"I came that they might have life, and have it abundantly."
      Now there's a covenant. "I came that they might have life, and have
it abundantly."
      It's nearly identical to the first line of the 23rd Psalm, isn't it? "The
Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want."
      In both readings today, we are given the essence of Judeo/Christian
spirituality. God provides abundance—all we need and more. Peace. Joy.
Love. God leads us to abundance, as a shepherd leads the sheep, to the
food and water that sustains us. God restores our souls. Our part of the
bargain is only to be like sheep: hear the shepherd's voice and follow.
      What could be more simple? [long pause]
      Could anything be more difficult?
      The world is so full of false shepherds today. There are "get rich"
shepherds who tell us we'll be happy if we live like kings. The "be
beautiful" shepherd tells us we'll be loved if we're skinny. The "family
values" shepherd says gay marriage will destroy the family.
      And of course there are many, many more false shepherds, each one
more strident, each one promising green pastures and still waters,
promises that fade as we grasp for them like mirages in the desert.
      But each of us is here today because we know different. We have
learned through experience that money doesn't bring happiness and that
being more attractive doesn't produce love. And as for gay marriage, we
are aware that the institution of the American family is faced with bigger
threats.
      We come here together for the same reason religious people come
together everywhere: to find and follow our true shepherd. We know at the
core of our beings that these scriptures are true. We have touched the
mystery of God. We know firsthand the power of Spirit. Our faith is not a
set of abstract beliefs; it grows from our experience. Trust in Spirit works.
      We all have stories when we resisted our impulse in order to follow
Spirit. Like a friend of mine, who is always worried about fulfilling his
responsibilities at work. Two weeks ago, as he finished helping his son
pack up a project for a presentation to his class at school, his son said, "I
wish you could come to my presentation, Dad." It was right in the middle
of his busy day at work, and the father was anxious about his duties. But
it occurred to him, "Maybe it would be okay to go." And so he said, "Ask
your teacher if it's allowed, and call me." In the end, he spent over an hour
in the class. His son and he both learned a precious lesson about being
loved, and about the act of loving. But the kicker was that the father's
exposure to the classroom proved critical to his understanding of his son's
experience in school. He learned why his son had been unhappy there, and
he became able to help.
      When we choose Spirit over anxiety, we receive more than we can
imagine.
      Our stories are full of this truth. Take Ruth, for example. She is one
of the heroines of the Bible precisely because she chooses Spirit. She
abandons the safety of her Moab homeland to follow the still small voice of
truth inside her. She chooses to face famine in Judah rather than let her
mother-in-law, Naomi, face it alone.
      "Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you!"
she says in one of the most beautiful passages in the Bible, "Where you
go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people,
and your God my God." As the story goes, of course, the anticipated
hardships transform into abundance for both of them. Then, as now, a
hero is one who follows the shepherd of truth.
      It's not easy to be sheep. We humans seem to be hard-wired to
think too highly of ourselves. We are overly enamored by the wonderful
workings of our minds, like Narcissus staring into the mirror, we are too
often trapped within our own image.

Perhaps we would do well at this point to turn our attention from
the shepherd in our readings and consider more closely the image of the
sheep. This Sunday is called "Good Shepherd Sunday," but perhaps it
should also be called, "Become Like Sheep Sunday." I think this may be
what the authors of these passages—and Jesus—had in mind.
      As our tradition always informs us, we have a responsibility in our
own growth. We are not saved only by God's grace. We also have work to
do. We are the co-creators. The shepherd calls us, but it is up to us to
follow.
      I learned a little bit about sheep firsthand a couple of years ago
when I raised two of them for about a year. We wanted their wool for
spinning and milk for cheese, and in the bargain we were hoping for some
of the gifts we knew were given through farming. When you have heard
my story, I think you'll agree this New York City boy was lucky to settle
for the wool.
      Here's what happened. The farmer at Hampshire College, Leslie
Cox (a member of this church), found two newborn lambs on a bitter
February night, nearly frozen to death and abandoned by their mother.
He couldn't get any of his sheep to mother them, and so he warmed them
and bottle-fed them and brought them back to life himself.
      He offered them to me and Cynthia for cheap because he knew they
would always be trouble. Now when he first told us this, it sounded to us
like he meant they would simple be attracted to him as their "mother
figure," and would get in the way when he tried to tend the flock. This
actually sounded attractive to us – the notion of sheep being uncommonly
affectionate with humans. They were special.
      We made a pen in the garage with straw for bedding, and the little
lambs were adorable. Emily and Will and the neighborhood kids all loved
to feed them and cuddle with them.
      The trouble didn't start until a lot later, long after we had moved
them to the back yard. They just weren't satisfied with their limits. It
didn't matter how much sweet hay I gave them, or grain, or anything.
They wanted out.
