Searcher

So Jesus again said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, I am the door of the sheep.  All who came before me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them.  I am the door. If anyone enters by me, he will be saved and will go in and 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.  I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. – John 10:7-11

The true shepherd of the sheep, the legitimate shepherd enters by the door.  There is no surprise, no deception.  This is how we know that Jesus is the Good Shepherd.  He came in by the door.  But, He says, He is also the Door.  What does that mean?  We might think of it as the whole of the gospel – the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ, so in a sense, it must start with His taking on flesh. 

For us, salvation means entering into the sheepfold, which, in another facet of this truth, means entering into and being a part of the Body of Christ.  Public profession of Jesus as our Savior and our declaration of union with Him through baptism is the door we must pass through.  We can lay aside for the moment special cases, such as the thief on the cross.  Baptism, when possible, is a necessity. 

For those of us who enter by the Door and become part of the fold, we may be assured that our Shepherd will watch over us.  From time to time, some of us, perhaps with just a faint hint of goat DNA in our make ups, will wander, stray, get out of sight, miss the call to head home.  

My wife has a picture of Christ as Shepherd surrounded by sheep and holding one little lamb who looks lovingly into the Master’s face.  She used to tell our granddaughter that she, our granddaughter, was the lamb.  A white sheep stands beneath the lamb in the Lord’s arms, also looking up into His face.  This, she said, is Grandma.  A black sheep to the back of the group looks on.  This, my wife would add, laughing, is Poppy.

Some of us feel like outcasts, like that sheep that is out of the first circle.  That may be why we pay less attention to where the rest of the flock feeds, why we search for the edge of the precipice and try the narrow trails.  I am not saying we are right to do so, but we do.  The Shepherd counts His sheep.  If we are missing, out of sight, off on some adventure, He will come looking for us.  

I don’t deserve it.  I haven’t earned it.  There is no way I am worth the trouble.  I might be out stuck in some crevice, fallen down in some ravine, lost and alone with the coyotes circling, and I have no one to blame except myself.  It’s not like it’s the first time or even the seventh time.  I have done this over and over, and the result is always the same.  I am stupid and willful and arrogant.  OK, maybe not so arrogant at the moment as I see those long, sharp teeth throwing back the last red rays of day. 

The sound is faint and distant.  The circling predators hardly notice, but I am pretty sure what it is.  After all, I’ve heard it before.  A moment later, and it is louder and closer, enough to make the coyotes nervous.  The circle ceases to tighten.  Again, and I utter a plaintive cry of my own.  It is answered.  The pack scatters, slinking away, back into the shadows to disappear. 

It’s full dark now, but He knows the way.  I just stumble alongside and listen as He tells me how He followed my trail and found me, how glad He is that He got there in time.  He always does.  Back with the rest, for the time being, I am not such an outcast.  We are all happy to be safe and together under the Shepherd’s clear and watchful eye, heading home.