God’s love is like this.
There’s a new guardian dog on the sheep farm. His name is Hawk. He’s big and creamy white, and he walks with a hitch in his left hip where he healed from being hit by a car at his former home on a 50-acre ranch in California. Hawk has been trained to protect the flock. He doesn’t try to herd the sheep, as border collies do. He just hangs out with them. And the sheep get that he’s not a threat, so they’re okay with him being there. Whenever a car comes up the driveway alongside the pasture, Hawk comes bounding to the edge of the field and barks and barks in a deep, authoritative voice. He will also sound the alarm if coyotes try to hunt the sheep. He’s actually not going to attack, but he’s big enough and loud enough that you don’t want to mess with him. He knows those sheep, and the sheep know him. It’s a good setup.
God’s love is like this.
You leave home for college or a job and go to a new city where you don’t know anyone. That first night in the new place, even if you’ve met some cool people who later became great friends—that first night you go to bed far from everyone who knows and loves you. That’s a lonely feeling. And maybe the main thing you want to do is turn right around and go back home. A few days later you get a postcard from someone back home just saying, “I love you. I miss you. I hope things are going well. The others all say hello. Give me a call soon so I can hear about your new adventures.” And you feel known again.
God’s love is like this.
A man—let’s call him Charlie—who has struggled with being out of shape his whole life decides to sign up for an Iron Man triathlon. He finds a trainer to coach him, and he trains and trains. He gets the bike, the running shoes, the swim gear. On the day of the race, he’s really nervous. Even though he’s in the best shape of his life and has worked really, really hard to get there, he’s still heftier than all the other competitors, who have these lean, lithe, triathlon bodies. But he dives into the water and splashes his way through the swim. It’s not exactly Olympic style or speed, but he makes it. Then he gets on the bike and rides an impossible distance. His thighs are just burning with the effort. And then he has to run, but he’s getting very tired, not sure if he can make it. And that’s when his friends and family appear along the sidelines with signs: “You’ve got this, Charlie!” “We love you Charlie!” “You can do it Charlie!” “You’re amazing Charlie!” The other competitors wonder who this guy Charlie is. He doesn’t win any medals. But he crosses the finish line, which was his goal. And all those friends and family are there with big smiles and even bigger hugs. His fellow competitors, some of whom finished well ahead of him, give him high fives. Nobody did the race for him—he did all the work—but they supported his journey to get there and get through it.
God’s love is like this.
Have you ever had the experience of being profoundly known? Maybe it’s a card or email from someone who references an inside joke that makes you both laugh. Maybe it’s the perfect Christmas gift that you didn’t even know you wanted but the other person just knew it was right for you. (No pressure, as we enter gift-giving season….) Maybe it was a grandparent who listened to you without judging when you were going through some stuff as an adolescent. Or a parent, a teacher, a partner—someone who was there for you when you needed a sympathetic ear or some advice or just a chance to vent or cry.
God’s love is like this.
I had a housemate once named Laura who brought home a tiny kitten whose mother had abandoned him. Laura got up every few hours through the night for several weeks to tend to this kitten and make sure he was getting what he needed to develop normally. Which he did.
God’s love is like this.
Maybe there was a time—an illness or a death in your family—when you just couldn’t get it together to go grocery shopping and make meals. And a casserole or tub of soup appeared at your door, along with a loaf of bread or some muffins.
God’s love is like this.
Bishop Carlton Pearson, a Black Evangelical preacher, had this huge church in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Several thousand members. One day he was watching a TV report about starving children in Africa or someplace—swollen bellies, sticklike limbs, flies around the eyes. He thought, “How tragic that these children will die and go to hell because they’re not Christians.” And he heard a voice say in his heart, “You think I do what?” And Bishop Pearson had to rethink his whole theology. Instead of hell and damnation for everyone who didn’t believe and act just so, Pearson came to believe in a God who loves everyone, no matter what they believe or do. As he preached this gospel of universal inclusion, his thousands of members started to walk out the door. He lost his church.
Around this time, Bishop Yvette Flunder of the City of Refuge Church in San Francisco invited him to come preach at her church, which specifically ministers to the LGBTQ community. (They have a trans choir!) This was new territory for Bishop Pearson, because he used to preach that gay folks were going to hell. So he came out to San Francisco and preached this message of universal inclusion to this congregation. And Bishop Flunder said to one of her assistants, “Could you get me a basin of warm water and a towel?” And she washed Bishop Pearson’s feet. Here was this congregation of people he used to think were damned to hell, and they were being Christ to him.
He passed away this week of cancer. And I know he’s not in hell. He could probably tell us even more about God’s love now.
God’s love is like this.
The strong, fat sheep—“fat” here standing in for greedy and bullying, not meant as a slight to anyone who tips the scales at a higher number than they would like—the bullying sheep, who take all the good grass and trample the rest, who drink all the clean water and then poop in it before the rest can drink—those bullying sheep will be culled from the flock. Because God cares about the whole flock, not just the biggest and strongest. About those bullying sheep God says, “I will feed them with justice.” From the perspective of those living with climate change, we can ask whether we are the strong sheep eating the good grass and letting others go hungry, or drinking the clean water and polluting it for everyone else. That strikes close to home in this developed country where the expectation is that we can achieve the American dream of having whatever we want and throw away the rest. So God reminds us to use resources wisely, to share, to care about the whole flock, to clean up after ourselves so there is good grass and clean water for everyone who comes after us.
God’s love is like this.
You may have noticed that all these examples of what God’s love is like have been people doing good things for other people or for creation. God’s love is like people daring to love each other across boundaries, support each other in times of trial and celebration, take care of those in need, both within our circle of people and farther afield. We can be God’s hands and feet for each other. God’s love is like this, but on an exponentially more vast plane.
So we give thanks for our God, the rock of our salvation, as Psalm 95 says. We come into God’s presence with thanksgiving and make a joyful noise with songs of praise. We worship before God our maker, for God is our God, and we are the people of God’s pasture, the sheep of God’s hand. No matter what we do, God loves us, and God invites us to care for each other as if each one we meet is a beloved member of God’s flock. For so they are. And so are we. Amen.