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 “Like a Shepherd”
July 21, 2024
Rev. Rebecca Migliore
If you asked many people, the world over, to describe Americans in one image, I’ll bet many of them would choose—cowboy. Now this is not because many of us are cowboys, or cowgirls, or cowpeople? We may never have put on chaps and spurs (unless we were dressing up for Halloween), or ridden on a horse, or swung a lariat, or went chasing after escaped calves. But it is an iconic image—the independent, rugged, free-ranging residents of the west.
I think the image of “shepherd” acted in the same way for those of ancient Israel. I would bet that most of those who lived in that part of the world were not shepherds. Some lived in cities, many made their living at sea. But shepherd had this mythic sense to it.
Moses met God (remember the burning bush?) when he was a shepherd. David, the one who beat Goliath the Giant, the one who would become the beloved king, as the youngest of the brothers, was sent out to shepherd the sheep. Even prophets like Amos, were called to service from being shepherds.
Shepherds were also rugged and independent—and like a less often talked about trait of cowboys—they had to tend to others—cowboys had cows or steer; shepherds had sheep. For as low maintenance as sheep are, they do sometimes get lost, and someone has to look out for them as they roam. Someone has to count heads, someone has to pick up the lame, someone has to go searching for the lost.
Shepherds were often used as images for leaders—and our prophets took no time in saying that the shepherds were not doing their jobs. And so God needed to step in. “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.” That’s a pretty big PR coup when you become one of the default occupations of God!
As I read the Scriptures for today, I kept getting this feeling that just as Jesus was like a shepherd to the lost and lone, the sick and broken—we too are called to be like him.
The lectionary committee created this passage by combining two descriptive paragraphs after stripping out the guts in between (the stories of the feeding of the masses and a story of Jesus walking on the water—which they put as next week’s lectionary, though from a different gospel, John).
Last week, during that revolting story about Herod, Mark tells us that Herod heard of Jesus, because “Jesus’ name had become known.” Today we get a sense of what has been happening. Imagine your favorite pop idol (I will not even begin to put a name to this image)—and now imagine that somehow you learn that this person is going to be in your area. Maybe at a restaurant, or in transit to a show, or on vacation. You can imagine that many people might want to show up in case they might be near him or her or them. Think of the screaming fans outside of venues. Think of the click, click, click, of cameras.
I think sometimes we forget that Jesus might have been like that. We get so focused on the stories of the healing of specific individuals that we might lose sight of the magnitude of what was happening. Mark tells us that no matter where Jesus goes—whether it is a deserted place, or by the seashore, or in a village or city or farm, people swarm to be near him, to come to him for healing, to bring their friends and neighbors to him. The Messianic Secret is a thing of the past!
And what does Jesus do when he is confronted with these hordes of people? Does he pull his hat down over his face and run? Does he lash out at all those people with all their needs wanting so much from him? Does he wave royally and move quickly to where he wants to go? No, he has compassion for them, “because they were like a sheep without a shepherd, and he began to teach them many things…”
The word in the Bible that we translate as “compassion” is splagchnizomai. This isn’t just a warm fuzzing feeling. This is a “visceral, gut-wrenching, emotional response, that is so strong that we are compelled to respond” (“The Splagchnizomai Difference” AdventistHealthCare.com). The word is used by Jesus to describe the Father in the Prodigal Son story, when he sees his son returning. He had splagchnizomai and ran to meet him.
I find it interesting that Mark would use this word, a word that is so action oriented. It isn’t just that you feel sorry for someone, but that you are almost driven to DO something for that person. In our passage, when we are told that Jesus had spalgchnizomai, he says that he began teaching them. But what we are told are not the words that he used, but the things that he did—he healed, he fed, he rescued.
We Presbyterians, we who have long been called the “frozen chosen,” known for our intellectual pursuits, need to hear this. We need to make sure that we look on those who might be around us with splagchnizomai—so that we are convicted to do more than talk. And we as a community have made a serious commitment to this. Our work with the Holy Trinity/West Orange Food Pantry; our desire to be present in Newark, at least once a month, for St. Andrew’s Food Distribution; our support and hosting of Baby’s Closet; our wish to be more earth conscious by using Java’s Compost; our intention to reach out to those who protect and serve to say “thank you” in the Deacon’s participation in “Operation Gratitude”—these are all ways in which we try to have Faith in Action. Try to do our part in being like a shepherd for those around us.
As I was writing this sermon the words to the hymn “They’ll know we are Christians by our love” came to me—especially “we’ll guard each one’s dignity and save each one’s pride.” For this splagchnizomai is not just an individual feeling—it has a, shall we say, political bent as well.
For Jesus has compassion not just on these people’s individual woes, but in the social situation in which they find themselves. Whether that be the injustice of religious authorities sweeping them to the side, or the callous nature of “rulers” who put their own pleasure and importance above anything else, or the construct of a world with haves and have nots, with oppressors and oppressed, even with the idea that those who are not of ideal body or mind are somehow defective or sinful in God’s eyes.
As Prof. Matt Skinner of Luther Seminary puts it, “Jesus devotes himself to ensuring human flourishing in body, mind, spirit, and community. So, too, should any church that conducts ministry in his name and in the power of the same Holy Spirit that indwells him (workingpreacher.com, commentary for July 21, 2024)
What better way to embody this melding of teaching and doing, of following in Jesus’ footsteps of compassion that includes justice and mercy and wholeness of being, in our worship service than to both preach the Word and celebrate the Sacrament. I am very proud of having been ordained to the Ministry of Word and Sacrament, and I was very happy when General Assembly put into the Directory for Worship that communion should be celebrated as often as possible. For too long we allowed our fear of being “like the Roman Catholics” to keep us from God’s way of feeding us physically as well as mentally. Five Hundred plus years is enough—let’s not be afraid to enjoy the banquet that God has put out for us.
And just as we are fed, we are asked to go out into a world that is hurting and find ways to bring God’s touch to others. That’s why I titled this sermon “like a shepherd.” Because Jesus calls us to follow him, but not just to follow, but to become leaders in our own right. Although we might not have focused on it, or even read it, in Mark, in these early chapters, Jesus sends out some of his disciples (the twelves here in Mark, in Luke is it 70 or 72). And they go and preach and cast out demons and anoint the sick with oil and heal.
I know this sounds scary. I know we come up with all kinds of excuses about why leadership in the church isn’t for us. We aren’t gifted speakers. We have so many other responsibilities. We have so little we can still do. I have bad news for you. Moses tried the “I can’t speak well” excuse. Jeremiah tried the “I am only a child” excuse. They don’t work with God. If faith as small as a mustard seed can supposedly move mountains, then anything we can do, however small, however imperfect, however seemingly unimportant it is, God will take it, and use it, and multiply it.
What kinds of leadership do we need here at UPC? We need everything from those who are willing to help steer the church as elders, to those who might find ways to touch people as deacons, to those who would like to make music with us, to those who have a special caring for food ministry, to those who can share their organizational and cleaning skills with us, to those who might want to help decorate the place every once in a while, to those who keep our kitchen supplied, to those who want to publicize what we are doing here on social media, or talking to friends, to those background people—who run powerpoints and turn on lights and pay the bills and help lead worship, and those who show up, in person, online, to worship, to work, to give financially, to lunch together, to cry together, to be sheep and shepherds.
I challenge you to think about how God might be calling you to be like a shepherd this year. I challenge you to make sure you are living in this world, engaging with others and having splagchnizomai for those who need us most. For we are already blessed, and we are called to be a blessing to others. May it be so, Alleluia, Amen.
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