About ten years ago, my husband and I were traveling in England, and while spending some time exploring a major city—which shall remain nameless—we heard the strains of music coming from a historic church nearby. It being early evening, we assumed that the music we were hearing was the sound of Evensong being offered. And sure enough, a sign outside the church confirmed this. Although we were not really “dressed for church,” we decided that Evensong sounded perfect after a long day of sightseeing. We were both in shirts, jeans, and sneakers, so we were admittedly a little embarrassed to be traipsing into a formal church service, but we figured we could excuse ourselves as tourists, which indeed we were. The sound of beautiful choral music and the familiar words of the Book of Common Prayer seemed like an unexpected but welcome gift at the end of the day.
Upon reaching the door of the church and attempting to open it, a sidesman, tending the door, appeared from the inside, and we were greeted with some rather harsh words. Before we had a chance to utter a word, the man gruffly announced that the church was not open for tours. To this, we replied that we were actually interested in Evensong, not a tour of the church. I don’t remember the exact details, but I seem to recall that the usher further sought to discourage us from entering the church by reiterating that tours were not happening at that time. We again reassured the usher that we were there to attend Evensong and nothing else. Rather reluctantly, he replied, “Well, if you come in, you have to stay for the entire service. You won’t be able to leave.”
Now, if I had previously been on the fence about attending Evensong dressed like a casual tourist, at this point, my mind was firmly made up, and the unfriendly sidesman had helped me make this decision. I was all in. I was going to go into that church for Evensong and would stick it out, no matter what, even if everyone stared at me! Upon entering, we quickly discovered that we were definitely underdressed. Everyone in attendance was dressed to the nines, and the nave was packed. A special Evensong was being celebrated in memory of a famous person, who shall again remain nameless, lest you try to identify this particular church. But we stayed to the bitter end of the service. It was a beautiful liturgy, and the music was glorious. I love Evensong, and I had always wanted to visit this particular church. But what has stayed with me is the memory of being incredibly self-conscious of my appearance all throughout Evensong. The sideman’s unwelcoming posture at the door had worked a number on me. For the whole service, I felt like I didn’t belong there.
I’m willing to grant that the sidesman was simply having a bad day or was genuinely taking seriously his role to prevent mobs of tourists from disturbing worship. But in hindsight, as I reflected on this experience, I was increasingly bothered. I was bothered because the gateway into a sacred place of worship and into a particular encounter with God was being patrolled so ruthlessly. Was it my casual appearance that had prompted the sidesman to give off exclusive vibes? Was I greeted with rude words because I was not a recognizably important person or because I was at that moment very obviously a tourist? If there’s one thing that gets my blood boiling, it’s when the church succumbs to a club spirit—a concern with who’s in and who’s out.
Maybe you have experienced this before, whether in a church or elsewhere, and if so, I’m sorry. Maybe you have had experiences in places where you were not greeted with smiles and warm words of welcome but rather with coldness or indifference. Maybe you were made to feel that you didn’t belong there. The door to a place can say a lot about what’s on the inside. Or the door to a place can be woefully misleading. Depending on who the gatekeeper is, it might keep you out of a place that is actually on the inside a place of invitation.
In chapter ten of the Gospel according to John, Jesus says, “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.” On this Sunday, which is often referred to as Good Shepherd Sunday, we hear the first passage of the Good Shepherd discourse. In this particular liturgical year, Year A, we don’t actually hear Jesus say, “I am the Good Shepherd.” What we hear today, of course, implies that. But we also get a full panoply of images for who Jesus is. These aren’t simplistic parallels between Jesus and the metaphors that are employed. Jesus can’t be reduced to one single metaphor. The full effect is more like the colors of a kaleidoscope where the entire picture of combined colors is more important than each individual color. There is no real consistency in these images either. Jesus is a good shepherd. Jesus is a foil to the thief or bandit. Jesus is the gate. Jesus might even implicitly be the gatekeeper. They all give us ways into knowing who Jesus is.
But today, we are offered the gift of focusing on Jesus as the gate or the door for the sheep. I imagine, though, that there are some who might be tempted to respond to these words as they might to Jesus’ words when he said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” To some, these might seem like exclusive words, intended to channel only a select group of special, elect people through a narrow gate or opening. And the rest, well, we all know where they are going, and it’s not pretty.
Far from being the gate of heaven, the gatekeeper of the particular church I visited some years ago was treating the door as a way of keeping certain people out. Only people who looked a certain way were genuinely welcomed. A place where all deserved a chance—indeed had a right—to encounter God was instead warped into a country club. “If you’re coming in for Evensong, you have to stay until the end of the service.” The church isn’t open for tours.
