The John Project

John 10:17-21 • Authority Under

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John 10:17-21 contains the closing stanza of Jesus’ shepherd parable and the response to it by the religious elite.

Having earlier described himself as the Good Shepherd who lays his life down for the sheep, Jesus said he does so as an expression of his power, a translation of a Greek word used in the original text which means having authority to act. He acknowledged his awareness of the Jewish leaders’ plan to kill him that continued percolating in the background, and he declared that when the time finally came, his life would not be taken in weakness but freely given as an exercise of his authority. He said the use of his power in this way was commanded by and pleasing to the Heavenly Father.

That completely baffled the Pharisees. It was simply unheard of that someone would use their power to serve others. In their experience, leaders gained and exercised power over others for their own benefit. Jesus had expressed a concept so foreign to them that they began to debate among themselves whether he was demon-possessed and insane.

But some of them had trouble accepting that explanation because they’d just witnessed a display of that kind of authority when Jesus healed the blind man on the previous sabbath. He had used his power to bless the man with sight and then didn’t even stick around to get the credit. He had nothing to gain and much to potentially lose by breaking sabbath restrictions to minister to him. But he did it anyway.

And that’s the very definition of authority in God’s dictionary – humbly employing every right, advantage, position, gifting, influence, mastery, skill, insight, prestige, sway, strength, prerogative, license, clout, and esteem we possess in the service of others no matter the cost. As his children, we have been given the privilege and responsibility of modeling a different way to be powerful.

But it turns out that’s easier said than done. We often appear to be just as enamored with the idea of hierarchical positions of power as anyone else. That’s why in Matthew 20:25-28, Jesus responded to the request of two of his disciples that they be given positions of power in his kingdom saying:

"You know that the rulers of the Gentiles…exercise authority over them. Yet it shall not be so among you; but whoever desires to become great among you, let him be your servant…just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many."

He taught us by his words and his life that the righteous way of expressing power is not from a position above others but from beneath them, lifting them up instead of pressing them down, not an authority over but an authority under.

And our world is in desperate need of that example right now. Our institutions – commercial, political, social, educational, judicial, relational – are all engaged in a fierce wrestling match over the questions of who should have power and how it should be used.

My friends in the faith, let’s rise to the challenge, or should I say bend beneath it. Instead of joining the world in striving to get to the top, let’s race each other to the bottom. Let’s put the power of our God on display by shouldering the weight of the burdens that don’t belong to us but are ours to bear as we serve others in his mighty name.

“There will be one flock.”

That statement by Jesus recorded in John 10:16 as part of the summation of his shepherd parable would have been shocking to his audience of Jewish religious leaders. They would have interpreted his teaching through the lens of their Hebrew-centric paradigm. So, they would have been blindsided when he said that his flock will include sheep “which are not of this fold.” And because they were likely in the temple when they heard this, his use of the word, fold – which literally means, court – would have suddenly taken on special significance.

The Jerusalem temple complex was designed as a series of courts progressing inward toward the Holy of Holies. Non-Jews were restricted – under threat of the death penalty, by the way – to the outermost of these called the Court of the Gentiles. Jesus was likely addressing his parable to the religious elite within one of the inner courts, and the symbolism would have been hard for them to miss.

He was symbolically if not literally pointing toward that outer court of people they treated with contempt when he announced that his flock would include the excluded. And he was emphatic that their inclusion would not be as an underclass. They would be equally integrated, fully assimilated.

“There will be one flock.”

They shouldn’t have been surprised by this, because of course, this had been God’s plan from the beginning. From the moment he set apart Abraham and his descendants as his chosen people, the Lord made clear his intention was to introduce himself and his blessings to the whole world through them. In fact, the prophet, Isaiah, specifically said that the Messiah would be a “light to the Gentiles” (Isaiah 42:6; 49:6).

So, Jesus was simply announcing that he was fulfilling this divine plan. His message or good news was gloriously inclusive. The most quoted verse in the New Testament is John 3:16 where he declared a whoever-gospel. He said eternal life is available to anyone who places their faith in him, and that had to mean regardless of race, ethnicity, gender, or personal history.

“There will be one flock.”

So why do we as Jesus’ followers have such a hard time with this? Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “…the most segregated hour…is eleven o'clock on Sunday morning.” And he was talking about the ways that Christians tend to splinter into groups of affinity – including race – when we gather to worship.

