I am the Gate

This Fourth Sunday of Easter is informally known as Good Shepherd Sunday. You won’t find that title in any liturgical calendar, nor is it listed in the Prayer Book. Nonetheless, every year on this Fourth Sunday of Easter we hear the collect that begins, "O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your people." We say the 23^rd Psalm. And the Gospel reading appointed for this Sunday is always from John’s Gospel and has something to do with sheep. It is just a few verses after this morning’s gospel that Jesus actually says the familiar and comforting words, "I am the Good Shepherd. I know my own and my own know me. I am the Good Shepherd."

But if you were attending closely to today’s gospel, you’ll remember that Jesus did not say those words in this morning’s passage. Without looking back at your Scripture inserts, do you recall what Jesus said? "I am the gate. Very truly I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep." The gate. The shepherd, yes, but it is the shepherd’s specific role as gate that Jesus highlights.

The hills of Judea are steep and rocky. What little vegetation may have existed there has been worn down by centuries of rambling sheep. The natural materials available to form enclosures for the sheep are extremely limited. Historians think that in Jesus’ day, the shepherds would have built small, simple pens out of piled up rocks, boulders. They had no fence posts, hedgerows, or barbed wire. And nothing with which to fashion a gate that would open and close. So these rocky enclosures would have simply had a gap, an opening through which the sheep were led in and out. They were driven in at night. Then the shepherd would lie down to sleep with his body across the opening. The shepherd’s body literally was the gate, keeping the sheep secure through the dangers of the night.

It’s a wonderful image. The very flesh, the presence of the shepherd providing security, comfort, safety. The shepherd’s body keeping the sheep from going astray, from wandering off, from becoming lost or isolated. The shepherd himself providing a shield from the wolves or the thieves or any of the threats and temptations of the night.

The Body of Christ. Our comfort and shield. The Good Shepherd who not only watches over us and knows us each by name, but who almost physically enfolds us, keeping out danger and darkness, providing security, unity and peace. The body of the Good Shepherd acting as gate to the sheepfold. We are protected and comforted by this gate.

But there are other images associated with a gate. I cannot know exactly what Jesus meant in this passage from John’s gospel when he spoke of being the gate. (Beware of people who do seem always to know exactly what Jesus meant.) The passage is complex and full of shifting images. But another image comes to mind for me as I think of a gate. Often a gate is a gateway. An open gate can be a point of beginning, an entry into a new place, a starting point for significant journey. Maybe I’m influenced by having spent a big chunk of my teenage years in the St. Louis area. We lived in Illinois, very near Wood River. Some of you may remember that Lewis and Clark’s Corp of Discovery began their great journey of exploration from the eastern banks, the Illinois side, of the Mississippi at Wood River. And of course, the most striking physical feature in St. Louis, rising high above the city just on the banks of the Mississippi is the Arch, the gateway to the west. A gate. A gateway, through which Lewis and Clark and so many thousands of others later would pass seeking adventure, new life, new discoveries. This is not a gate that provides enclosure or containment or safety. It is an invitation to opportunity and exploration. Always open, revealing the land and sky and hills of the West.

Symbolically, to stand on the eastern side of the Gateway Arch is to stay put, to continue a familiar life. To stay on the eastern side of the Arch is to go about life as we always have, expecting from the future what we have known in the past. But to pass through the Gateway Arch, to go west, is to choose a new journey. It is to decide that what lies beyond is worth seeking. New life is better than old life. Discovery is more valuable than predictability. Growth and exploration are essential. These are what invite us west through the gate. "I am the gate," Jesus says.

The Body of Christ is the gate. The Body of Christ that is offered to us at this altar. The Body of Christ that we encounter in one another. The Body of Christ that we are given at this table. The Body of Christ is the gate. Providing comfort; inviting discovery.

These twin images for a gate tell us something of what it means to seek Christ and to be Christians. In the Body of Christ we do find comfort, security, and safety. We are held together as a community in God’s sheepfold, protected from danger and darkness. But to become one of God’s sheep, to enter into God’s realm, is also to begin a challenging new journey of exploration, growth and discovery.

Comfort and challenge. Security and exploration. A home and a journey. Tender acceptance and the expectation of change.

These are what we are given as we pass through the gate, the gateway of Christ’s Body. Two images.

Lewis and Clark heading west with no maps on a remarkable journey of exploration and discovery. A group of tired sheep drawn close together given comfort and protection by the Good Shepherd.

Maybe one of the church’s most important, most radical teachings is that it is possible, in fact it is essential, to live both of these lives at the same time in the same place. Both. In the same time and place. Here. Now. To know Christ, to encounter the Body of Christ, is to receive comfort, healing, peace and protection beyond human understanding. To know Christ, to encounter the Body of Christ is to be called, challenged to a journey of personal and spiritual growth and discovery that will profoundly change us and lead us to new places, new activities, new visions. Both of these elements constitute life with Christ. In the same place, the same time.

It is a common human presumption, though, to think that we may pick or draw upon just one or the other of these facets of Christian living. Eucharistic Prayer C is not on the whole my favorite, but there is one passage that is very powerful. As the Great Thanksgiving draws to a close we say, "Deliver us, O Lord, from the presumption of coming to this table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal." Deliver us from the presumption that our solace, our acceptance, our nurture are all that the Body of Christ gives to us. No matter how deeply we may need that solace or pardon, no matter how dark the night may seem around us, it is presumptuous, prideful to deny the strength and renewal also given at this table, to ignore the new journey, new life that are also given.

I suspect there are also those individuals who presume to come to this table so captivated by their individual spiritual journeys that they ignore the pardon, the comfort, the communion that is given here. Those who presume to pick and choose in the Christian life and only participate in that which is personally meaningful or convenient to their individual spiritual tastes. Who seek only enlightenment and not forgiveness; who ask only for strength and do not seek or acknowledge their weakness and need for solace and communion.

Deliver us from the presumption, O Lord, of coming to this table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal. Deliver us, from the presumption, O Lord, of coming to this table for strength only, and not for solace; for renewal only, and not for pardon.

I think the antidote for both of these individual presumptions is involvement in the community, sharing and participating in the life of the Body of Christ. Participating in the on-going life of the Body of Christ beyond this holy table. The antidote for our prideful presumption is participation in the life of the community. Especially if you don’t normally do so, come to coffee hour. Talk to someone you do not know. Sign up for the Building and Grounds Committee, or the Fellowship Committee or the Christian Formation Committee. Become a greeter or a lector. Teach Sunday School. Participate in Sunday morning Bible study so that the Sunday Scriptures may come to mean more than just words on the page. Join the P.A.D.S. (Public Action to Deliver Shelter) crew. Join S.O.F.F.; and if you don’t know what SOFF is, ask around (Society of Friday Folders). Work at the Cookie Walk. Do these things, not because the church needs you to, but because you need to. This is not just a recruiting ploy. I am convinced that we cannot be the people Christ calls us to be without moving beyond our individual presumptions to communal participation. It is in that participation that we will find both solace and strength, both pardon and renewal, both safety and growth, both comfort and challenge. It is only together that we will find and be the Body of Christ.

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