[Author’s note: This meditation is adapted from an earlier piece published in Questions of Faith: Encountering Christ at the Point of Doubt and Confusion,” pp. 45-48, Mazarin Press, Raleigh, N.C., © 2018, Thomas A. Robinson. All rights reserved].
The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice [John 10:2-4].
In many respects, the story of Jesus, particularly as detailed by the apostle John, is a steady journey from Galilee toward Jerusalem, a movement from the relative safety of small-town Palestine to the dangers inherent within the “sophisticated” capital city, Jerusalem. It is a sojourn from the relative obscurity of life as a carpenter’s son to a very public death on the Cross.
Jesus does not travel alone, of course; he is accompanied by a band of apostles. They are drawn to Jesus by his charisma, his quiet, yet immense power, his wisdom, and his resolve. No doubt they sensed that they were all involved in an adventurous enterprise that was larger than life.
As we read John’s gospel, we see that Jesus is slowly constructing an identity mosaic. Knowing that the Hebrews expect a particular kind of Messiah, Jesus is determined that they come to understand that His true nature cannot be viewed with such short-sighted lenses. He has not come just to reclaim Israel; He has come to reclaim the world.
By the time we turn to the Gospel reading appointed for this Sunday, John 10:1-10 [the Fourth Sunday of Easter, RCL, Year A], Jesus has already performed some impressive “signs”—John’s word for Jesus’ miracles. For example, he has turned a significant volume of water into wine [John 2], healed the child of a royal official [John 4], healed a man who has been an invalid for 38 years [John 5], fed 5,000 people with meager resources [John 6], walked on water [John 6], and given sight to the man who had been blind since birth [John 9].
This last sign — the healing of the man blinded from birth — is particularly impressive. No such miracle had ever been performed at any point depicted in the Hebrew Bible, “our” Old Testament. All the aforementioned signs make particularly ironic the question that is put to Jesus by the religious leaders later in John’s Gospel: “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly” [John 10: 24b].
Jesus has already told them plainly.
Indeed, what does Jesus have to do or say to convince these leaders? In wonderful irony, John’s story shows us that the man who was blinded from birth now sees, while the ones who are in charge of theology are totally blind to the conditions and circumstances around them. None are so blind as those who refuse to see. Jesus adds that the works He has done in His Father’s name bear witness to His identity. He continues with a powerful indictment — ”You don’t believe, because you do not belong to my sheep” [John 10:26].
In the verses that follow this week’s Gospel lesson, we see Jesus expand his metaphor of shepherd and sheep to describe the special relationship that He has with His followers. In this week’s lesson, however, we hear an important truth: The sheep follow the shepherd because they know his voice [John 10:4]. They will not follow a stranger [John 10:5].
Vox Christi — the voice of Christ — the Church has always understood it to have great power. We saw that the voice of Christ, as He uttered the name, “Mary,” on Easter morning, was enough to convince Mary Magdalene that Christ had indeed been raised from the dead. Later that day, it was sufficient to burn the hearts of the two who walked toward Emmaus. On that first Easter evening, the Messiah’s voice stilled the fears of the apostles who had assembled in relative paralysis after the death of their Master.
One week later, the Vox Christi was all that it took to turn the “doubting” Thomas into a stalwart post-Easter advocate for the early church. Still later — but before His ascension — the voice of Christ was all that was necessary to grant Peter forgiveness for his three-fold denial. It was also sufficient to challenge Peter to feed Christ’s sheep.
Indeed, the voice of Christ is understood to be so wonderful and powerful that reference to it is made by Roman Catholics just before approaching the altar for Holy Communion. Using the words of the centurion, they pray:
Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed [Matthew 8:8].
The soothing, comforting voice of Christ still resounds in our world. From time to time over these many years since our time at Asbury UMC, here in Durham, I have shared stories about a young mother and father who, surrounded by the love of the entire Asbury community, lost a beloved young daughter to brain cancer some 30 years ago. Some of you who read will remember being intimately bound up within the life and death of that little saint, Jennifer Auman.
Jennifer spent a significant part of the last year of her five-year life in Duke University Medical Center. During one such hospitalization, it was my turn as Asbury’s Associate Pastor to make the Saturday morning visits to Duke. Yet, as I entered little Jennifer’s room in the children’s cancer wing, I saw Wally Ellis, the senior pastor at Asbury, was already there. He was standing beside her bed, holding the little girl’s hand. Thinking that he had absentmindedly forgotten that he’d given me the Saturday duties that morning, I said, “Wally, I thought you wanted me to check on our folks today.”
He turned to me and smiled, “That’s right, you check on the others; I just came to see my little buddy.” The level of affection between the two was obvious for everyone to see.
By this point in the medical process, the combination of the cancer and the efforts to rid the child’s body of it had taken their toll. Still, Jennifer never complained, no matter how many times she was stuck, no matter how sick the prophylactic cocktail dripping into her arm made her, she sweetly went on. That Saturday morning, we made some idle talk for a minute or two and then Jennifer turned to Wally and excitedly said, “Wally, guess who came to see me early, early this morning?”
Wally said, “Who?”
“Jesus!”
Wally smiled, patted her little hand, and said, “Jennifer, how do you know it was Jesus?”
Jennifer looked at Wally and, without hesitation, said, “Oh, silly — I can always tell by his voice.”
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