But my question is not really about that. I understand people naturally like to hang out with others that have similar backgrounds and relate better to certain communication and music styles. I even celebrate the amazing variety of church ministry approaches around the world.

My concern is that we sometimes seem to allow our diversity to mask division and our preferences to mask prejudices. So, instead of displaying the unity of the Spirit, we often appear to reflect the fragmentation of the world. And when we do, we betray one of the most beautiful and foundational aspects of our faith.

“There will be one flock.”

I’ve recently spent time in prayer acknowledging and repenting the ways I’ve failed in this. And I’ve specifically invited the Holy Spirit to make any needed adjustments to my soul’s perspectives so that I can be part of the fulfillment of this aspect of his redemptive purposes. Would you be willing to join me? Perhaps together, with our hearts realigned to his values, we can better represent what he meant when he said…

“There will be one flock.”

As the shepherd parable recorded in John 10 neared its conclusion, Jesus uttered another one of the seven “I am” statements found in this Gospel. He twice identified himself as the good shepherd and described two specific ways he fulfills that role.

In verse 11, he said he gives his life for the sheep, considering them so valuable they’re worth sacrificing himself for. And in verse 14, he said he knows them, pursuing the kind of knowledge that’s more about relationship than information. In fact, in verse 15, Jesus described this knowing as the kind he experiences with the father. And he said it’s the reason he’s moved to lay his life down for us.

In verses 12 and 13, these two characteristics of the good shepherd are contrasted with those of a hireling – a rent-a-shepherd – one who prioritizes his own well-being over the flock’s and has no interest in developing a caring relationship with them. It’s certain the Lord meant this comparison to shine a harsh light on the self-serving “shepherding” practiced by the Pharisees, but I think he was also providing a way to identify any impostors among those who would seek to lead his people.

The Greek word translated as “shepherd” in this passage is the same word translated as “pastor” later in the New Testament and used to describe those who serve as leaders in the church. And as someone who’s had the privilege of ministering to others under that mantle for several decades now, the Lord’s example here is deeply moving to me and hits very close to home.

“Pastor” is not an honorific or a title of respect that precedes a church leader’s name. It’s not a station or position of achievement. It’s not a line item in the church budget under salaries. It’s not a sign on a door in the church office or on a reserved parking spot closest to the entrance. It’s most certainly not a career path. According to Jesus, it’s the description of someone who is so deeply invested in a relationship with God’s people that he or she is willing to live a life of sweeping personal sacrifice to support the spiritual wholeness of those in their care.

I want to make sure I never forget this exquisite definition our Lord gave. Even though all of us who take up the shepherd calling will fulfill it imperfectly, I want to keep looking to him as my example. I want to avoid any drift toward becoming part of a clergy class that’s enamored with attaining preference, celebrity, and recognition.

Even though Ephesians 4:11 tells us pastoral leaders are among the gifts Christ has given his church, verse 12 makes it clear that they’re not part of an elite group. In fact, their role is to help equip believers for their ministries. In a very real sense, every believer has been called and equipped by Jesus to shepherd those he’s placed in the circles of our influence whether it’s our family, friends, neighbors, and workmates or an entire church congregation. And we’ve been assigned to care for them in the way he cares for us.

We all need pastors like that, and we all need to become pastors like that.

So, even if what I just said scares you a little because you’re having trouble seeing yourself in that role right now, I encourage you to prayerfully welcome the good shepherd to identify the flock he’s given you and be willing to honor him by loving and serving them sacrificially.

John’s Gospel contains seven statements from Jesus that begin with, “I am.” They allow us to hear the Lord describe himself in his own words. And as the shepherd parable resumes in verses 7-10 of chapter 10, we encounter one of these self-descriptions when the Lord said, “I am the door.” And he used this image to illustrate another in the series of stark contrasts between the shepherd and the thief as he revealed the differences in their missions.

It’s obvious that Jesus cast himself as the shepherd in this story. And as the focus of his affectionate care, you and I are the sheep. But the metaphor of the thief is applied more broadly. It certainly includes the Pharisees and other Jewish religious leaders in the crowd he was addressing. But it also clearly points beyond them to anything or anyone opposed to the sheep, and by direct implication, refers to the devil, the enemy of God’s loving purposes for people.

