“The disciples were filled with joy and the Holy Spirit.” That’s what the final line of today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles tells us. What were they so joyful about? Paul and Barnabas had just been expelled from the city of Antioch. So many Gentiles had come to listen to them preach about Jesus that the leaders of the Jewish community there grew alarmed. They attacked them with “violent abuse,” “stirred up a persecution” and forced them out. And in spite of all that, the disciples rejoiced, because they had discovered something marvelous and life-changing about the salvation God was working out through them. They knew now that God wanted to use them to spread the good news of salvation not just to other Jews but to anyone who was willing to hear it. They had been chosen to be partners in making God’s grace and mercy known to all humankind. The appropriate response to that is joy.

You and I know, or we say we know, that Jesus came to bring eternal life to everyone. But do we rejoice in that knowledge, and in the mission it gives us? Or does it make us uncomfortable?  

The Jewish leaders who expelled Paul and Barnabas were acting in a way that any of us can recognize—they were afraid that the security of their community was threatened by the new beliefs they saw taking hold, and their fear drove them to shore up the boundaries of that community by lashing out at those who posed a threat. Choosing to be inclusive, or even tolerant, of this new Jesus movement seemed too risky.

Where can we see that same dynamic of backlash and persecution in our world, or in our church? Paul recognized it, because he had once been known for persecuting the followers of Jesus. He knew the kind of fear that can stir up persecution and give us permission to do hateful and violent things, like entering people’s homes and dragging them out to be arrested, as we see Paul himself doing in chapter 8 of Acts. It takes courage, flexibility, and humility to respond to the appearance of new people or new ideas with openness and curiosity. That is what true cooperation with the Spirit looks like. But when we are run by fear, we are vulnerable to hatred, and we can even be stirred into believing that we are serving God in oppressing our brothers and sisters.

If, instead, we allow ourselves to be enlightened by the Resurrected Christ, we can perceive the scapegoating process at work and choose not to be controlled by it.  

Paul explains, quoting the prophet Isaiah, that God calls Israel to be “a light to the Gentiles” and “an instrument of salvation to the ends of the earth.” Our second reading, from the Book of Revelation, is a vision of the fulfillment of that call. When John describes his vision of believers gathered around the throne of the Lamb, he sees a multitude “from every nation, race, people, and tongue.” Together, this multitude is nurtured and sheltered by the Lamb, safe from hunger, thirst, heat, and sorrow. This flock that has come into the light of Christ is not limited by nationality or language. It is a vision of radical inclusion.

That Revelation image of Jesus as both sacrificial lamb and shepherd is a bridge to our Gospel reading. In this short passage from the Gospel of John, Jesus describes himself as a shepherd and those who hear his voice as his sheep. The context for this recalls the first reading, because in this moment Jesus is responding to the Jewish leaders who have surrounded him in the Temple to demand an answer: “If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.” Here too, the religious authorities are alarmed by the threat that Jesus’s message and popularity represents to the status quo. They want an answer that will give them concrete evidence against him, and they get it at last when Jesus says, “The Father and I are one”—blasphemy, to the ears of at least some of his hearers, who (the next verse tells us) attempt to stone Jesus as punishment. In the face of this hostility and rejection, Jesus offers a vision of inclusion and generosity. My sheep, he says, are all who hear my voice, and “No one can take them out of my hand.” “I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish.”

That is a beautiful image to pray with on this Good Shepherd Sunday: you and I, all of us, held safely in Jesus’s hand, protected, comforted, and sustained. It should also challenge us to reflect on how we have cooperated with—or resisted—the Holy Spirit’s work of gathering-in. It is a tragic irony that texts like today’s first reading and Gospel have been used to justify anti-Semitic persecution, when instead they should remind us that the gift of the Spirit is not ours to limit or contain. If we are blessed to be sheep in the care of a Good Shepherd, we can trust that shepherd to keep us safe. It’s not our job to patrol the boundaries and keep trespassers out. It’s not in our power to take anyone out of Jesus’s hands.

In this Easter season, can we “remain faithful to the grace of God,” as Paul and Barnabas encourage us to do? Can we rejoice at the multitude we find ourselves a part of, even if its contours are not what we might expect? Can we resist being stirred up into a persecution—against immigrants, against trans people, against anyone we see as a threatening “other”—and instead praise God for the radical love that the Holy Spirit wants to show to us? Let us be filled with Easter joy, content in Jesus’s hands, and open to surprise. Alleluia!

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