In the atrium, we reflect on the prophets of the Old Testament. Yes, we are sheep following the Good Shepherd (and we know his voice when we hear it, because he leads us out to fullness of life!), but/and we are also called to lead as the Shepherd leads. This picture of passive submission is not of Christ. How many of us, when serving in a leadership position at work, find ourselves asking forgiveness or permission for having a seat at the table, as though our presence were a privilege, rather than a long-overdue manifestation of justice? How many of us have remained in abusive relationships because we have internalized the idea that serving in love means taking whatever comes our way? How many of us have feared even looking someone straight in the eye because directness even in the realm of body language might make someone “uncomfortable” or make us appear “challenging?” Yet it bears repeating that this is not the messaging many women receive in the Church. This is the model we are called to follow, that of acknowledging, owning, standing proudly in our own dignity and power, and then, with discernment, trusting in the Father, we choose to make of our lives a gift. He sacrifices himself out of pure and total love, and from a consciousness of his own power. No one takes Jesus’s life, in this sense. These lines are important: they indicate that no external force compels Jesus to sacrifice himself. This command I have received from my Father.” I have power to lay it down, and power to take it up again. Jesus tells us, “No one takes it from me, but I lay it down on my own. Let’s look closely at the final lines of this weekend’s Gospel. We tend to miss the fact that we must have a functioning self to give in order to make a gift of it. And if you’re a woman in this culture, there’s a good chance you’ve internalized the sense that allowing your power to be taken is the “self-giving martyrdom” required by Christ. We live in a society (even within our churches) where we receive messaging that tells us we have two options: snatch power violently from others, or have your power snatched. The order of this matters, and we often get it wrong, especially if we live as women within Christian culture.
That is, we are called to know our own worth, to stand in our own power as children of God, and from that vantage point of dignity, then we are called to pour ourselves out, to lay down our lives for the sheep.
Within this Christian paradigm, we are called to make a gift of ourselves. Rather, he emptied himself.” In the kingly paradigm of Christ, power is never meant to be “grasped,” and is never meant for ourselves alone.īut neither can that power rightfully be taken. We recall the lines of Philippians 2:5-7: “Have among yourselves the same attitude that is also yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. This Good Shepherd “lays down his life for his sheep,” and we are called to do the same.Īt the same time, it is instructive to pay close attention to how Christ wields power. This moves us toward paradox, because leading as Christ led implies both recognition of our royal anointing as children of God, heirs to the Kingdom (the “kingly” dimension of that baptismal anointing), and a clear recollection that Christ’s kingliness is never about hoarding power, but about pouring it out in service to others. So if we are not only led, but also called to lead, what does that look like? This reciprocal relationship implies both tenderness, as children of God, and empowered call, as those sent by the Father, just as Christ is sent. And not only that, but Jesus draws an equivalency between his own relationship with the Father, in the Godhead, and our relationship with him, in the Godhead. Jesus not only says he knows his own in the world, but also that we know him we recognize him when we hear him. In our Scripture, Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd, and I know mine and mine know me, just as my Father knows me, and I know the Father.” One unbroken line. By virtue of our Baptism, we too are called to be “little christs” in the world, acting as “priest, prophet and king.” Remembering our Baptism, we recall that we too are anointed ones. Though as I read this Scripture again, away from the atrium, I can’t help but notice a different dimension. And no doubt, that is profoundly true: we are the sheep.
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