Lectionary Commentaries for April 21, 2024
Fourth Sunday of Easter

Dear Working Preachers, as you know, Easter 4 is always Good Shepherd Sunday in the Revised Common Lectionary. The Revised Common Lectionary presents a homiletical conundrum even beyond what to preach about shepherds and sheep year in and year out. In Year A, the Gospel reading is John 10:1–10 and in Year B, John 10:10–18 is the designated passage, yet John 10:1–21 is a narrative unit—typically called the Shepherd Discourse. In Year C, John 10:22–30 is the assigned Gospel text but has nothing to do with John 10:1–18. John 10:22–30 mentions sheep but occurs in a different time of year altogether, during the Feast of Dedication. 

What’s more, the Revised Common Lectionary distances Jesus’ words about being the Good Shepherd (10:1–18) from the sign the discourse interprets—the healing of the man born blind (9:1–41), which occurs on Lent 4 in Year A. Jesus does not stop talking at the end of chapter 9 but continues on to decode the sign he has just performed. You get the problem. John 9:1–10:21 is spread out over three Sundays, two liturgical seasons, and two lectionary years.

Why these observations? Because liturgically, the Good Shepherd is then separated from his sheep and the sheep then separated from the Good Shepherd, when that is the exact opposite of what “I am the Good Shepherd” means.

John 9:1–10:21 follows a narrative pattern for John already established in chapter 5 with the healing of the man ill for 38 years and the feeding of the 5,000 in chapter 6. Jesus performs a sign, which is followed by dialogue concerning the meaning of the sign, and then Jesus’ discourse that interprets the sign. Jesus’ signs have the potential to be misunderstood as only demonstrations of his authority, power, and glory when, in fact, they point to the abundant life he offers through relationship with him and the Father. 

Abundant life for the man born blind is more than being healed. He is now a sheep of Jesus’ own fold, own flock. Without the man born blind, Jesus as the Good Shepherd falls flat, a generic pastoral image that preachers try to make relevant for 21st-century listeners. Without Jesus as the Good Shepherd, the healing of the man born blind is reduced to spiritual sight alone. They need each other. Otherwise, both become mere metaphors for the sake of our christological commitments.

While the blind man gains his physical sight, the fullness of this sign comes in Jesus’ promise, “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd” (10:16 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition). The man born blind heard Jesus’ voice before ever seeing him, followed the voice of the shepherd (10:3–4), washed in the pool of Siloam, and was able to see. Yet, as his recognition of the identity of Jesus grows over the course of chapter 9, he is thrown out by the religious authorities when he states the truth of Jesus’ identity: “If this man were not from God [but he is], he could do nothing [but he can do anything]” (9:33). 

When Jesus hears that the man has been thrown out, he finds his sheep, the man born blind, a second time (9:35), having first seen him as he was walking along (9:1). The verb “find” recalls the central verb of the calling of the disciples in the Gospel of John (1:35–51). What follows is the blind man’s call narrative and the promises of discipleship fulfilled—for him.

Before identifying himself as the Good Shepherd, Jesus says, “I am the gate for the sheep” (10:7). He will fulfill this promise when he comes out of the garden, standing between his sheep and the soldiers who have come to arrest him (18:4). He is the Good Shepherd when he willingly gives himself up—“Whom are you looking for?”—leaving his disciples safely in the fold/garden. Before ever going to the cross, Jesus lays down his life by handing himself over to the authorities in order to save his sheep, protecting them from harm. All of this is now for the man born blind.

Adding John 10:19–21 brings the sign, dialogue, discourse to its intended end. “Why listen to Jesus?” is the question at stake. The blind man did and gained abundant life by becoming a sheep of Jesus’ own fold. Lazarus will hear Jesus call his name and will walk out of his tomb into resurrected life, reclining with Jesus (12:2). Mary Magdalene will hear Jesus call her name, and in hearing her name will recognize her teacher—and thus herself as one of Jesus’ disciples.

