The Voice of the Gatekeeper

http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=172575991

Every morning I walk through a smokey haze that builds up under the awning. Under the smoke, on and around the bench sit/stand a group of recovering addicts who in their smoke search for hope. Every morning I say hello and spend a brief moment checking in. When I say moment, I mean a moment, no longer than a minute. For the most part it is no more than a simple hello. Each morning, after the greeting, I walk up the ramp way, unlock the door, and go inside. Every morning my routine is the same.

One morning, the Wednesday before Easter, something strange happened. That morning my eyes saw something new. After a brief conversation with a young lady named Kim, I headed up the ramp way and out of the smoke filled air I heard a voice saying, "I love you. I love you. I love you." I looked back and my eyes became open to what was taking place. There on the bench sat a long hair, bearded man saying to each one, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

I began to tear up knowing that the voice that is speaking out of the smoke of our desperation, out of our pain, out of our selfishness, out of our ignorance is the voice of the one shepherd who is the good shepherd. The one who says, "I am the gate" "I am the good shepherd" "I am the living water" "I am the bread of life," speaks out of a cloud of nicotine to people who are clinging to whatever hope they have. The voice of the gatekeeper, of the shepherd is bringing life to those who feel they have none.

Unlocking the door, I turned back once more and the vision that came just seconds before remained: there sat Jesus saying, "I love you. I love you. I love you." I stepped inside knowing that Jesus would probably not come in that day.

From the shifting shadows of the earth, our eyes lift to Him, where steady arms of mercy reach to gather children in.

If I was being honest with you, I would tell you that I do not think, if Jesus was alive today, he would be with us this morning. It's not that I think he'd be completely absent from the church. I just do not think he would here. I do not think Jesus would choose to spend his time listening to someone, like me, preach about him or hear songs about himself. If I was being honest with you, I would tell you that I think Jesus is out gathering his sheep. If I was being honest with you, I would tell you that I think Jesus is out being Jesus while we sit here and practice piety. I would tell you that, if I was being honest with you.

From the shifting shadows of the earth, our eyes lift to Him, where steady arms of mercy reach to gather children in.

Our scripture this morning takes place right Jesus heals a man born blind. You may recall this story. Jesus and his disciples are walking along and they pass a blind man. The disciples ask, “Who sinned, this man or his parents?” Jesus responds, “Neither. He is blind so that God's work might be revealed in him.” Jesus then spits on the ground and puts mud in the man's eyes, tells him to wash in the pool. The Blind Man does as he is told and receives his sight. The story doesn't end there, remember?

The man is brought before the Pharisees and questioned. Eventually, he is thrown out of the synagogue. Having heard this, Jesus seeks the man out and after revealing himself, the Pharisees near him say, “Surely, we are not blind. Are we?” Jesus responds, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, “We see,” your sin remains.” Jesus then launches into his parable about a gate, gatekeepers, thieves, sheep, shepherds, destruction, and life.

Jesus doesn't speak in parables too often in John's gospel. At least, not parables we're accustomed to in Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Those around Jesus look at him confusingly so Jesus kindly explains. He is the gate. He is the gatekeeper. He is the one who has come so that all may have life and have it abundantly. Not only is he the gatekeeper, he is the shepherd. He is the good shepherd who lays down his life freely for his sheep. They know his voice, he calls them by name, and he knows them. Jesus explains, he alone is the gate, the gatekeeper, the shepherd, the voice that brings life.

From the shifting shadows of the earth, our eyes lift to Him, where steady arms of mercy reach to gather children in.

If I were being honest with you, I would tell you that Jesus' response to the Pharisees is an invitation. It's an invitation to freedom. Freedom from a restricting ideology that prohibits life. Freedom from an ideology that only brings about death and destruction. Freedom from an ideology focused to preserve the past by fearing the future and stealing breath from the present. If I were being honest with you, I would tell you that Jesus is freeing them from what binds them. If I were being honest with you, I would tell you that we, the church, have become the Pharisees. We've become the ones who are more about protecting the past, doctrines, and the way things were, than we are about providing life. If I were being honest with you, I would tell you that Jesus' declaration to be the gate and the good shepherd, frees us from that which binds us...ourselves. But that's if I was being honest.

From the shifting shadows of the earth, our eyes lift to Him, where steady arms of mercy reach to gather children in.

