Following Our Good Shepherd
May 11, 2025 – Fourth Sunday of Easter, Year C
Acts 9:36-43 | Psalm 23 | Revelation 7:9-17 | John 10:22-30
We follow lots of things: collegiate and professional teams and athletes, renowned chefs, artists, influencers, musicians, birds, actors, and scholars–and so much more. Following these brings something to our lives that keeps us tethered to them, usually a sense of community and belonging at best and a topic of conversation at least. And we give them varying degrees of devotion, from likes and follows on the socials to season tickets and tattoos. We are invested in them, and if anyone talks to us long enough, they know about our devotion and dedication.
How long does someone have to talk to us before they know we are Christian, Episcopalian even, that we follow Jesus? Maybe we wear a cross or a St. Paul’s name tag, and it goes without saying. I have the benefit of wearing a collar, so that even if someone doesn’t recognize me as a priest, they have a sense of a religious occupation and presumed devotion. In plain clothes, in casual interactions in daily life, how do others know we follow Jesus?
Know that I don’t ask this to make us feel guilty or ashamed, but on this Sunday when we lean heavily into Jesus as the Good Shepherd and his followers as the faithful flock, the time is now to check in and see if we are, indeed, listening to his voice and following where he leads.
Hearing voices is a tricky thing. We have to discern within our own interior monologue whether the voice is of ego, social or cultural influence, or divine inspiration. Hearing voices can require professional guidance if it’s indicative of a mental health condition, or maybe we need the professional to help us discern–that’s entirely okay. Still, there’s a reason we use the language of being called, answering a calling, or heeding a call. An awareness of a sense of being called by the voice of the Almighty touches our heart and soul if we are open and aware enough to hear and perceive it, let alone answer it.
It might be easier if there were more talking burning bushes, angelic messengers, loud external voices calling out in the night or from the clouds like thunder. We have so much noise these days, so much we give our attention to, so much we follow, that the voice of the Good Shepherd is not a voice we’re exactly trained to recognize.
It makes sense for us to receive this message of the Good Shepherd in the Easter season. We have recently heard about the disciples not recognizing the Risen Lord until after he spoke directly to them–like to Mary in the garden, the disciples at Emmaus, or Thomas in the locked room. Even last week, we were reminded of how the disciples didn’t know it was Jesus who was getting breakfast ready on the beach. If we’re not expecting him, the presence of Jesus Christ–our Good Shepherd–catches us off guard, surprising us.
When we are surprised by the presence of Christ, it can be a great joy, but how will we know it? Will it be because everyone else is bowing before and worshipping the one claiming to be Him? Will it be one who is surrounded with praise, receiving “blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might”?
The Good Shepherd aligned with God might receive all the glory and accolades, but as is often the case, especially when it comes to Jesus Christ, the proof is in the servant leader. We can look to our beloved Psalm 23 for signs of one to trust. In the presence of the Good Shepherd, whose voice we are to heed and follow, we sense a contentment in our soul that knows what enough really is. We have rest and calm, provision for body and soul. We know the way of righteousness that glorifies God, and while following our shepherd does not exempt us from trial and tribulation, we are not afraid. We are not alone, nor are without an advocate. We are invited to the banquet in the midst of adversity, and we are richly blessed even in ways we neither deserve nor understand. In the keeping of this shepherd is our home, our refuge, our sanctuary.
It sounds so simple, so why is it so hard? Why does it feel like we are flailing about in a handbasket headed someplace we don’t want to go? Why do we feel like we’re stuck like cogs in a machine with no one who cares at the controls?
A couple of weeks ago while driving along, I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts, On Being. Krista Tippett was interviewing a Mohawk midwife, environmental justice and women’s health advocate named Katsi (pronounced “Gudji”) Cook, editor of Worlds within Us: Wisdom and Resilience of Indigenous Women Elders, which is a collection of the stories of eight Native American women elders from across North America (and is now on my to-read list!). Katsi said so many true things, breaking through the noise of all that clings to our attention. She talked about “valiant activism,” the “medicine of time,” and “kinship.”[1] She spoke about “eldering” as the “transmission of intergenerational wealth,” like a grandmother teaching her grandchildren about the importance of planting the fish head beneath the corn seed as they worked in the field.[2] Krista’s interview with her took place at a public conversation geared toward young people seeking meaning in community and wholeness. I can only imagine how keenly they listened as the elder woman in sparkly shoes told them that the first step in wisdom is connecting to one’s own spirit.
Connection to one’s spirit is knowing from where we come, from whom we come. So many of us are disconnected from our ancestors for myriad reasons. The wisdom of the elders says that it’s not so much what has happened to us as who we are that contains the wealth, especially the wealth we want to pass through the generations. Like Bishop Steven Charleston, I acknowledge the blight of colonization on Native Americans and the horror inflicted upon people even in the name of Christ and the Almighty. But the voice of the Good Shepherd speaks the truth in One Spirit. Jesus the Good Shepherd and the Father the Great Creator are united. And so all who follow the way, the truth, and the life, are led along green pastures and still waters.
If we are still enough to listen, vulnerable enough to open, wise enough to hear and know, and brave enough to follow, we find ourselves, our spirits, aligned with the very will of God, full of goodness and mercy, following with humility and adoration, devotion and communion–wealth for the generations.
In our reading from the Acts of the Apostles, we could glorify Peter in the resurrection of Tabitha. But Peter, who is following Jesus Christ with all his heart, mind, soul, and strength–never to deny Jesus again–comes when he is called and prays to God. We don’t know what he prayed, but I know how I pray when I don’t know what to do or say (I bet you know the feeling, too). We don’t know what the voice says that Peter hears in prayer, but we know he turns to the woman’s dead body and says simply, “Tabitha, get up.” He offers his hand. He helps her up. He shows others that she is alive. And the people of Joppa came to believe in the Lord.
Peter stayed with them a while, but it wasn’t Peter they believed in. They believed in the One he followed, in whose name he prayed and acted. Peter’s devotion and faithfulness, his connection of his spirit to God through Christ meant that all he did gave credit . . . gave glory . . . to God. Serving to guide others to the knowledge and love of God is its own reward; Peter didn’t need the likes or follows. The people who came to believe also met such contentment, experiencing the familiarity of the nearness of God. That experience of union with God is what we miss when we let our attachment to other things crowd our attention, lead us astray, or otherwise bind us to that which is not loving, life-giving, or liberating. Without connection to our spirit that is bound to God, we are left wanting, always seeking something more, even if what we seek is already at hand.
Whether he liked to admit it or not, Peter was himself a shepherd to many who came to believe when they undoubtedly needed encouragement, reminders, support, or any of the things we need when we get uncertain in the face of adversity or trial. If we’re not the one needing help, sometimes we, too, are called to help guide others along the way, provide the care and tending that is needed, pass along the teaching, wisdom, and skills, and other duties as assigned. Always, though, we are also part of the flock. However imperfect, we faithfully listen for the call of our name by the one who knows us, who leads us, and who delights in our desire to follow our Lord and our God with all of who we are. And others will know that we are Christian by our Love. Thanks be to God.
[1] https://onbeing.org/programs/katsi-cook-women-are-the-first-environment/
[2] Ibid.
The Rev. Sara Milford