What makes the Good Shepherd “good”? Jesus sees the man, and the healing leads to belonging. Jesus’ words lead to abundant life—listen to him.

As is common, the lectionary sections off (shorter) passages from within their larger narrative context. This passage, with its emphases—on empowerment (by the Spirit) to speak with courage and knowledge and a teaching of the exclusive nature of the Jesus message—is segmented from within a larger, tension-filled debate with the respected leadership of the Jerusalem temple. (These leaders will recognize the educational “ignorance” of the spokespersons, yet will honor what these Christ-followers gained from their experience with Jesus in 4:13.)

Our immediate passage of concern (4:5–12) begins a new day (“the next day”), which names the leading figures of the high priesthood, a formal (brief) inquisition, Peter’s response (aided by the Spirit), and Peter’s final claim. 

Crucial to Luke’s description of Peter is that he speaks as one “filled with the Holy Spirit” in order to emphasize the origins of his courage and knowledge (4:13). Within the book of Acts, to be “filled with,” or empowered or inspired by, the Spirit is Luke’s theological description of how the Christ-followers were able to carry on the mission in the absence of Jesus. The portrayal is routinely followed by a spoken proclamation of some kind. 

Elizabeth was filled with the Spirit and blessed Mary (“Blessed are you among women,” Luke 1:41–42). Zechariah (Elizabeth’s husband)—following a period of divinely imposed selective mutism—is “filled” in order to prophesy that God had sent “a mighty savior” to redeem Israel (1:67–69).

Within the book of Acts, Luke continues to depict leading characters in this manner with the ability to speak the Spirit’s words. Saul not only regains his physical sight and receives (water) baptism (as part of the Spirit’s activity), but (after several days) Saul begins to proclaim Jesus as “God’s Son” (9:17–20). A few chapters later, Saul again will be empowered by the Spirit to speak harshly against the magician Elymas (13:4–12). 

So, the language of a Spirit-empowered Peter in our lectionary passage prepares readers for the Spirit-inspired spoken word despite the challenging context in which these Christ-followers find themselves. 

Within the narrative scene, Peter’s response (verses 9–10) answers the second question from his inquisitors (“by what name?”); Luke’s narrative description of Peter as one “filled with the Spirit” (verse 8) answers the first question for the reader (“by what power?”). Peter’s attention to the “name” (in other words, “there is no other name”; 4:12) maintains a focus on the original query (4:7) and taps into a significant early confession among Christ-followers (see also Acts 22:16; 1 Corinthians 1:2). 

The exclusive nature of this message raises a conundrum for many contemporary preachers. How do we preach an exclusive message in the pluralistic society in which we live? For some of us, the objective is simple—just preach it (as the text says) and allow the Spirit to take the message to the hearts that remain open. For others of us, the objective is more complex—we recognize that a preached word can be more effective if the context of our contemporary age is carefully considered.  

Relevant to Peter’s claim of “salvation” (4:12; sōteria) is the specific event of healing (4:9–10; sōdzō)—the “wholeness” that is fundamental to the proclamation. The gospel materializes in embodied acts. The gospel affects the physical as well as the mental, emotional, and spiritual. This story emphasizes the wholeness that comes in the message and power of Jesus. The exclusive claim may be less important than the impact of the embodied outcome. It is a message that touches bodies as well as souls. In fact, it may be preferable to translate sōteria in verse 12 as “healing” here in light of the immediate context: “There is healing in no one else …”

For early Christ-followers (Paul, Luke, and others), Jewish scriptures point toward the coming Messiah in the person of Jesus Christ as central to God’s plan. This required a careful (and, at times, creative) rereading of the scriptures. Interpretation of the “stone”—whether Psalm 118:22 (as in Acts 4) or Isaiah 28:16 or Isaiah 8:14—is one example and was popular among the early Christ-followers (see also Matthew 21:42//Mark 12:10//Luke 20:17; 1 Peter 2:4, 6–8; Romans 9:33). 

