My sheep know my voice

John 10:1-10

“Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.” Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.

So again Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly."

By Diego Delso, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=37200164

As I've been having most of my group interactions via video call these days, it's become increasingly apparent that I'm not very good at identifying someone just by the sound of their voice. Having made embarrassing errors on multiple occasions, I've resorted to double-confirmation as I peer into the grid of faces on my screen to check who is speaking.

My poor voice recognition is on display in meetings with people who I haven't known for very long, but I know that the situation is completely different when I'm speaking with people that I know really well. Then, I don't need to see their face to identify their voice - but more than that, I am alert to the smallest changes in rate, tone, pitch, or volume. I try to notice the subtle patterns of change in their voice that indicate pent-up emotion, the pause that is slightly longer than usual, the cadence which they know I will perceive as soothing. My familiarity with these voices comes not by chance, but through a practice of sustained attentiveness.

In our Gospel reading, we are all sheep in a sheepfold. We have not - yet! - reached the pastures that we long for. Being sheep, perhaps we don't have much to do all day apart from maybe eating some grass or having a nap! But we do have one task, one very important task. Different people will enter the sheepfold, and call out to us - and our task is to identify the voice of the shepherd. But what does this voice sound like? This is a voice that each one of us knows deep, deep down: the voice that speaks to you directly, that only you can know. The voice that brings us into being, that formed us in our mother's womb. This is the beautiful voice calling each one of us by name, leading us out through the gate into the green pastures that are our deepest desire.

So far so good - but in the sheepfold it can be pretty noisy, as there is another voice distracting us and competing for our attention. On a deep level, we do not know this voice - it belongs to a stranger. But perhaps the voice of the thief can sound more compelling than we at first imagine. Will the shepherd really lead us into fresh pastures? What do these pastures look like, anyway?

Psalm 23 ('The Lord is my shepherd') describes the journey which we undertake as we follow the shepherd. In the first verse we are duly led to "green pastures" and "still waters". But as the Psalm progresses, the 'pastures' through which we are being led become instead "the valley of the shadow of death". The landscape has totally changed - the only constant is the presence of the shepherd, who comforts us.

The 'pasture' of the sheep is the abundant life that Christ promises us, that we yearn for in our innermost hearts. But it is not always green, and it is not always pleasant. Sometimes the good shepherd leads us into the darkest places of our lives and our world, when we seem surrounded by evil. When we decide to follow the shepherd, we must not do so hoping to reach any imagined utopia - that is surely not what 'abundant life' really looks like. But what does it look like? What does it really mean to have life 'in Christ', to have life abundantly?

Later in John 10, Jesus refers to himself as 'the good shepherd'. But within this particular story he doesn't - he says 'I am the gate'. Perhaps when we initially imagine this gate, it's like a portal connecting two worlds: the sheepfold and the pasture. If we pass through this gate, the landscape of our world completely changes. But what if, like the psalmist of Psalm 23, we are being led by the good shepherd through the varied terrain of our lives - through the smooth places and the jagged edges? What relevance could the gate possibly have here?

Perhaps a clue lies in the words of the Psalmist: when led through pastures the shepherd "restores my soul" and when led through the valley of the shadow of death "I fear no evil". Perhaps going through the gate transforms not the terrain itself, but how we see it. Perhaps 'abundant life' - a life wrapped in God - shows itself not in the landscape of our lives but in how we live in that landscape.

So, let's put ourselves back at the very start of the Gospel reading, as a sheep in the sheepfold. What does the good shepherd sound like to you? Can you hear the sound of her mysterious, beautiful voice calling your name? How does her invitation make you feel?

Perhaps this simple act of listening for the voice of the shepherd, and trusting her enough to follow - whether we're led into the pasture or the valley of the shadow of death - is what we mean by that mysterious word, 'prayer'. The poem 'Summer Day' by Mary Oliver (of which I've included the final few lines below), is one which I think beautifully captures both the practice of prayer and its relationship to our yearned-for home, our abundant life nestled in the heart of God: 

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?