Now, do you remember what Jesus says about the gate in John’s Gospel? What he says is that he is the gate. He’s not really patrolling the gate so much as he is the gate itself. And it is not a gate that locks from the outside only or a gate that turns the sheepfold into a prison that refuses to let them out. It is not a gate inherently intended to let certain sheep in and to keep others outside the fold and vulnerable to danger. The sheep—and I imagine they are a motley crew—can come in and go out as they are led by the shepherd who cares for each and every one of them. This gate is a gate of freedom, and it is open to the outside world. But even more so, it’s a gate of love. Because Jesus also says something else about the purpose of the gate. It’s an entrance into salvation, and this salvation is synonymous with abundant life. The gate is intended for the well-being of the sheep.
It should be clear, though, that speech about being saved is frequently associated with a narrow door that keeps certain people out and lets only a handful in. But here, and in all of John’s Gospel if you read it carefully, Jesus states that salvation means having abundant life. God sent his Son into the world so that those who believe in him may not perish but have everlasting life (John 3:16). Salvation is open to all who choose to accept the gift being offered. And if Jesus is truly the Son of God, the visible and finite expression of the invisible and infinite love and freedom of a gracious God, then Jesus, who is the gate, is showing us what it means to discover that freedom of abundant life that God so freely offers. Jesus is pointing to himself, because he’s pointing to the gate to abundant life. He’s saying, “Look at me; follow me. Because I’m showing you where you want to be, even if you don’t fully know that yet.”
Imagine that: salvation, should we accept the gracious invitation, is to journey through the gate and into a marvelous life with God, a life where we are more whole and free than we could ever fathom. Inside the gate, the rather helpless sheep are protected from all who would harm them. They are kept safe by the integrity of the gatekeeper until they hear the voice of their shepherds, who will safely lead them to green pasture, where there is an abundance of nourishment. And then they can return back into the sheepfold to rest in safety. The gate is a means of passing between the protective enclosure and the open field where they may roam, seeking nourishment on the green pastures.
But it’s true, as well, that some sheep may choose to wander. They may ramble away from the pasture next to the sheepfold and wander far from the gate. And they may wander into harm without knowing it or by following their own self-centered instincts. But the gate into the sheepfold is still always open, a door into a safe place into which they can come and go and be led and cared for by the good shepherd.
If, for a minute, we see ourselves as the sheep, as God’s flock, what might it mean to see the gate to eternal life not as some cordoned off, exclusive place but as an entrance into a full life in God where we are truly alive? It’s true that the land outside the gate is fraught with danger and with vulnerability to forces of darkness that seek to harm. But in the pastures of eternal life, inside the gate, we walk not in spiritual blindness but with full sight of the glory of God. In these pastures, our paths are illumined by light that guides our feet into safety and security, keeping us from the danger of the darkness. In this verdant country, we shall not want, but we shall know the abundance of God’s care and provision. In this good, green land, we experience and offer generosity, not greed and selfishness. In this rich landscape, we are reconciled with God and one another, and estrangement is far away. In these pastures, we will know the wide embrace of God, not the petty divisions of class and clan. In this place, we taste true freedom with the ability to move in and out of the gate, led by the Shepherd, and we are freed from enslavement to sin, evil, greed, and selfish concerns.
It is understandable how difficult this image of Jesus as the sheepgate might be for us, for we live in a world rife with judgment and where good shepherds are often few and far between. The judgment we too often see is a judgment that is purely human. It’s the judgment of the gatekeeper at the club who turns you away if you’re not dressed correctly. It’s the judgment of the admissions officer of an elite school who doesn’t think your academic record is impressive enough and who makes a decision for your future based largely on arbitrary reasons. Even in the midst of a pandemic, it’s the judgment of who gets financial support and who doesn’t, or who gets to work and who doesn’t. Even in a time of great tragedy, the judgments and ensuing segregations of society continue in full force. And sadly, this view of judgment has become the image of Peter at the pearly gates, assessing whether you’re in or not.
But Scripture offers us another more comforting image. Jesus, and only Jesus, is the gate, because Jesus is the way into abundant life with God. And that is salvation. If we can hold this image in our hearts, we can long for that eternal life and not fear the end of earthly life, lest we be turned away by heaven’s unfriendly sidesman. At this gate, the Good Shepherd himself lies down to shield us from harm and evil, even risking his life. At this gate, we are not stopped so that we can prove that we’ll stay inside for the whole service or prove that we’re worthy of entrance. This gate is intended for our well-being and flourishing. God wants us in his sheepfold. There’s just one thing: we have to accept the gift to enter in. There are plenty of temptations to turn away from the gate and go it alone. But to enter into abundant life, we have to give ourselves to Christ, who will show us that the gate is there, open and ready for us.
What a gift it is, if you turn around and look towards the gate. It’s inviting us in. No one is forcing us to walk through the gate, and God certainly isn’t trying to keep us out of the sheepfold, but it’s up to us to do one thing. See that the gate is open for us, for you and for me, and with God’s help, we can walk through that beautiful gate.
Notes for a sermon preached by Father Kyle Babin
3 May 2020
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia