Chasing Home

John 10:1-10; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26

April 2, 2015 (Maundy Thursday) • Portage First UMC

It was probably as close to home as they could make it, this rented upper room. Passover was typically a meal you celebrated with your family, in your home, though everyone dreamed of celebrating it in Jerusalem at least once. These thirteen men, along with other close friends, were as much family as anyone ever was. They had spent the last three years together—traveling, teaching, sharing life—and the twelve had witnessed things they could only have dreamed of in those three years. But tonight was not a time for miracles. It was a time for good food, good friends, good conversation, and remembering who they were as a people. It was a time to celebrate home and family and life.

The food was beyond good; those who had prepared it had outdone themselves this time. The liturgy was just as they remembered it, and even though Jesus was, as always, acting as the host, there didn’t seem to be the joy in his face that normally was there on this special evening. He was saying the words, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes that none of the disciples could quite understand. As the meal was being served, Matthew pointed it out, calling across the table, “Master, what’s wrong? You don’t seem like you’re quite here with us. You seem like your mind and heart are somewhere else. Is there something wrong?” Jesus turned and looked at him, then turned back to look at all of them. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, Jesus said, “Very truly I tell you, one of you is going to betray me” (John 13:21). And that pretty much put a damper on the entire evening. One of them? A betrayer? There had never been a closer group of men in all of history (or, at least, that’s what they told themselves). How could one of them be a betrayer and the rest not realize it?

As they sat in stunned silence, each of them began looking around the room at the others, searching each face for some sign of betrayal. But they all seemed confused and even hurt at Jesus’ words. One of the disciples who was often the quietest, Thaddeus, began to think back over all that had happened in the last three years. Was there some clue? Was there some hint? Had he done something that made Jesus think he would betray the Master? And as he thought back, his mind took him to a particular discussion Jesus had with the Pharisees. They had been talking about spiritual blindness, about who could really “see” and who could not. Jesus had told them that they were guilty of sin because they claimed to see what God was up to but really weren’t able to. That hadn’t set well with the Pharisees (John 9:41), and they liked even less what he said next.

That was when Jesus used all those images of sheep and shepherding to describe what he was up to. He had described himself as a shepherd but on that same day he had also described himself as a gate or a door for the sheep. For most of the people in the crowd that day, it hadn’t taken much work to decipher Jesus’ code. They knew what shepherds did, even if they didn’t like them very much. Shepherds roamed the countryside, tending the flock that had been entrusted to their care. At night, when they were close to home, several flocks of sheep were often put into a permanent pen, and in the mornings, the shepherd only had to call out to his sheep and they would follow him out of the pen. They knew the voice of their shepherd; they knew the call of their shepherd. If a stranger tried to imitate the voice of their shepherd, the sheep knew it and they would scatter (cf. Tenney, “The Gospel of John,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 9, pg. 108). But a lot of the time, shepherds were out in the wilderness, far from home, and the permanent pen was not available. So all over the countryside you would find temporary sheepfolds, places shepherds could use to keep their flock contained at night and protect them from thieves, bandits and predators. If a temporary sheepfold wasn’t available in whatever location the shepherd found himself, they would use one of the many caves that dotted the hilly landscape of the Judean desert. Either way, the goal was to provide a protective wall around the sheep so that they would not be harmed.

When nightfall came, the shepherd would lead the flock to the place of safety and he would stand at the entryway of the sheepfold. As each sheep passed by, he would inspect the sheep, looking for scratches or wounds they might have picked up. If they had been hurt, the shepherd would apply oil to help with the healing; if they were thirsty, he would give them a drink. All of the sheep would be individually attended to, accounted for, and allowed to rest inside the sheepfold. And then the shepherd would lay down in the entryway so that no man or beast would be able to get into the protected area without the shepherd knowing it. He would lay down in the entryway and literally become a living gate or door for the sheepfold (cf. Tenner 108; Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 126; Wright, John for Everyone, Part One, pg. 150). That was the image that came to Thaddeus’ mind this night, the time when Jesus said, “I am the gate for the sheep” (10:7).

Thaddeus chuckled to himself when he remembered the look on the faces of the Pharisees as they realized Jesus was comparing them to “thieves and robbers.” Jesus sure covered the whole gamut there; thieves were those who would steal things by tricking people while robbers were those who used violence to take what they wanted (Tenney 107). Pharisees, apparently (at least according to Jesus), were both, could do both, depending on the situation. They hadn’t liked that too much, especially when Jesus said the people weren’t really listening to them or following them. Then Jesus had said it again: “I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved…The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy” (10:9-10). Thaddeus was surprised that the Pharisees hadn’t picked up stones to throw at Jesus right then and there!

But, now, in the stillness of this Passover meal, he began to think about Jesus as the gate. Jesus had made it clear that it was his decision as to who comes in and goes out, and while that might sound cold and callous, it had become obvious over the last three years that Jesus wanted everyone to come in. He wanted everyone to be part of his flock. What he didn’t want to happen was for those who wanted to harm his sheep to be able to get in. That’s why he was the door, the gate, in part to protect the sheep. It was his role, after all, as shepherd to put aside his own wants, needs and desires and to make the sheep his top priority. And Thaddeus had never doubted that Jesus did just that. Those he called were his top priority. Even when he had to be dead tired, Jesus always took time for people. Jesus always was interested in caring for people. Every interruption he took in stride, even when the disciples wanted to shoo the people away. Jesus welcomed everyone and gave them the attention and time they needed—offering healing if it was needed, tending to wounds, and offering himself as the living water for the thirsty (John 4:14; 7:37). Jesus cared for people the same way a shepherd tended his sheep.

Thaddeus found himself nodding as he also realized the way Jesus’ statement that day had told them he is the legitimate savior. He is the one God had promised so long ago (cf. Tenney 108). For centuries the prophets had promised that God was going to send someone to save the people, and for centuries after the last prophet had spoken, their words had been read and read and studied and read some more. Every generation hoped they might be the one who would see the coming of the Messiah, and when Jesus came along—well, there was just something within Thaddeus and the other disciples that sensed he could be the one. Thaddeus thought about that night when Jesus had taken them on a camping trip way up north, to that awful pagan place known as Caesarea Philippi, and how Jesus had put them on the spot when he asked who they thought he was. Thaddeus wasn’t brave enough to answer that night, but Peter was. Peter always was. “You are the Messiah,” Peter had said, really speaking for all of them, “the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16). Everything had changed that night. The “secret” was out there. He was the true savior, the true shepherd. He didn’t come like a thief, breaking in or vaulting over the wall. He was, in fact, the gate, the one who protected the sheep, kept the sheep safe, saved them. He was their savior. And now, tonight, Jesus says one of those who was there that night, one who has traveled with them since the beginning, is a betrayer. How could that be? How could the betrayer not see that Jesus is the savior God promised?

Then Thaddeus remembered one other thing Jesus had said when he told them he was the gate. He had said something that sounded rather strange at the time, but had made perfect sense later. Jesus had said, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (10:10). Thaddeus had an uncle who was a shepherd, and one time he asked him about the life of a sheep. His uncle had told him that for sheep to flourish, they had to be able to find rest, and for them to be able to rest, there were certain conditions that had to be fulfilled. Sheep have to be free from fear, free from friction with others in the flock, free from parasites and pests, and free from hunger (Fuquay, The God We Can Know, pg. 62). Thaddeus chuckled to himself again as he realized that list was pretty much the same whether you were talking about sheep or people. A life free of fear would be a full life. It’s hard to imagine a life where there isn’t something to be afraid of, but perhaps it’s possible to live in less fear if we know Jesus is the gate, protecting his sheep. A life free of friction with others would be a life to the full, and that’s hard to imagine too. A world in which conflicts were settled before sundown (cf. Ephesians 4:26)—is such a thing possible? Well, not without effort and work on everyone’s part. The sheep had to learn to get along in order to find rest and have life to the full. And then to be free of parasites and pests, or for humans, letting go of the little things that bug us, that we get hung up on. Thaddeus thought of all the things he tended to get worked up over. Jesus had shown him over the last three years that most of those things weren’t worth the energy he spent on them. They were like parasites, sapping his strength, strength that he could better use to live life to the full and help Jesus in his ministry. And free from hunger—well, that is a truly human trait, isn’t it? After all, that’s part of why they’ve gathered in this upper room, not only to remember but also to share a meal together, to satisfy their hunger, both spiritual and physical.

The meal was over, but it was the conversation that brought Thaddeus back to what was happening around the table. He wondered how long he hadn’t been paying attention, but he did a quick table count and realized one of their number was missing. Judas—Judas was gone. Oh, well, he must have gone to make the traditional contribution to the offering for the poor. He was their treasurer, after all. He couldn’t be the traitor (13:29). It must be someone else, someone still at the table, someone who hadn’t yet allowed Jesus to be the gate of their sheepfold.

Thaddeus then watched as Jesus stood up, took a loaf of bread that was on the table, and broke it in two. He passed the loaf to those at the table, telling them to take a piece and eat it. What was that he said? “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me” (1 Corinthians 11:24). Well, that was strange. That wasn’t the normal thing one said at this point in the evening. In fact, normally no more food was eaten after the lamb had been consumed. Jesus was, it seems, downplaying the significance of the Passover lamb and telling them something else was going on here. The bread, he said, was his body. What could he mean by that? And then, as if that weren’t enough, Jesus poured the third cup of wine for the evening, the cup of blessing, and passed it among the disciples as well, telling them, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me” (11:25). That cup had always represented the blood of the lamb that had been slain, the lamb that represented their salvation (Rosen, Christ in the Passover, pgs. 58-59). Now Jesus is saying this cup refers to him? How is that possible? Is he saying that he came to do more than save them from the Romans? Did he come to give them a better salvation, to be their gate, to be their home?

Thaddeus stared into the cup for a moment before he drank. He stared at his reflection there in the wine. And in that moment, he realized why he knew, deep in his soul, that Jesus was exactly whom he had been looking for. All of his life, he had been like a lost little sheep, full of fear, surrounded by friction, bitten by parasites and desperately hungry. But when Jesus came and called him to follow, he found those needs beginning to be met. Over the last three years, he realized, he had been chasing home, trying to find a place where he belonged and a place where he felt safe and secure, even saved. As he looked into that cup this night, he realized his chase after home  and a place to belong was over. He had found a home, and his name was Jesus. Jesus was where he belonged. Jesus was the one who brought him everything he had ever been looking for. As he drank from the cup, Thaddeus prayed that, whatever Jesus was up to on this night, he would be able to invite others to share the home he had found in Jesus. Jesus is the gate, and he welcomes us in. Of that, Thaddeus was absolutely sure.