4/26/26 Sermon
View today's sermon on our YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hk3Koab4VI.
Psalm 23 King James Version
1 The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
3 He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:
for thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
And I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.
John 10:1-10 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition
1‘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. 2The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. 3The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. 4When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. 5They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.’ 6Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.
7So again Jesus said to them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. 8All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. 9I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. 10The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.
Please pray with me…
The pastor and poet Jan Richardson writes:
“I know I am not alone in thinking that life has been very threshold-y of late, in beautiful and challenging ways. So this is for you (and for us), for the fourth Sunday of Easter: a blessing with a gate in it. May we be open to the grace that comes to meet us in every crossing, every passage, every place where we are working to come through.”
Blessing of the Gate
Press your hand
to this blessing,
here along
the side
where you can feel
its seam.
Follow the seam
and you will find
the hinge
son which
this blessing turns.
Feel how
your finger
scatch on them—top,
bottom,
the slightest pressure
sending the gate
gliding open
in a glad welcome.
Wait, did I say
press your hand
to this blessing?
What I meant was
press your hand
to your heart.
Rest it over that
place in your chest
that has grown
closed and tight,
where the rust,
with its talent
for making decay
look artful,
has bitten into
what you once
held dear.
Breathe deep.
Press on the knot
and feel how it
begins to give way,
turning upon
the hinge
of your heart.
Notice how it
opens wide
and wider still
as you exhale,
spilling you out
into a realm
where you never dreamed
to go
but cannot now imagine
living this life
without.
© Jan Richardson from The Cure for Sorrow: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief. janrichardson.com.
Jan Richardson’s blessing invites us to notice something—that our hearts sometimes function as a gate. A gate that can close tight with fear, grief, or uncertainty… and a gate that, somehow, can also open. This immediately made me wonder: to what or to whom—are we opening that gate? Because the truth is, there are many voices waiting on the other side, hoping to lead us somewhere.
Some voices are loud—news, expectations, fear, productivity, that inner critic who somehow shouts at us through a megaphone. Some are subtle—old wounds, recent injuries, the societal or familial pressure to be someone we are not.
Perhaps in these difficult days, you are trying to figure out which voice to trust. There are so many voices. There is so much confusion. You are not alone if you feel lost in this landscape.
And then, in the middle of all the noise, comes this ancient, gentle scripture: “The Lord is my shepherd… I shall not want.”
And we think—Really? Because we want things. We worry about things. We definitely don’t appear to be like calm, pasture-dwelling sheep most days. If anything, we act more like caffeinated squirrels. Or worse, the wolves that threaten to endanger the sheep.
Contrary to some understandings of Psalm 23, it doesn’t describe a trouble-free life. It promises a calm, loving presence within the chaos of our lives.
The scripture says, even though we walk through valleys of shadow and fear and despair... Not if we will walk through valleys. Not promising a detour around the shadows. We must walk through it all.
Perhaps the invitation is to rest in knowing that we will never have all the answers. Scary, isn’t it? Maybe we are simply to notice: Where is there even a hint of life? A little more peace. A little more clarity. A little more courage to push the gate open again. Perhaps another kindred spirit to share the journey.
What if faith is not about having all the answers? What if it’s about learning the sound of a voice that leads you toward life? Again and again. Through green pastures and shadowed valleys. Through questions and doubt and unexpected grace. Until, slowly, you begin to recognize it. Not perfectly. Not without mis-steps. Not all at once. But enough to keep going. Enough to trust the next step. Enough to believe—however tentatively—that goodness and mercy might actually be following you. Not someday. Not when you quit making mistakes. But right now.
In verses three and four, we experience a shift. The psalm moves from talking about God—“God leadeth me beside the still waters. God restoreth my soul.”—to talking to God—“ I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.”
God is not an abstraction. God is with us. Something changes when that presence becomes personal. I pray that you do feel that… each one of you. Not as certainty about everything; always. But as a quiet place to rest or a next step when you are lost and do not know what to do.
You may have felt God’s presence in a moment when peace didn’t make logical sense, but filled your heart anyway. It may have been a conversation, the presence of a friend, a breath, a pause—that allowed you to keep going. Do these examples resonate for you? I pray that you know, deep in your soul, that you are never navigating this life alone.
In the Gospel of John, we also have the mention of Jesus as protector of his flock, but with a twist.
“I am the gate,” he says. “Whoever enters by me will… find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”
Now, let’s be perfectly honest—“abundant life” has been misused a lot by preachers. It has been turned into prosperity gospel formulas or spiritual shortcuts to happiness.
But looking closely at the pattern in both passages we see that “abundant life” does not mean excess—it means simply to have enough. We shall not be in want.
Green pastures. Still waters. A table, even in the presence of our enemies. Not a life without difficulty—but a life where the goodness of God keeps showing up amidst the challenges and heartache. Sometimes quietly. Sometimes stubbornly. Always lovingly.
Jesus tells us: “My sheep know my voice.” Which returns us to my original uncomfortable question: How do we actually know the true voice from the false voices?
Because not every voice that claims authority deserves trust. Some voices demand more but give less. Some promise security but thrive on fear. Some sound convincing—but leave us more anxious, more divided, more diminished.
Jesus names those false voices plainly: thieves and bandits. Which sounds dramatic—until we realize how many things in our world do steal life. Systems that grind people down. Expectations that hollow us out. Internal scripts that tell us we are never enough.
What if we asked ourselves: Which voices lead us to life? Which voices restore our souls—even a little? Which ones leave us more grounded, more connected, more able to love? Because the good shepherd’s voice doesn’t coerce. It doesn’t shout us into submission. It leads. By example. With compassion. Toward safety.
Sheep are not exactly known for their brilliance. They wander. They get stuck. They follow the wrong leader. Repeatedly. So, this metaphor that Jesus chooses, it is … humbling. And strangely comforting. Because it means the story isn’t about being flawless. It is about being found. It is about a shepherd who doesn’t throw up their hands and say, “Well, that one’s hopeless.” It is about a presence that stays, guides, nudges, and calls us again. And again.
We can notice that the repetition in these texts is simple, but profound: The shepherd speaks or acts and the sheep respond. Perhaps that is the hope at the center of all this: That the voice calling us is trying to lead us into life. Real life. Abundant, resilient, surprising life. The kind that shows up in ordinary moments. The kind that finds us, even when we wander. The kind that whispers, again and again: You are not alone. You never have been. You never will be. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow you, all the days of your life; and you will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.
Amen
Rev. TJ Mack – April 26, 2026
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