonderful problem to have. 

But it means thinking about how we figure out safe ways for smaller groups of us to gather inside…which takes time, which takes planning and it means paying attention to how the virus is not yet eradicated and that our actions will have a direct impact on the safety of people wanting to be in this space. 
Ugh. 

And so, Jesus, I’m trying. 
To love your people. 
To serve your people.
And to keep your people safe. 

And somedays…I feel like I’m getting it right. 

And somedays, no matter what happens, I feel like I fall short.  Even with online worship, live-streamed worship, mailed out bulletins, a toll-free number where people can call and listen to worship, weekly emails, monthly newsletters and yearly birthday letters that it’s not enough.  That some still slip through the cracks, intentionally or unintentionally. 

So, Jesus, there you have it. 
In case you were wondering how things were going here with your little flock gathering at Trinity.  That’s it. 
So, any words of wisdom for us all would be greatly appreciated. 
Thanks. 

Sincerely,

The Faithfully Mediocre Shepherd
PS.  Thank you for loving us. 

Here's the response, 

Dear Faithfully Mediocre,
I see you. 
I hear you.
I love you.

With that being said, let me offer a few reminders. 

I have laid down my life for not just you, but the people who gather and know Trinity as their congregation and family of faith. 
I know them and they know me. 
I call to them and they hear my voice. 
This may sound hard, but you don’t need to micromanage their relationship with me. 
What I mean by that, is yes, love them, yes listen to them, yes serve them, but if they fall astray, know that I am and will call them to myself.

Did you hear that?  I will call them to myself. I love them fiercely and have seen and felt each of their hardships, struggles, joys, deaths, celebrations and then some. 

I have not abandoned them.
Nor have I abandoned you. 

Though you and those you are called to serve may feel as if you are walking through the valley of the shadow of death, I am with you. 
Leading you when needed. 
Walking beside you for companionship. 
Pushing you when necessary and constantly grabbing you out of danger and redirecting you.  Fiercely loving all of you all of the time. 

I got you. 
I got them. 

I am holding you in the palm of my hand and WILL NOT drop you. 
Rest in the security of my arms, in the shelter of my green pastures, along the streams of fresh waters, and in the hope that out of death will come resurrection, hope and new life. 

This dear one, is not the end. 
Rest up.  Keep loving. Keep serving. 
I’ll keep calling them back, to me. 

Faithfully yours,
THE Good Shepherd

PS.  And let all God’s people say, amen.