John 10

Friday, February 22, 2013

John 10

This is a somewhat contradictory chapter.  Jesus starts out with a parable (and then explains the parable) saying that His sheep will always know His voice, will not follow all the thieve and pretenders who try to sneak in to win the flock away, and that as the good shepherd He will lay down His life for His sheep.

Perhaps the most comforting part to me is:

²⁸ I give them eternal life; they will never be lost and no one will ever steal them from my hand.

The Good Shepherd part is the most well-known, but afterward, the Jews are deeply divided about what Jesus said.  Many accuse Him again of blasphemy, and even when they grant the good works He has done, they decry His words.  Jesus argues back with the Scripture, but they do not want to hear it.

So...why doesn't the flock hear His call?  Jesus doesn't mention any goats mixed in with the sheep in this parable - there's no mention at all of any exclusion actually or any special status of these sheep besides, I suppose, that they are in the same paddock.  Jesus even makes a point of saying that there are sheep not "of this flock" that will also follow His voice.

I wonder if part of the ur-story of the Gospel of John is that Jesus is irresistible one-to-one, when He calls our individual names (as He mentions the Good Shepherd doing), but in groups we have our defenses ready.  As a whole, we resist.  As a flock, we do not know how to follow.

Which is quite the opposite of the way that outsiders think of those in religion, which this evening I find quite a charming quirk of reality.

There are endless secular versions of this truism.  "A person is smart, people are dumb, panicky dangerous animals and you know it." - Men in Black.  Mob mentality studies tell us this all the time.  It's why so much of my childhood was spent in well-meaning motivational programs aimed at countering peer pressure (good luck with that).

One of the reasons I have always felt so blessed by God is that I have felt a personal, individual connection to Him.  I see my mother's faith blossom in sharing it with others, but I have always felt closer to God when otherwise alone, when my faith remains largely private.  An odd thought to express on a blog, yes, but I don't have many readers.

I have always been called.  I have always felt that - however incredibly - He knows my name.

But what is it about us that we cannot be called together?  Is there just no way to meaningfully change the lives of an entire group at once?  Is that the lesson - to set out to change the world on an individual basis?  To think not in terms of large numbers but individual acts and people?

That sounds like a wonderful thing to ponder this Lent.

Although perhaps I should stop assigning myself things to "ponder this Lent".  If nothing else, it's something of a dead giveaway that I don't know how to end the meditation for this day's blog post.