Good Shepherd Sunday

The Good Shepherd and His Sheep

10 “Very truly I tell you Pharisees, anyone who does not enter the sheep pen by the gate, but climbs in by some other way, is a thief and a robber. 2 The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. 3 The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. 4 When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice. 5 But they will never follow a stranger; in fact, they will run away from him because they do not recognize a stranger’s voice.” 6 Jesus used this figure of speech, but the Pharisees did not understand what he was telling them.

7 Therefore Jesus said again, “Very truly I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. 8 All who have come before me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep have not listened to them. 9 I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved.[a] They will come in and go out, and find pasture. 10 The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.

Transcript

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Hey there, it's Pastor John, and welcome to the Lutheran Church of Our Savior podcast in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. We are so glad you're here. Whether you're driving, cooking, walking the dog, or just need a little soul boost, you're in the right place. If you want to learn more, connect with us, or say hello, shoot us an email at office at lcosbr.org. Now, take a breath, lean in, and let's dive into a word of grace together. Grace, peace, and mercy to you from God our Father and from our Lord Jesus the Christ. There's something almost cinematic about this passage from the Gospel of John. But before we get there, I've got to confess something. I used to have a boss who, whenever the day started unraveling, would throw up their hands and say, Jesus, be the fence. Not Jesus take the wheel, not Lord have mercy, just Jesus be the fence. And the more chaotic things got, the more serious they sounded about it. Like at any moment the whole situation might jump the boundary and scatter into the wild. And honestly, it stuck with me, because it's a little funny, a little strange, but also not that far off from what Jesus is saying here. Because in this passage, Jesus is talking about sheep and shepherds, and gates and fences. And at first it sounds like a rural metaphor that doesn't quite land for us. But stay with it. Night has fallen. The sheep are gathered. The world beyond the fold feels uncertain, maybe even dangerous, and Jesus steps into the scene, not with a lecture, but with a picture, a gate, a shepherd, a voice. And somehow everything hinges on that voice. We don't live among sheep. At least I don't. And most of us probably wouldn't know a sheepfold from a storage unit. But we do know voices. We know the voice that comforts, the voice that criticizes, the voice that sells us something we didn't even know we needed. And the voice in our own head that whispers at 2 a.m. And Jesus says, My sheep hear my voice. I call them by name and they follow. Not because they are forced, not because they are afraid, but because they recognize it. Jesus does not say, My sheep follow me because I shout the loudest, or because I overpower every other voice. He says they follow because they know him. Which means this story is not about control. But this story is about relationship. Sheep do not follow strangers. They scatter, they resist, they run. So if they are following Jesus, it is because something in them says that voice, that one, that is the one I trust. Then Jesus sharpens the image and says I am the gate. Not just the shepherd out front, but the very threshold itself, which means this is not just about guidance, but about access. Access to safety, access to belonging, access to life that actually feels like life. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly, he says. Not barely, not scraping by, not survival mode dressed up as faith, but abundantly. And yet we know there are so many voices that promise abundance. Scroll long enough and you will hear them. Buy this and you will be fulfilled, achieve this and you will matter. Look like this and you will be loved. They do not come dressed as thieves, they come dressed as solutions. And yet Jesus names them plainly. They come to steal, kill, and destroy. They steal your peace, they kill your joy, they destroy your sense of self, and the hardest part is they do not feel like thieves at first. They feel like shortcuts. So how do you tell the difference? How do you know which voice is the shepherd and which one is just climbing over the fence in the dark? Jesus gives one clue. My sheep know my voice. Not memorize it, not study it like a textbook, but know it. Like you know a loved one calling your name in a crowded room, like you know the difference between a real apology and a hollow one, like you know deep in your bones when something is true. And here is where even our own bodies start to whisper something true. Because neuroscience tells us that we are wired to recognize the voices of those who love us, not just to hear them, but to trust them, to orient ourselves toward them. When you hear a familiar voice, it is not just sound, it is memory and emotion lighting up together, a well worn path in the brain that says, That is my person. There is no long pause, no careful analysis, just recognition shaped by relationship, and maybe that helps us hear Jesus more clearly, because the sheep do not follow the shepherd because they have studied his commands. Well, they don't have all the answers, do they? They follow because his voice has become familiar, trustworthy, woven into their sense of safety. And this is where it gets close to home, because a lot of us have been taught to look inward and trust our conscience as the voice of God, and there is something true there, but it needs a little care. The voice of God is not limited to our consciences, because our inner voices can get tangled, shaped by fear, shame, expectations, even wounds we carry. But your conscience can become a place where God's voice echoes. Not every voice inside us is holy, admittedly. But sometimes something rises within us that feels clearer, steadier, and more rooted in love than fear. And that is when the shepherd's voice is brushing up against our souls. And here is how we can begin to recognize it. The voice of the shepherd will always sound like the gospel. It will call you, not crush you. It will tell you the truth, but not condemn you. It will lead you toward life, not shrink you into fear. So when you hear something inside of you, the question is not just is this my conscience? But does this sound like Jesus? Does it sound like the one who calls me by name, the one who restores instead of shames me, the one who leads me toward life abundant? If it does, lean in. If it does not, let it pass like noise outside the sheepfold. And here is the quiet miracle in all of this. Jesus does not say figure it out on your own. He says, I call you by name. Not a number, not a role, not member or volunteer or problem to fix, but by name. And there is something stubbornly tender about that because it means before you ever recognize his voice, he already knows yours. And notice this detail that slips by so easily. He goes ahead of them, not behind pushing, not above, demanding, but ahead. Which means wherever you are being led, wherever we are being led, Jesus has already stepped into it first, into our uncertainty, into our grief, into our calling, into our next season. And that next season may not yet have a roadmap. He does not point from a distance. He walks it. So what does this mean for us here and now? It means faith is less like solving a puzzle and more like learning a voice. It means discipleship is not about having perfect clarity but about staying close enough to recognize who is speaking. It means when the world gets loud, and it will, you do not need to chase every voice. You just need to remember one. And maybe this is where the good news lands today. You do not have to force your way into life. You do not have to climb over fences that were never meant for you. You do not have to listen to every voice that demands your attention. There is a gate, there is a shepherd, there is a voice that knows your name. And that voice is not trying to take something from you, it is trying to lead you into something, into pasture, into rest, into a life that is not thin or fragile but abundant. So listen, not for the loudest voice, not for the most convincing voice, but for the one that sounds like grace, the one that does not crush you when you fall, the one that does not reduce you to your worst moments, the one that keeps calling even when you have wandered, because that voice that is the shepherd, and he is already calling your name.