Confirmation Sermon April 28/29, 2007

A story from when I was confirmation age - 8th grade for me - and not a story about church, either (not at first). Living in our small town in Missouri, my family raised two goats in order to supply us (and in particular my brother Lyle) with milk. Lyle had an allergy to regular milk, cows' milk; the other substitutes weren't then available. So twice a day, just like a dairy farm, my dad milked those goats and I spread out their hay.

And since our goats grazed next door to our house in a pasture that we rented and their barn was right there, too, our family and those two goats were well acquainted.

Eventually Lyle was treated for his allergies and didn't need the goats' milk any longer, so we sold them to a farmer. Maybe a year later we happened to be driving by his place, and my dad thought he'd stop and have a look, see how his livestock were doing. The farmer was agreeable, and we all walked over to the fence. It was hilly, heavily wooded, southern Missouri countryside, and as we walked along the farmer called out several times. But the only goats to come forth were his own - until, that is, my dad and my brothers and I started calling. "Nanny! Nanny! Si!" - calling out their names.

And they came running. From 'way down in the creek beds, through the trees and far beyond where we could see, they came running. After all that time, they knew our voices and knew us. They nuzzled through the fence-wire for our hands, bleated and baa-ed until they were hoarse, and I swear you could see those goats smiling!

It's a long way from rural Missouri, and except for Megan Knudson and her family, none of us knows goats or sheep, I'll bet. Jesus and his people did, though, so they "got it" when he used farm language. Still, even for us, "The Lord is my shepherd" is pretty famous... and so is the Good Shepherd, and we "get" the imagery. "The sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out... The shepherd goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice."

Sheep aren't dumb at all; it's the cattle producers who like to keep that rumor going. Sheep don't behave like cows. Cows are herded from behind by cowboys hootin' and hollerin', cracking whips, pushing, driving them. That won't work with sheep. Stand behind sheep making noise and all they'll do is run around behind you because they prefer to be led. You push cows, but you lead sheep, and they won't go anywhere that someone else does not go first -their shepherd who goes ahead of them to show that all is going to be OK. [1]

That's why Jesus also calls himself the gate - not just the shepherd but the gate. Doors and gates go two ways. Come along, he says; follow me. The Shepherd's Gate opens this way to keep you safe inside, protectively gather you in to the corral, where you can get a little rest before you leave in the opposite direction. The Shepherd's Gate also opens that way, outward... toward green pastures and still waters, yes... but we also walk out there into the valley of the shadow of death. Those valleys, too, are part of our environment, both personal and cultural - bleak and barren, landscape, waterless, cruel and deadly - Virginia Tech or something like it, Afghanistan and Iraq, predators by internet, videogame, and college freshmen parties... and meth and alcohol, and things your parents don't even yet know about to worry over.

But we can't stay only here where it's safe. We can't forever stay home, cozy and protected, because the Shepherd is calling us- calling us by name, in fact - pay attention in a few moments, now - by name, calling us to come where he leads, because where he leads is where he wants us and where we need to be. He calls us not just to graze contentedly and produce a little milk for boys and girls, but to make a difference in a world of valleys, death, enemies, and evil. Still, it's good to have a place called Home and to know the Shepherd's calling us there, too.

German immigrants started a church, St Thomas Lutheran Church, in the South Bronx, New York City. This was years ago, and when they dug the basement they hit rock and ran out of money. They literally hit rock so large and impenetrable that in those days they spent all their construction money and still couldn't blast through enough to pour footings for a decent building. So they put up a little structure with a door in it opening into the basement... or... opening onto the street.

Craig Koester, who tells this story, says you come up to the door, go down the steps, and find yourself in another world. Downstairs, it's happy noise, safe, and welcoming. On the street outside is the world of chemical dependency, traffic noise, crime, and grime. In the city, no one knows your name, everyone is busy, and no one cares. Inside, people stop to ask after your family, pray for you by name, offer you something good to eat; they know your stories and they can make you laugh. [2]

You don't live there in the basement, of course. You can't live at church. Like the sheep of Jesus' story, out you go to make a difference where it's needed. It isn't always safe out there. Those people pictured in that "Confirmation Day in Heaven" piece that we read here just a little bit ago... who are they, those people gathered around the throne in heaven, robed in white? Who are they? "These are the ones who have come through great troubles," it says. So will you. Friends, I'll be honest. You think it was hard, coming to confirmation each week for how many years? You ain't seen nothin' yet! As you travel on our streets to make a difference... as the Shepherd keeps pulling you "out there" ...What's ahead for you is hunger, thirst, and sun-scald.

But remember that the Shepherd goes ahead of us. He doesn't stand in back, yelling and pushing us. He picks us up and carries us and he doesn't ask anything from us that he hasn't already done. Through the valley, in the presence of enemies he leads us and sets a Table before us - and "he will guide us to the waters of life, and God will wipe away every tear."

In a few moments, now, you'll be promising that you'll stay close enough to this Shepherd to hear him often enough that you'll recognize his voice when he calls your name. What's in it for you is life... and life abundantly.

Nathan Castens
Chanhassen, Minnesota

[1] Barbara Brown Taylor, The Preaching Life

[2] Luther Seminary prof Craig Koester in an email to Pr Kristie, who asked about a story that she remembered from her class with Craig. She passed this along to me.