At that time the festival of the Dedication took place in Jerusalem. It was winter, and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the portico of Solomon. So the Jews gathered around him and said to him, ‘How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.’ Jesus answered, ‘I have told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me; but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one.’

The image of the Good Shepherd dominates the entire 10^th chapter of the Gospel of John. Early in the chapter Jesus tells his critics that he is the Good Shepherd. First of all, his sheep know his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them in and out of the sheep pen. A stranger’s voice won’t draw sheep, but rather cause them to scatter. Jesus continues by telling us that the Good Shepherd is even willing to lay down his life for the sheep. They know this, and they trust him. "I know my own and my own know me."

If Jesus was living in Wisconsin today I think he might say, "I am the good herdsman. My cattle know me, and I know my cattle." Wisconsin folks don’t know much about sheep, but they know cows. When I was a boy we spent most Sunday afternoons where my dad grew up and where his twin brother Douglas farmed. Late afternoon, just before supper, we would go down to the barn where Uncle Douglas milked 16-18 head of Guernsey cattle. We’d help feed the cows and the calves and watch the milking. The Rural Electrical Association (REA) brought electricity to that part of Wisconsin sometime in my youth, making it possible for farmers to use milking machines. My job was to shovel feed and wash udders.

One night a powerful storm swept through the area and the lights went out. The cattle were jumpy. As I approached the first cow she began to bawl loudly. Buttercup, normally docile, was not about to be consoled. Soon her neighbor, Daisy, tried to pull out of the stanchion. I patted. I reassured, and nothing worked. I was, after all, a hired man.

Then came my uncle Douglas, the good herdsman. He knew the cows and the cows knew him. He moved down the row talking to each, touching them tenderly. "It’s ok Daisy. You’ll be fine, Buttercup." He called each my name, and soon calm was restored.

In Walter Wangerin’s fantasy, The Book of the Dun Dow, Chauntecleer, the Rooster, provides leadership for the hen house. One of his functions is praying, or I should say crowing, the canonical hours. He crows Lauds to start the day, and Compline to conclude it. In between there is Matins, Terse, Sects, None and Vespers. He does this, Wangerin writes, so that the hens have a sense of the order of the day and the goodness of God.

Chauntecleer knows that worship leaders need to be flexible, to go with the flow. That was particularly true the night before the big battle between the forces led by Chauntecleer and the forces led by Cockatrice. It was to be a fight between good and evil. All the animals of the kingdom gathered outside the hen house in fear. Chauntecleer crowed Compline, also known as "prayer at the end of the day," as he always did. But this night was different. This night he simply crowed the name of each animal. To the deer, he crowed, "Nimbus, the peace of the Lord is with you," and the deer whose flank had begun to shiver slowly quieted. One by one the other animals were named –John Wesley Weasel, Pika, Otter, "The peace of the Lord is with you." And it was. Peace settled on the animals.

That is the kind of relationship Jesus has with us. He reminds us that we live in a world where the boss, the CEO, the Lord, knows us by name. And he stands at our side. We are valued. We are important. When times are tough the voice of the Good Shepherd can be heard speaking directly to us.

There is more. Not only does the Good Shepherd know us by name, he lays down his life for his sheep. This is the ultimate gift. It was the gift given on the cross. This was a part of the divine plan. "No one," he says, "takes it from me. I lay it down of my own accord."

There are many lessons to be learned from this chapter. One of them is this: We are not alone. The old camp song says,

You must walk that lonesome valley,
have to walk it by yourself.
Oh, nobody else can walk it for you,
you have to walk it by yourself.

That simply is not true. You need not walk it by yourself. You have a life companion to walk every lonesome valley with you. That person is the Good Shepherd, the Good Herdsman.

One of my favorite writers is Rick Reilly, who fills the back page of Sports Illustrated each week. Reilly can be biting and he can be caustic. He can also write with compassion and grace. And he often gets it right. This week he did. Almost.

In this week’s issue (April 30, 2007, p. 86) he tells the story of Mark Lemke, a truck driver from Iowa whose 19 year-old-son, Cory was killed a year or so ago in a motorcycle accident. Cory was a extraordinary golfer. After his death Cory’s dad, Mark, his heart breaking, wrote Reilly a letter telling him about his son. Reilly, whose column is read by thousands of people each week, wrote about Cory and Mark in August of 2006.

A couple of months later Mark Lemke received a phone call that began, "Mr. Lemke, I’m Tony Dungy." For those of you who live balanced lives and don’t spend most of your fall watching professional football, or await the NFL draft with more anticipation that the birth of your grandchild, Tony Dungy is the coach of the Indianapolis Colts, who earlier this year won the Super Bowl.

Mark Lemke’s first reaction was, "This is a prank." What would a man in the midst of the NFL season be doing calling a truck driver from Iowa? But, it was Tony Dungy, who called to offer his condolences, "and to see if there’s anything I can do to help you."

Dungy, I should add, was still dealing with the suicide death of his 18 year-old-son, James, who hung himself three days before Christmas in 2005. Dungy can relate to the loss of a son. So the two men talked, and the coach told the truck driver to keep in touch. And they did. Reilly writes, "Dungy has a wife, five kids, the monster job, numerous charities he works with and a thousand things to do, yet he takes the time to answer every Lemke e-mail, gives him his cell number and returns every call. They go deep sometimes. Lemke gets hot at God for taking Cory. Dungy (a devout Christian) tells him that’s normal, but he adds that if they keep their faith, "we’ll see them again."

Then it’s the playoffs and Dungy apologies for not replying to Lemke right away. "I can go a few days without getting on my computer, especially if our defense is not playing well." Reilly comments, "I ask you, who is that nice?"

Then the Colts made the Super Bowl and Dungy invited Mark, a man he had never met, to attend as his guest. Lemke did. The day before the big game they met in person. They hugged. They visited. They prayed.

"And," Reilly writes, "this is only one stranger whom Tony Dungy has befriended. There is the former high school coach in Wisconsin whose son committed suicide. There’s the young kid in Indianapolis who lost his mother and brother in a car wreck. Heartbroken people all over get a hand from the coach. Yet, he refuses to talk to the media about these good deeds.

"I’m awfully grateful to him," Lemke says. "He helped me keep my faith. He taught me that he and I—we’re not alone." Right. There is the Good Shepherd. He knows his own and his own know him. He calls us by name. He lays down his life for us.

There are a lot of grieving people, a lot of people who have lost someone in the tragedy at Virginia Tech, a lot of people who have lost a friend, a parent, a loved one. Some of those people sit in these pews on Sunday mornings.

Reilly concludes his column with these words: "Tony Dungy stands as a reminder to every parent who’s grieving right now that there is a way through the pain. And that way is through each other."

The brilliant writer has got it right, well, almost right. Tony Dungy stands as a reminder to parents and others who have lost loved ones that the way through the pain begins with the Good Shepherd, who will not abandon his sheep even at death. Tony Dungy, Mark Lemke reminded us, "…helped me keep my faith." Tony Dungy invited a grieving parent to rely on God. That is why they prayed together in that hotel room hours before the teams took the field for the Super Bowl. God always works through people, people like the coach, but the coach knows where the real power can be found. Tony Dungy isn’t the Good Shepherd, but he can introduce you to the Good Shepherd.

There are more promises. Listen. "My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand." Someone may try to snatch them out of his hand, but they won’t succeed. They will try, but they won’t succeed. Remember, "My Father who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand." Amen.

© 2007