      And they got out. So I reinforced the fencing. They got out again. I
fenced in an extra area of tall grass for variety. They got out.
      One day we got a call from the farm manager at Brookfield farm,
who raises food for 250 family share-holders. It wasn't the first time our
sheep had gotten into his field, but this time they had eaten 200 heads of
lettuce. He gave us the farmer's ultimatum: keep your animals off my land
or else!
      I called Leslie. Certainly he would take them back, at least for a few
days. He resisted. I pleaded. Maybe I shamed him a little. Finally, he was
persuaded, though he made it clear it was only temporary. In the next
couple of days, Cyn and I talked to all the farmers we knew to see if they
would adopt Star and Moon (those were the kids' names for them). No one
was interested in the least.
      Finally, after they had spent a few days at Hampshire, I got a call
from Leslie. "You've got to come get these sheep," he said. "Last night,
they broke through the electric fencing, and they led the rest of the herd
out with them." He called them "juvenile delinquents."
      When I went to pick them up, Leslie filled in the information we
had missed when he first offered them to us. He said that once they're
bottle-fed, they just plain lose their ability to be sheep. After that, it's
hopeless trying to put them with the herd. Apparently every farmer
knows this.
      In the end, we found a home for them in Leverett, on a little rescue
farm with other "special" animals. They are pets.
      So what do my attempts at sheep raising have to do with today's
scripture readings? This is it: you can't be too dumb to be a sheep, but
being too smart is disastrous.
      It's hard for us humans to avoid being too smart. We have such
wonderful brains. We create such elegant structures of thought, such
flawless intricacies of logic. After all, it was our brains that raised us
above the other creatures, no?
      Now I'm not trying to say we don't need our brains. Lord knows we
need them to manage daily life today, don't we? I would hate to try
scheduling the lives of 10 and 12 year-olds without a human brain. Or
plan the driving routes required to meet the schedules of 10 and 12 year-
olds.
      Yes, we need our wondrous minds—no doubt. We couldn't survive
without them. But at a certain point, they work against us. Today,
perhaps even more than in Jesus' time, we need to know when to ignore
them.
      Like when our minds tell us it's okay to reject people if they hold to
red-state politics. Or blue-state politics. Like when our minds condemn a
woman because she asserts her right to choose abortion. Or when our
minds condemn those who believe abortion is against God's law. Or they
condemn supporters of gay marriage. Or opponents of gay marriage.
      I am very concerned with the so-called "great divide" in America
today. This belief that people are different from us because they hold
different beliefs is scary. It's not new… it's basically clan behavior… it has
been with us forever.
      I find myself scared by it sometimes, wondering how it compares to
the state of public discourse in Berlin in the early 30s. At what point did
fear of the Jews become prejudice? When did prejudice turn deadly?
      Fear is dangerous. It turns our minds from tools into weapons, from
ploughshares into swords.
      It is when I begin to feel the adrenaline rise from such thoughts
that I thank God for our tradition, and all other true religions, because we
have been given what we need to protect ourselves from the insanities of
prejudice and panic.
      We have the tools we need to turn away from the darkness to the
light. Our stories tell us that every human being is the same, with exactly
the same needs. Food, water, shelter. Family, friends, community. Joy.
Peace. Love. Freedom from fear.
      We know that our humanity depends on sticking to the basics: Love
God, and treat others as you would have them treat you. We proclaim
inclusion. Equality. Justice. When we see these principles being violated,
we know we are in dangerous territory. Beyond our limits. It is time to
turn back. We can remember our shepherd is with us, and we know that if
we follow, our souls will be restored.
      Do events on the national stage seem too big to be meaningful in
our little lives? They do to me sometimes. What can I do about such large-
scale events? But the truth is that every one of these conflicts begins and
ends inside the individual heart. If we live the truth in our own lives, we
make a difference, bigger than we imagine. It is one of the mysteries of life
that truth is like a hologram: take any piece of it, and you have all of it.
Live it, and you live it for all creation.
      So let's bring this down to our own level and think about where in
our lives we can practice these principles. How about right here in our
church family?
      We are getting ready to say goodbye to our interim pastor, Fran
Ruthven. Before Fran came, we were fragmented and anxious. I dare say
we have experienced renewal under her shepherding. Now she is leaving,
and anxiety is bound to come knocking. Can we use these next few months
as an opportunity to live the truth of today's scriptures? Can we help each
other remember that our best thinking is not always our friend, that the
truth is never anxious?
      The truth is that our divine shepherd brought Fran to us, is
bringing Carolyn in September, and all will be well. Let us remember
what the psalmist teaches us: "I fear no evil, for you are with me."
      Let us go from here and ask ourselves where in our lives we might
do well to quiet the mind and listen for the divine calling.
      "The sheep… will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him
because they do not know the voice of strangers."
      May it be so for each and every one of us.
      Amen.