The voice of the gatekeeper frees us from ourselves. The voice of the gatekeeper brings life; the voice gives life. We fear that we won't be good enough so we ignore the voice. We fear that we are unlovable so we create a list of rules to give ourselves a sense of security. Our actions say, “If I just follow these rules, I know Jesus will love me.” We fear that we're doing it wrong so we put our trust in things of this world, things we can grasp, things we think we understand, instead of placing our trust in the one; the one who is both the gate and the good shepherd. Nothing but ourselves bind us to the voices of destruction and despair.

Yet, from the shifting shadows of the earth, our eyes lift to Him, where steady arms of mercy reach to gather children in.

A few weeks ago, I was talking with one my students about her relationship with God. In our conversation she expressed the desire to grow closer to God. She said, “I want to get close to God and trust that God loves me but I have to first love myself before I can fully love God. Right?” I laughed and holding a photo of Rembrandt's Return of the Prodigal Son, I asked, “Are you familiar with the story of the prodigal son? There was a man who had two sons. The younger son came to him and demanded his inheritance. The father divided his property between them and the younger son left home. He spends the entire fortune on women, wine, and dissolute living. Broke, he begs for a job feeding pigs. One day he decides, “I will go back to my father, after all how many of his hired hands are treated better than this. I will leave here, go to him, ask to be forgiven and to be hired.” So, he leaves. While the younger son was still far off, the father saw him and was filled with compassion; the father runs to him throwing his arms around him and kisses him. The son begins his practiced speech but the father tells a slave, “Bring some clothes, put a ring on his finger and shoes on his feet. Get the fatted calf, kill it, and let us eat and celebrate! For my son has returned.”

“The younger son, in no uncertain terms, wished his father dead when he demanded his inheritance. His motivation to return to his father is not out of a renewed love. He doesn't even really want to be a part of the family again. He simply wants to be hired. His motivation is about his own security. His own safety. He returns to simply survive. Here's the kicker, the father doesn't care. He doesn't even allow his son to finish his confession. He embraces him saying, “He's back home, and I am so glad to have him with me again.” I looked at her said, “All you have to know is that God loves you. Trust in that and one day, you will see the beauty that is within you. And you will love yourself because God loves you.”

It is true, from the shifting shadows of the earth, our eyes lift to Him, where steady arms of mercy reach to gather children in.

Jesus says, “I have come that you may have life and have it abundantly.” We yearn to become fully alive. We long to respond the voice that says, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” We desire a life free of our own damning, self protective habits. Yet, there is a voice that tells us otherwise. A seductive voice that tells us we are unlovable. A voice that manipulates our insecurities and preys on our greatest fears. A voice that is of nothing more than despair. A voice that says, “I fail and fail. I sin over and over again. I'm worthless. It is better that I get out of people's way, be forgotten, no longer around, dead.”

Christ has come to open our ears to another voice that says:

"I am your God, I have molded you with my own hands, and I love what I have made. I love you with a love that has no limits. Do not run away from me. Come back to me--not once, not twice, but always again. You are my child. How can you ever doubt that I will embrace you again, hold you against my breast, kiss you and let my hands run through your hair? I am your God--the God of mercy and compassion, the God of pardon and love, the God of tenderness and care. Please do not say that I have given up on you, that I cannot stand you any more, that there is no way back. It is not true. I so much want you to be with me. I so much want you to be close to me. I know all your thoughts. I hear all your words. I see all of your actions. And I love you because you are beautiful, made in my image, an expression of my most intimate love. Do not judge yourself. Do not condemn yourself. Do not reject yourself. Let my love touch the deepest, most hidden corners of your heart and reveal to you your own beauty, a beauty that you have lost sight of, but that will become visible to you again in the light of my mercy. Come, come, let me wipe your tears, and let my mouth come close to your ear and say to you, 'I love you. I love you. I love you.'" ¹

There is a voice that cries to those of us who feel lost in the wilderness. A voice that cries out to us and says, "You are loved." It is a voice that knows our name. It is a voice that we know. A voice that cuts to our core. A voice that relieves our doubts, our fears. A voice that accepts. A voice that loves unconditionally. It is the voice of gatekeeper. It is the voice of Christ.

Very truly I say to you, from the shifting shadows of the earth, our eyes lift to Him, where steady arms of mercy reach to gather children in.

1Henri Nouwen, Show Me the Way, pg 76-77