“My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. No one will snatch them out of my hand.”

We live with the constant threat of snatchings. In a split second, your purse (or my murse) can disappear from the grocery cart faster than you can say Marie Callender turkey pot pie.  With one misguided swipe of our ATM card at some location being stealthily monitored unbeknownst to us, our personal identification number can be siezed and our hard-earned cash snatched right out of our account.   Even many of our brothers and sisters gathered in other houses of worship at this very hour believe that one day, in the time it takes for an eye to twinkle, they themselves will be snatched up from the earth by the great Shoplifter of Souls in what they refer to as “the rapture” — the great snatching-up from the earth of the ones who are really the beloved of God, with everyone else who didn’t make the A-list being “left behind”. One moment we are seemingly in good health, and the next moment our very life and breath can be snatched away.

And now, as of this weekend if you happen to be passing through the state of Arizona, and if you happen to show some sign of being an undocumented resident of these United States, law enforcement now has the legal right to snatch you out of your car or off the street, snatch you away from your home and family and children, if you are unable to produce papers proving your legitimacy and worthiness of being present on the ground — in Arizona.  I hear they’ve already renamed the city of Carefree, Arizona, “Be Careful”, Arizona. To be sure, Governor Jan Brewer is convinced that undocumented Swedish, Danish, Norwegian, Finnish, British, and most especially those wretched German illegals are just as much in danger of deportation as those with more pigmentation-than-thou, but stay tuned because other than by brown skin it isn’t altogether clear as yet how they will identify the undocumented Europeans.  But rest assured, all will be snatched out of the tenacious clutches of Lady Liberty whose mouth for the moment has been taped shut so she no longer needs to sing “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse…”

Yes, we know all-too-well of the threat of snatchings in our world and right here in our very country for whom we pray “God mend our every flaw.”

So, what joy and frankly what a blessed relief this morning to have our worries and our cares and our burdens and our disappointments confronted and our troubled lives intersected by the promise of the very words of Jesus which assure us amid all that can be so quickly and cruelly snatched away in life that “no one can snatch them out of my hand.”     

“Them” being us — the wandering sheep of Jesus’ fold, the lost lambs of Christ’s flock, the beloved sinners of Lamb’s redeeming.  What joy to come to the 4th Sunday of Easter and once again be reminded that we have a Good Shepherd, one that leaves 99 good and obedient sheep behind to go and bring back that one lost and head-strong little lamb that insists on going its own way.  But lest we think we for the most part belong to that good flock of 99, the words of the prophet Isaiah remind us that “we all, like sheep, have gone astray,” and that “we have all turned to our own way.”

After all, this is Good Shepherd Sunday — not good sheep Sunday. In the gospel this morning, Jesus is confronted by some suspenseful sheep. The gospel of John refers to them simply as “the Jews” — not a very helpful statement because Jesus was a Jew and his followers were Jews. “How long will you keep us in suspense?” they asked Jesus. “If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.”

“I have told you,” Jesus answered, “and you do not believe.” He goes on to say that everything he had been doing in his Father’s name — all his works of healing, blessing, feeding, delivering — everything pointed to his identity.

Jesus has harsh words this morning for all who hear his words and witness his works but in stubbornness refuse to follow him. “We all like sheep have gone astray. We have all turned to our own way.” They are words of a shepherd who refuses to let any sheep stray away despite their most ardent efforts to do so. 

We are a congregation blessed with a growing number of young families, one of whom is Maggie and Nathan who will be bringing their little one, Scout Violet, to the waters of baptism in a few moments. As a pastor, I delight in watching parents shepherding their wandering toddlers in worship but also out on the green pastures of our front lawn during coffee hour.  Often times, the more the parent calls out after the child by name, the further and the faster the child runs in the opposite direction of the voice calling after them. It is the human condition being played out before our very eyes. Parents, the pretty-good-shepherds, protecting, providing, preventing, being pro-active, and mirroring the Good Shepherd whose goodness and mercy follows us all the days of our lives, even when we don’t follow in return.

Today, the great Shepherd of the Sheep who follow and of the sheep who wander, comes and gathers us again. From the second reading we are shown a vision with St. John of that time and place where there will be no more hunger, no more thirst, and no more tears, “for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life.”

As Maggie and Nathan brought Penelope and now return to bring their newest little lamb Scout Violet to the baptismal waters, it is a picture of the Good Shepherd among us — persistent, unrelenting, faithful, guiding along right pathways, wiping away tears, leading beside still waters, calling out our name, calling us back, keeping us close, holding us forever. A Good Shepherd whose promise makes it Easter all over again for us this day: “My sheep hear my voice. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. ”

Alleluia! Christ is risen! Christ is risen, indeed. Alleluia!  
“It’s all grace.” - Ben Larson