First Peter offers a unique view in which several “stone” passages are collected into an interpretive message presented to the community. Luke’s Jesus in the Gospel will cite Psalm 118 on the heels of his parable of the tenants. Jesus emphasizes God’s rejection of the vineyard tenants who failed to care for the vineyard properly. Jesus’ opposition—“the scribes and chief priests”—recognize that that parable refers to their activities but, ironically, do not fully grasp the significance of their desire “to lay hands” on Jesus (that is, the “heir” and the “stone”).

Luke’s Peter in Acts will make explicit that Jesus (“this one” in Greek) is the rejected “stone.” The opposition in Acts responds more favorably, simply ordering them not to proclaim their message any further (4:13–18). 

This is a story about power and identity, as is often the case (4:7). The content and the origins of the message drive this confrontation. Oftentimes, those in power wish to maintain control at any cost, even if someone comes along with a better idea for the community.

How should we view our congregational settings in relationship to the power of the empire? Are false imprisonments common among those doing acts of justice? What might it mean—in a democratic society—to “lock up” the opposition? Luke portrays a significant power differential in this account. There are those who have earthly power (for example, Caiaphas) and there are those who have heavenly power (for example, Peter and John) through the Holy Spirit. And Luke calls on his readers to desire the latter. This requires deep, communal discernment. 

Preachers, in particular, and all ministers (lay or otherwise) must recognize that it is the power of the Spirit (“to be filled” in Luke’s discourse) that accomplishes any good work among us. The labor that goes into crafting careful messages—on the relationship between text and world—will be unfulfilled if God’s Spirit does not touch all who hear.   

Finally, on the Fourth Sunday in Easter (weeks removed from the grand Easter occasion), what might this passage mean? Preachers must keep preaching no matter the opposition or the situation in the world. Preachers should recognize that the Holy Spirit will provide the necessary words when the proclaimer does not know what else to say. Preachers must be aware that true salvation is always holistic, a healing balm for a sound mind and a sound body

Consider the vulnerability of a sheep.¹

A sheep is a particularly vulnerable creature, especially when on its own. Sheep need a leader so as not to wander aimlessly, and will follow their leader even into certain danger. Sheep have no defense against predators except for flocking, yet their instinctive flight response to danger can also cause panic and scattering. Individual sheep are highly stressed when separated from their flock. Indeed, sheep must be able to see each other in order to graze without agitation, and the loss of that visual contact can lead to further panic and flight. A lost sheep is, if you will, a sitting duck.

Texts in which the people of God are depicted as sheep arise from the experiences of vulnerable communities. The people are scattered and have fallen prey to those bent on Israel’s destruction. These passages offer assurance that their Lord is with them, to lead them as their shepherd (Psalms 95:7 and 100:3), to rescue the scattered and bring them to their own land (Ezekiel 34:11–16), and to gather lambs to God’s bosom and gently lead them home (Isaiah 40:11).

Our text for today, Psalm 23, is spoken by one who knows fresh pain. The writer speaks for a community that has recently walked through the darkest valley, and has emerged, trembling and stumbling and blinking in the light. Just such a story of suffering and deliverance is told in Psalm 22, and the two psalms can be read as companions.

Indeed, Psalm 23 offers assurance in the very places where Psalm 22’s lament lacks it. Reading Psalm 23 in light of Psalm 22 emphasizes the depth of that assurance; it is not an assurance cheaply bought, but is the hard-won assurance of those who have suffered greatly and felt the gentle guidance of their shepherd.

Psalm 22 contains the traditional elements of psalms of lament, but with a distinctive pattern. While the text includes the customary elements of lament (verses 1–2, 6–8, 12–18), petition (verses 10–11 and 19–21), statement of trust (verses 3–5 and 9–10), and praise (verses 21b–31), Psalm 22 is heavy on lament, and withholds all praise until after deliverance has occurred (“From the horns of the wild oxen you have rescued me,” verse 21b).

