John 10:22-30

²² At that time the festival of the Dedication took place in Jerusalem. It was winter, ²³ and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the portico of Solomon. ²⁴ So the Jews gathered around him and said to him, “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah,^[b] tell us plainly.” ²⁵ Jesus answered, “I have told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me; ²⁶ but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. ²⁷ My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. ²⁸ I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. ²⁹ What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand.^{[c] 30} The Father and I are one.”

“It was winter,” John tells us.

I love winter. I much prefer the cold to the hot. Actually, to clarify: I prefer to be warm when it’s cold, than to be cool when it’s hot. I love flannel and slippers and hot chocolate and scarves and fireplaces.

It might be though, that I enjoy winter so much because I’ve never experienced a particularly horrible winter, like they do in the Northern Hemisphere. What is the worst winter you have ever experienced? Do you remember what it was like? Have you experienced those drab grey London skies that offered no real light or colour? Wind that would sting and turn the skin red? Cold that allowed no warmth and seemed to take away life? The numbness of your body… Fingers and toes that had lost their feeling… The crunchiness of a hard and frozen ground. Leafless trees and bare yards that showed no sign of life or growth.

Our Sydney winters are mild, and we’re just heading into another one now; but if we are not careful, we will hear John’s statement as just a statement about the weather and time of year. But I don’t believe John is simply describing the particular season they were in. John is describing a season of life, a season of our faith. That it is winter is not a comment on the weather. It is more a diagnosis of the interior condition. I wonder if you have ever experienced a winter-like season of faith… A sense that everything is just grey and drab and numb and cold, with no sign of life or growth?

So let’s imagine that John, in saying that it was winter, was describing the faith of those who had gathered for the Feast of Dedication. This Feast of Dedication, or what we may more commonly refer to as Hanukkah, is an annual event that celebrates the liberation of Jerusalem and the temple from the Syrian king, Antiochus. This king had desecrated the temple. He built an altar to Zeus and sacrificed pigs on the temple altar. So Hanukkah celebrates the day that Israel regained control of the temple and reconsecrated it to the one true God, the God of Israel.

This event had happened nearly two hundred years ago. So for nearly two hundred years they had gathered each year. Year after year they gathered, they remembered, they celebrated that day the temple was reconsecrated to God. As an aside, just to make sure we’re speaking the same language, to consecrate something is to make something sacred, or to give something an association with the sacred or divine. There was just one problem: the problem was is that they failed to give themselves back to God. They stand frozen in the past. Their hardened hearts cannot hear Jesus’ words, understand his works, or recognize who he is. They fail to experience the eternal life of God in the here and now – in the changing of water into wine, in the feeding of the 5000, in the healing of the lame and sick, in the raising of Lazarus, in the commandment to love God and each other.

When I read this passage in preparing for this sermon, and made this connection between winter and faith, I realised that this is not only a 2000 year old Jewish problem. This is your problem and my problem. This is the human problem in relationship with God. Far too often we consecrate, we set aside and give the exterior temples of our lives to God but keep our hearts for ourselves. So doctrine becomes a means of exclusion rather than a path to God. Scripture becomes a weapon rather than the revelation of God’s life with God’s people. Neighbours become enemies to be feared and destroyed instead of enemies becoming neighbours through love. Life becomes ritual instead of sacramental. And, dare I say it, our properties become more sacred to us than our relationships with God and with each other.

And why not? Why not simply consecrate our exterior temples? After all, it is always easier, safer, and more comfortable to consecrate the external parts of our lives than it is to risk consecrating our hearts, our interior temples, to God. To consecrate our interior temples would change how we see, hear, know, believe, and live. To consecrate our hearts would change absolutely everything. It would be uncomfortable to say the least.

As long as we fail to consecrate ourselves, our life and heart, all that we are and all that have we have, we too will stand in front of our Lord and Saviour saying, “Tell us plainly, are you the Messiah or are you just another foreigner that needs to be thrown out of our temple?”

Hear the Good News: Jesus’ response is always the same. “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.”

