The Shepherd's Voice John 10

Read John 10:1-5

When I was a young man, in my early 20’s I traveled through the mid and far east. It was October, 1977. I was 22 years old. We were traveling through the heart of Iran; through a vast wilderness. It was, dry and dusty. The vehicle we were in lifted a plume of dust from the unpaved road. It was not really hot, just warm, but it was October and had been quite cool that night.

Water is a precious thing in these places. There is very little. There are resting places along the ancient highway. Some are walled compounds where travelers can rest safely. There is no running water. Sometimes there are deep wells, with bitter water. But there were also some beautiful oases. Suddenly, there in the middle of the desert, a spring of water would be bubbling up. Surrounded by luscious grasses, ferns and palm trees—covered in beautiful cool shade. We came upon an oases on our second day of travel through this desert. It was a perfect spot for lunch. It was a little early for lunch but we stopped anyways.

I was traveling with 25 other people from around the world. But for the most part we were of European descent. We looked quite different from the olive skinned, black haired, dark eyed, Iranians. As we were enjoying the beauty of the oasis, we heard bells ringing coming from behind a high rocky outcrop. And mixed with the bells was the voice of a man or talking: chanting really. Not quite singing. And the bleating of sheep.

Suddenly a shepherd appeared several hundred yards away. Walking with a long staff. He wore a mantle of stiff sheep’s wool It stood out broadly from his shoulders. And all his sheep followed him. All alone, he had a flock, if I remember right, of about 40 or 50 sheep. As he came closer, his flock of sheep ran past him, bleating, and they ran as fast as sheep can run, to the oasis. There they ran right into the waters edge and began to drink to refresh themselves. The shepherd simply walked to a shady spot, and opened his shepherd’s bag and took out some food to eat. Like us he was eating flat bread and fruit.

Suddenly from another direction another shepherd came. And we saw and heard the same thing happen. His flock too, suddenly ran headlong to the water’s edge. Bleating and baaing. The two flocks now were completely mixed up.

The two shepherds seemed to know each other. The second joined the first in the shade of a date palm and refreshed himself. I’m sure that they were talking about these 25 foreigners who had appeared out of nowhere. This was not tourist country. On our way through the central deserts, we never saw another tourist; not for days.
As we were packing up our camp, one of the shepherds—the first to arrive—got up. And he called out, and started his chanting: he raised his singsong voice clearly above the sound of the breeze in the palms, and above the soft sounds of the now refreshed flocks. And then he simply walked away. Calling, chanting singing. And his sheep heard his voice and followed him.

They would not follow another. The sheep listened to his voice. He called his own sheep by name and he lead them out. When he brought out all his own, he went on ahead of them, and his sheep followed him, because they knew his voice. But they would never follow a stranger. In fact they would run away from him because they do not recognize a stranger’s voice.

This was a most remarkable experience. I saw with my own eyes, the beautiful picture that Jesus gives us in John 10. When I lived in southern Alberta I saw two kinds of flocks of sheep. There were sheep who were in quite a small pen. And when Adrian, the farmer, would step into that pen with a bucket of feed, and call out to them, the sheep followed him in a tight wedge, right up against him, bleating and baaing. Other sheep were in much larger fields. They would be rounded up by sheep dogs.
The sheep in the large fields had no personal relationship with the farmer. Adrian’s sheep, and the sheep in that oasis had a close personal relationship with their shepherd. And that relationship, that bond, was forged by the voice of the shepherd, the farmer, and depended completely on that voice. The shepherd called out and the sheep followed him.

The Lord never compares his people to a herd. He never speaks of his people like cattle. (We’ll actually he does. Through one of the prophets he calls the wives of Samaria, he calls them “Cows of Bashan.” I think it was meant in scorn. Fat cows of Bashan.) But Jesus speaks of the flock that hears his voice and follows him. And when the Lord says this, then he puts it in a special way. He speaks of hearing with understanding. Not just hearing, as in hearing a noise. But hearing and then responding in obedience. The sound of the shepherd’s voice brings forth obedient response! Hearing with understanding and obedience. That voice still goes forth through the preaching of the Gospel, and God’s people, the Sheep of his Pasture, hear…. and respond appropriately.

