This past Sunday, I preached another sermon in the style of spoken word poetry. A few people asked me for the text, which is below. Once the audio is posted on the Upper Room website, I’ll link it here. The Scripture texts are Ezekiel 34:1-11, Psalm 95, and Matthew 25:31-46 (with some added help from Mother Teresa of Calcutta).
For this is what the Sovereign LORD says: I myself will search for my sheep and look after them.
-Ezekiel 34:11
The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
-Matthew 25:40
Today, if only you would hear his voice, Do not harden your hearts…
-Psalm 95:7b-8a
Can you hear him?
Can you hear the voice of the Shepherd?
Can you hear His call to eternal life?
Can you hear Him, scattered flock?
Listen!
Beyond the noise of chit chat…
Beyond the noise of iPods and radios
Beyond the noise of engines and horns
The Shepherd is calling.
Can you hear him?
Do you recognize his voice?
His sheep know his voice
Can you hear his voice?
calling from a distant land
around the world
the voice of a child,
malnourished and hungry.
The King who once
put on human flesh
now hidden…
in frail, naked bodies
with starved, bloated stomachs.
Can you hear his voice?
calling from a distant land
across the street
the voice of a man
begging for change.
The hands that formed
the depths of the earth
now hidden
in cracked, dirty hands
that hold a beggar’s cup.
Can you hear him?
Can you hear the Shepherd’s voice?
He’s calling for you.
He’s seeking his sheep.
He’s seeking us out.
But we are scattered.
We’ve wandered off into
clouds and darkness
blinded by green-hewed clouds
with presidential faces.
blinded by darkness that glows off of
flat-screens in high resolution
And we fall
into crevices of
to-do lists and
consumer debt and
desires for power
so the Shepherd
calls out our name
but we
Can’t hear his voice
because our hearts…. are hard.
We long to touch the hem of his garment
but his garment is disguised
as an orange jumpsuit
as a hospital gown
as a soiled overcoat
as the unused sweater
stuffed in a our dresser
but longing to embrace the shivering stranger.
But we can’t find the hem of his garment
because we think it’s hidden
on a Macy’s rack
or a
Parisian runway.
We look in the wrong places
because our hearts
are hard.
We long for the comfort of his rod and staff
but his rod and staff are disguised
as an empty cup
as iv needles
plunged into skin
as a cardboard sign
and a grocery cart
filled with things that we dare not touch.
But we can’t find his rod or his staff
because we think they’re hidden
in a 401k
or a
better credit score.
We look in the wrong places
because our hearts
are hard.
We long to hear his voice
and he calls out to us
the Shepherds voice rings out
out of dark prison cells
out from lonely hospital beds
out of kitchens lined with empty cupboards
and filled with hungry families.
But we can’t hear his voice
because we think his voice is calling
from a corner office
or in
friends’ flattery.
We listen to the wrong voices
because our hearts
are hard.
Our hearts are hard
and with
every rationalization and
selfish decision our
frozen hearts get even colder
until we’re blind and deaf
to the Shepherd’s search and call.
So we don’t see the Shepherd
when we walk by
the lonely homeless man
begging for change.
We don’t hear the shepherd
in the silent cries
of the poor woman
with no other income than
her own body.
The Shepherd calls out
cries out
SHOUTS OUT
for our attention
in the voice of
every “least of these.”
And we miss out
because our hearts
are hard.
Rock hard.
Stone-cold hard.
Frozen solid.
But the Shepherd
calls from
one more place.
The Shepherd calls
from a loaf of bread
and cup of wine
set on a table
prepared for us in
the presence of
our enemies.
In the presence of
our hard hearts.
We eat this bread and
our frozen hearts
begin to melt away in
the warmth of his own body.
We drink this cup and
our thawed-out hearts
begin to beat and pump
the Shepherd’s own blood.
And slowly
our eyes open
our ears unplug and
we hear and see the Shepherd in
all who hunger and thirst, and shiver and
we see that the “least of these”
are brothers and sisters.
And finally we hear the Shepherd’s call
“Come, you who are blessed by my Father.”
And we are led back to still waters
and back to the Shepherd’s house
where we will dwell
forever.
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