Jesus is not excluding anyone. We do that to ourselves. If we do not belong it is only because we do not hear, as evidenced by the request, “Tell us plainly.” “Tell us plainly” is more a statement about our hearing and listening than it is about Jesus’ words and speaking.

“Tell us plainly” are the words of a frozen people. It is winter in our hearts. It is winter in our spirit. It is winter in our seeing and hearing. It is winter in our believing and knowing. It is the worst winter we can experience. “Tell us plainly” reveals that we have become too comfortable in our faith, too comfortable in consecrating only our exterior temples. “Tell us plainly” wants the easy-reading, sound-byte, Sunday-night-special, fast-food version of the answer.

That is a risky place to be. The danger of a comfortable faith is that we can be snatched from Jesus’ hands. If anything the faith to which Jesus calls us should make us uncomfortable. Deeply uncomfortable.

Let’s go back to Jesus’ greatest hits, starting with the Beatitudes: blessed are the poor, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake. How can this not make us uncomfortable?

Listen to these words: love God, love your neighbour, and love your enemy. Do not worry about your life or tomorrow. Turn the other cheek. Do not judge. Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Be faithful in your relationships. Take up your cross. Show mercy like the Good Samaritan. Forgive seventy times seven. Wash each other’s’ feet. Follow me.

If that does not make us squirm just a bit, feel uneasy, maybe re-examine our lives and priorities, then perhaps the temperature is starting to fall. The uncomfortable faith to which Jesus calls us is nothing less than God’s own life, eternal life, right here, right now, in this world, in your life and in my life. It is a quality of life that never perishes. It make us the “un-snatchable” people of God.

But friends, this is not a doom and gloom sermon for you all. I am by no means saying that being Christian means being constantly uncomfortable and challenged and pushed to do more and be more and give more. You see, there is joy in being a person of faith in the crucified and risen Christ! There is joy in meeting together for worship and fellowship! There is joy in eating together and singing together and sharing together and praying together!

One of the other readings set for today is the last paragraph of Acts 9; in this passage, Peter brings the disciple Tabitha back to life. After he does this, the reading says that Peter called the saints and widows, and showed her to be alive. That’s an interesting few words – he calls together saints and widows. Actually, throughout Acts, the word saints is often used to describe church members. Why do you think this might be? The original Greek word ἅγιος (hagios) is often translated as holy or saints, but its root meaning is quite different. You see, when we follow the Good Shepherd, we ourselves become a ἅγιος people, a holy people, a saintly people, a different people – not pious holy, but different holy – a people set apart for the glory of God. We are not different because we receive great honour and glory for ourselves; we are different because we serve the most High God.

It would be safe to say that we believe that God’s promise to us, his sheep, is the gift of eternal life. Now the gift of life in eternity with God is an extraordinary promise – a gift of everlasting peace and happiness with God. But friends, this is not a gift for when we die; it is a gift for today, for the here and now. It is an Easter gift. Christ told his followers that he came that we might have life, and life abundantly. Eternal life doesn’t begin on the other side of the grave, sisters and brothers – it has already begun.

So following our Good Shepherd is not a burden or a chore or an obligation. It may be uncomfortable, but it is a joy and privilege. Sure, it comes with hard work and constant challenges; but the joy of the Christian life far outweigh all of these. When we come to worship, it should be with that deep joy in our hearts overflowing in gratitude for all that God has already done for us, and the promises of God’s works going into the future. And when the winters come, when the sky turns from blue to grey, when we feel ourselves growing a little numb, we still have that blessed assurance that God loves us, and has created us, and chosen us, and called us – and that we need only walk in the footsteps of the Good Shepherd.

Our joyful and uncomfortable faith makes us an un-snatchable people; as the Gospel reading said, Jesus said “no one will snatch them out of my hand.” This is our assurance: we are in the hands of God; held in the warm hands of God today and every day. What a comfort that is in the winters of our lives, in the times when life gets us down, when the words or actions or attitudes or behaviours of others is about to break us. When everything seems cold and numb and lifeless, remember, you are held in the palm of God’s hand. The Good Shepherd cares for his sheep. His sheep know his voice, and they follow him. Amen.