The Lord Watches

Psalm 121
Romans 8:28,35

For years our family has read this Psalm before we embarked on a journey longer than daily travels to school, work or errands. Before we set out, we sat down and read Psalm 121. "The Lord watches over you." This is a pilgrim song. A song for the road. When one of our sons had leukemia (A.L.L.) we made many trips between Coaldale and Calgary. From our home, to the Alberta Children's, was more than 250 Km. We traveled the southern Alberta highways and byways many times. For a while, Julian need to visit the clinic Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Each day in the wee morning hours, long before anyone else was up, Julian and I, read Psalm 121. "The LORD watches over you." When he was undergoing treatments we read this Psalm. "The LORD will keep you from all harm." When he was in crisis, in ICU, we prayed, "He will watch over your life!"

God does not sleep. He watches over you. Now, as well, when we travel by road or air or train, we read this Psalm. There is great comfort in knowing that the creator God, is the God of Israel cares for each of his people. He watches over your life; your coming in and your going out. This does not mean that no harm will befall us, or that no illness strike us. But it does mean that harm and accident and illness do not strike us outside of God's care and love. He turns to good everything (even the bad stuff) for those who love him.

Faithfulness: Genesis 8:22

Genesis 8:18-22

2 Corinthians 1:20

Today is the first day of summer. The solstice ("sun stand still" is what "solstice" means.) At 7:59 PM EDT the Sun reaches it's highest point with respect to the earth's latitudes. That will occur somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. It's remarkable that at UTC or Greenwich Mean Time as it was formerly known, it will happen at 23:59; one minute before June 21.

I remember when I was a young man, boarding with relatives in Edmonton, that my uncle was a "sun worshipper". He loved lying about and soaking up the rays. I used to tease him on the summer solstice that from here on in the days get shorter, the nights get longer: winter is coming!

I never cease to reflect how God has promised to Noah, and through him to us, that the season will come and go with regularity. Seedtime, harvest: Summer, winter: cold, heat: day and night. The solstice is a testimony to God's covenant faithfulness. Every word he has ever spoken is sure. And the "Amen" to those words are found in Jesus Christ. Even the solstice is "amen-ed" by Jesus. God is faithful!

Justice, not bloodshed: Righteousness, not cries of distress

Psalm 139:13-15 Isaiah 5:7B

I participated in the March for Life in Ottawa earlier this month. The Ottawa Canadian Reformed Church asked me to lead a prayer service. I spoke on a Psalm 139 and Isaiah 5:7b. This posting is just the opening paragraphs of that talk. We also viewed a power-point interpretation of Psalm 139. If I can figure out how to up load that... You can find an audio file here....

Last year about 7000 people participated in the March for Life. I read on the March for Life website that Stats Canada estimates that 2800 babies are killed every week. That means that every three weeks the whole crowd that will march through the city today is killed off.

Isaiah said God looked for justice and there was bloodshed; for righteousness but a cry. Today as we march, gathered on Parliament Hill, we look for righteousness in the Commons and the Senate. But we find none. We go past the Supreme Court buildings seeking justice, but there is bloodshed.

Isaiah’s challenge on 5:7 is dramatic. The words for “righteousness” and “cry” sound nearly alike. As do the words for “justice” and “bloodshed.” God looked for Mishpat but saw mishpach; for tsedikah but heard tse-akah. Isaiah’s play on words pierces the truth of the matter. What the world calls justice: justice for women, for society, for community, is in fact bloodshed. What the world defines as righteousness—as acts of equality and empowerment—and in harmony with natural law, in fact silences the cries of distress.

The unborn cannot even cry out in distress: murdered before they fill their lungs with air the first time. And so we march on the buildings that symbolize righteousness, the place where laws are made. Where things are supposed to be right. We will march on the place where justice is to be done, and must be seen to be done.

But we will cry out "This is bloodshed!" We will give voice to the silently distressed! We seek justice, but find bloodshed. We will seek righteousness and instead hear cries of distress. May the Lord hear us!