Eschewing a more typical pattern that intersperses lament and petition with trust and praise, Psalm 22 layers lament upon petition upon escalating lament, with a few words of trust in God’s deliverance sprinkled in. This psalm voices the increasing desperation of a community that has been encircled by enemies and whose life is all but gone.

It is in response to these desperate laments that the writer of Psalm 23 delightedly proclaims, again and again, trust in the Lord. It is as if the desperation of 22 is matched by the exuberant trust of 23. Yet the exuberance does not erase the pain; rather, assurances of God’s care are a salve applied precisely to the particular wounds of Psalm 22.

The psalmist’s deep sense of abandonment, heard especially in those haunting words “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (22:1), is healed in 23:1–3: “The Lord is my shepherd … he leads me … he restores my soul.” Most poignantly, 23:4 asserts that even in the darkest valley, there is nothing to fear, “for you are with me.” The shift from third-person description to second-person address underscores the intimacy of the divine presence; the one who seemed to have forsaken the people in Psalm 22 is here the one who is fully with them even in their deepest despair.

The heart-wrenching depictions of acute suffering in Psalm 22:14–18 are met in Psalm 23 with lavish descriptions of refreshment for the body and soul. Being relentlessly humiliated and pursued by mortal enemies (Psalm 22:7–9, 12–13, 16) has left the speaker “poured out like water,” with a heart “melted like wax” and a tongue stuck to a parched mouth, lying in “the dust of death.” With shriveled hands and feet and protruding bones, the sufferer is as good as dead in the eyes of the pursuers, as they cast lots for and divide up the sufferer’s clothing. Psalm 22 describes an affliction so acute that the very body and spirit of the sufferer are wasting away.

In response to this, the speaker in Psalm 23 describes the restoration that God the shepherd provides. Green pastures, still waters, a rod to protect and a staff to guide—all of this restores the soul. The table set in the presence of those enemies refreshes the parched throat with an overflowing cup. God is the host at a feast of thanksgiving, and the sufferer is the honored guest whose head is anointed with oil. In response to the sufferer’s wasting away in Psalm 22, Psalm 23 depicts the overflowing refreshment of God’s presence, which restores the sufferer in body and soul.

Assurance of God’s presence and care does not erase evil and suffering. Nowhere in the Psalms do we find a naïve trust, but always one that is fully aware of what has been lost. Divine deliverance does not mean that evil is eradicated. Indeed, it is still in the presence of enemies that the psalmist sits down at God’s table. There is no suggestion here that enemies have become friends.

But Psalm 23 insists that we can trust in deliverance in the midst of evil; the deliverance is true, it’s real. Whatever preys upon us, individually and as communities, we are not defeated, because God is with us. Imagine if we lived as if we really knew this truth, as if we really feared no evil, because our trust is in God. Imagine where no longer being driven by fear might take us. Imagine if we, the vulnerable flock of the divine, knew ourselves forever to be pursued by the goodness and mercy of God.

Notes

1. Commentary first posted on this site on May 11, 2014.

Words are powerful, and as preachers, we do not take our own words or the proclamation of God’s word lightly. And while words matter, talk can be cheap and convey feelings of love without offering demonstrations of love. 

For the author of 1 John, “words and speech” are inadequate expressions of love. God in Christ demonstrates love (agapē) “in truth and action” (3:18), and as his children, we should do the same: “We know love by this, that [Jesus] laid down his life for us—and we ought to lay down our lives for one another” (3:16). Similarly, in John 15:12–14, Jesus uses his example of self-giving love as the motivation for his followers to follow suit: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). 

