You can watch a video of this sermon here, at minute 35:50. It is preceded by a dramatic reading of an extended Gospel passage, John 9:1-10:21. John scholar Karoline Lewis notes that the first 21 verses of John 10 are essential to understand the meaning of the healing in chapter 9, so we proclaimed the whole text, inclusive of the sign of the healing, the dialogue about it, and the Good Shepherd discourse.
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My happy place is a quiet lodge at the top of a hill, accessible only by a winding road, and all but invisible from above. I can rest there in beautiful solitude, in a bed with perfectly fitted, white sheets, deep pillows, and a plush comforter. A cool breeze is flowing over me, gently and steadily, as I rest. It is delightfully quiet. No one knows I am there, and they are not able to contact me. I am asleep. My breathing is slow and contented. All is well.
The rest of the world is also doing well when I am in my happy place, because it would disturb my slumber if others were suffering greatly while I relaxed in comfort. And so I dream of a repaired world, a healed world, as I slumber beneath the covers, and the sunlight dapples through the green leaves that cover and protect my dwelling.
This is my happy place. This is where I go whenever a therapist or meditation leader says, “Go to your happy place.” I’m sorry that it does not actually exist, but imagination is powerful, and when I take naps I can sometimes imagine myself there, and gratefully fall asleep.
But there is a problem with my happy place. I think Jesus would want to change it – radically change it. I suspect my vision of a happy place makes me something like the Pharisees and the parents of the man born blind, arguing anxiously about his wondrous healing. You see, my happy place is occupied by only one person. It’s all about only one person. If Jesus challenged me, he might say, “Let some others come in.” But – to be honest – if I complied, I probably wouldn’t follow the spirit of his instruction: I would invite friends and family to come in, not those Jesus tends to invite. (And I would do even that reluctantly – I really enjoy the peaceful solitude of my happy place!)
I might even have a hard time seeing the people Jesus invites into his happy place, let alone invite them myself. I tend not to pay much attention to people I would rather overlook. But Jesus sees them. Today we hear that Jesus sees the man born blind, in a delightfully ironic play on sight and blindness in the Good News according to John. And then the man both sees Jesus and hears his voice. This man who has now received his sight is the sheep Jesus invites and then carries into his fold, into his happy place. Jesus sees him, heals him, and tucks him in, nice and safe.
Friends, I hope your tired eyes can see, and your weary ears can hear, the warm and nourishing joy of this Good News: In Jesus we meet not just a healer, but the Healer who restores even that which we never had, even once in our lives. (He restores the sight of one who had never, for one day of his life, been able to see.) But there’s more. In Jesus we meet not just a savior, but the Savior who puts away our sins and carries us back into good and life-giving relationship with him. (We are not merely forgiven the way a prisoner serves out their sentence and gets to walk free; we are tucked into close relationship, deep friendship, with God.) And finally, in Jesus we meet not just a shepherd, but the Good Shepherd who – even if it takes hundreds of ages – is gathering all the world into his fold, where everyone is invited to receive protection, blessing, and abundant life.
Healer, Savior, Shepherd: this is the One who dwells at the center of God’s happy place.
And I hope you can see that God’s happy place is right here, at 15 Roy Street, in and around this room. Unlike my personal happy place, the sheepfold of Christ is actually coming into existence, right here. It comes in fits and starts, but it is coming into existence. And it already has been here for many decades, thirteen decades and counting, to be exact.
God’s happy place takes form here whenever one of us notices another one of us, and goes to that person as Jesus would. One of my favorite examples is our Accessibility Task Force, a group of our members who are meeting to recommend upgrades to our physical property. Because of their work, many of us can now see things that we did not see before: we see the absence of safe handrails along staircases; we notice the absence of adequate lighting in hallways and landings; we are now alert to the concern of those who can’t hear preachers and lectors in this room; we are now aware that there is only one good exit door from this room for those who aren’t able to walk.
This week, we moved one of our pews to create a better seating option for those in wheelchairs, one that truly incorporates these friends into the assembly, rather than requiring them to sit in the aisle. Everyone belongs inside the fold! Now, moving a pew is a daunting task: maybe you can imagine how ridiculously heavy these pews are. But this past Wednesday evening, several people readily volunteered to haul the pew downstairs. I looked down the long pew to see them working, one of them bearing the brunt of the weight, almost buckling underneath it, and my heart was filled with gratitude for their faithfulness. These are healers, saviors, and shepherds: their labor helps form this parish into God’s happy place, tucking our friends with accessibility challenges into God’s fold, nice and safe.
But my heart was already full. I walked with the SPiN crew last Sunday – I am trying to do this on second Sundays – and one of our members was in the lead, stepping into the Seattle Center Armory building to encourage people to come out to our wagons, where we waited with hot soup, protein bars, and warm clothes. As we made our way along the route, this same healer, savior, and shepherd greeted one neighbor after another, sometimes embracing them, and – like Jesus himself – calling them by name. Our neighbors follow her, because they know her voice. She brings them into God’s fold. (I would tell you her name, but if I did so, this humble shepherd would be devastated with deep embarrassment. Like so many of us, including the ones who hauled the pew, she works in God’s own humble anonymity.)
And this is how it goes in God’s sheepfold, in God’s happy place. We learn from Jesus the Good Shepherd how to see those the world ignores, and tuck them into the fold. And we ourselves are also seen. We ourselves can hear the Shepherd’s voice. My own vision of my personal happy place is the ordinary dream of a soul longing for inclusion, healing, comfort, and rest. Life in God’s happy place isn’t all about hauling pews and handing out blankets: you are healed and restored, too. You are among those God calls by name.
God sees you, as God in Jesus walks along, even here at 15 Roy Street. God sees you, and invites you into God’s sheepfold, into God’s happy place. You are just like the shepherd boy named David, who almost escaped Samuel’s notice, but finally was seen, chosen, and anointed. You are among those about whom God says, “This is the one.”
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Preached on the Fourth Sunday in Lent (Year A), March 19, 2023, at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Seattle, Washington.
1 Samuel 16:1-13
Psalm 23
Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-10:21