Nowhere else but in 1 John and the Gospel of John do we find this language of Jesus “laying down his life.” In 1 John 3:16, Jesus’ action is not explicitly associated with death, as it seems to be in John 10:17, or with atonement, as it is in Mark 10:45. The fact that we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters makes it more likely that the author is not referring here to Christ’s inimitable atoning work on the cross. Rather, in light of the emphasis on active and truthful expressions of communal love, “laying down our lives” resembles what Paul says in Philippians 2:4: “Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.”

First John emphasizes the intimate and familial relationship between the Father and those who love and obey the Son (3:10–11, 14, 23; 4:7, 11–12; 5:1). One of the privileges of being children of God is abiding and sharing in the love that unites and adheres believers to one another as siblings. 

That said, the author warns against insidious hate, jealousy, and strife that can fester against believers outside of the church (3:13) but also within it. This is why he pleads, “We must not be like Cain” (3:12), and speaks of “all who hate a brother or sister” (3:15). He goes so far as to associate the act of hating (miseō) with murder or the willful destruction of another believer’s life. Such hyperbolic language underscores the power of our inner motives and attitudes (see also Matthew 5:21–22). 

In contrast to hating, the act of loving (agapaō) is intrinsic to the gospel message (3:10) and promotes the spiritual, communal, and physical thriving of our brothers and sisters. To love “in truth and action” is to care for the earthly well-being of every member of the church: “But whoever has the world’s possessions and sees a brother or sister in need and refuses to help, how can the love of God reside in such a person?” (3:17, translation mine). “Whoever has the world’s possessions” refers to those who have enough to live on and are not in material need. While the author here does not explicitly mention “the poor,” he associates God’s love with the community’s care for the materially deprived among them. 

The one who lacks materially in 3:17 is not some abstract “other” but a fellow believer, whom we are to regard as a sibling (adelphon, “brother”). The author uses the verb “see” (theōreō) to convey the idea of observing the needs of those in our Christian family with sustained attention and consideration. “Refuses to help” can be translated as “is callous toward” or “is indifferent to” and conveys a troubling lack of deep affection and compassion. 

Do we pay attention to how our brothers and sisters are doing? Is our Christian fellowship thick enough that we can share honestly about our needs? Are we relationally invested enough in the community to take turns carrying one another’s burdens and doing whatever we can to alleviate our brother or sister’s hardships? 

I once asked a pastor who lived modestly but was in the habit of giving generously how he determined the amount he gave to a relief agency our church partnered with and to a missionary our church sponsored. He answered, “I give until it hurts.” 

We can easily gift others with our “thoughts and prayers” because, if we’re honest, they cost us little. But love expressed through thoughtful financial support and sustained attention to the causes of material lack and physical suffering costs us much. Our author seems to anticipate the reluctance to love in sacrificial ways, which is why he gives the affectionate but clear directive, “My dear children, let’s not just talk about love; let’s practice real love (3:18, The Message). 

Real love is not only manifested in action but rooted in truth. It benefits not only those who receive it but also those who practice it because it helps us know that we belong to or “are from the truth” (3:19). Although the author in 3:19 is not saying that our belonging to God depends on our love for God and others, he implies that our acts of love are born out of our life in Christ. Just as everyone knows Jesus’ disciples by their love for one another (John 13:35), so we Christians know that we are living in the truth by our actions. Actions that emulate Jesus’ sacrificial love reassure us that Christ abides in us and that his Spirit is at work in us (3:24). 

But even still, believers may struggle with the question “Is my love real or good enough?” or “Do I belong to God and the community of saints if I struggle to love others as God loves me?” 

The author offers the assurance that God “is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything” (3:20). By this he means that God’s unfathomable greatness, perfect wisdom, and abiding love serve as the basis for our relationship with him and others. Even when our best intentions run out and our best efforts to love fall flat, Christ’s inexhaustible love remains our source. Christ puts us in right standing with God, and this unshakable truth emboldens us to pray to God freely and persist in our practice of real love, even if it hurts.