Jesus said the thief’s strategy is to steal – attempt to plunder everything of God’s good intentions for us; to kill – deceive us into offering ourselves to be sacrificed to false gods such as materialism, pleasure, and power; and to destroy – not only extinguish our lives but scar them beyond recognition.

In contrast, Jesus said his mission is to give us life. And the Greek word translated here is extremely significant. It’s the word the New Testament uses for the kind of life God has. Jesus was plainly stating that he came to offer us something far more than just an extension or enhancement to the biological life we already have. His purpose is to escort us into the power-filled life of the spirit, and not just some limited, modified, or throttled version. He said he came to give it excessively, extravagantly, abundantly.

And that’s why viewing Jesus as a very specific kind of door is important. Counterintuitively, He identified himself as the door that provides safety by being open not closed.

As I record this, the whole world has been shut down for a few months due to a global pandemic. As a protection against a deadly virus, people everywhere have been confined to their homes, and we’re all starting to go a little stir-crazy. In fact, substance abuse, domestic violence, and suicides are up because living in fear behind a locked door isn’t healthy.

And contrary to what many think, the life Jesus offers is not one of confinement focused on keeping the thief out. It’s really the opposite of that. The Lord’s power to overcome any threat to us is so great that it renders that threat irrelevant. As a result, he’s able to offer us a life of true freedom unencumbered by the weight of fear so that we can come and go without concern.

This is not a denial of the very real and sinister strategy of the thief. It’s a description of a life so abundant with the riches of the shepherd’s love and power that the possibility of experiencing harm while in his care is simply meaningless.

He’s the open door swinging out as an invitation to explore the rich pastures of his limitless grace and swinging in to welcome us home to the comfort of the fold all within the security of his abiding presence. And offering that kind of life is why he came.

So, let him unlock the constraints of any fear that has imprisoned you in a small

Jesus' shepherd parable continues in verses 3-6 of John 10 where he defined another one of the severe contrasts between the shepherd and the thief who he also referred to as a stranger. He described it as a difference in how the sheep respond to their voices. He said the sheep follow the shepherd because they know his voice but refuse to follow a stranger because they don’t know his.

The Greek word used in the original text means to know from observation. It’s the kind of knowing you gain by witnessing something firsthand. In other words, Jesus was saying that the sheep experience something with the shepherd that causes them to want to become attentive to the sound of his voice. And he made it clear that that something is a genuine concern for their well-being.

He said sheep recoil from a stranger. They don’t trust him and have no incentive to develop a sensitivity to his voice because he hasn’t demonstrated any interest in their welfare.

On the other hand, Jesus said the shepherd personally escorts the sheep to pastures where they can feed in safety, not only cares for the flock but for each individual lamb, and calls them by a unique name he’s given each one.

Jesus clearly meant for us to understand that he’s the shepherd in this story and was illustrating the tenderness of his affectionate care for people. He was revealing his desire to invest in a relationship with each of us. And it’s that daily-demonstrated, individualized compassion that stirs our desire to know the sound of his voice – to hear and respond to it. We don’t want to miss a single word, especially when he lovingly calls us by name.

One of the great pleasures of retirement is that my wife and I no longer have to wake up to an alarm clock signaling that it’s time to get ready for work. But a few days ago, we needed to make sure we were on time to volunteer for the early-morning shift at a local food bank. So, as I climbed into bed the night before, I said, “Alexa, set an alarm for 7:00 tomorrow morning.” Our voice assistant responded to the audio waveform associated with that name and processed my request. Now, talking to a machine is still a little hard for me to get used to, but I remember thinking that even an inanimate piece of digital technology comes to life – so to speak – at the sound of its name.

We were meant to come alive at the sound of our shepherd’s voice as he calls to our souls with that exquisite waveform we recognize as uniquely ours. It lights us up in the spirit with the awareness that we’re deeply known and loved. Can you hear it? Let’s lean in and listen close so we can become increasingly sensitive and responsive to that glorious sound.

Let’s not be like the Pharisees described in the final verse of this passage. We’re told that the sweet intimacy Jesus was describing was such a foreign concept to them that it all went right over their heads. They just couldn’t comprehend a God like that. But this is the God we have. He’s our shepherd. His name is Jesus.

The first half of John 10 is most likely a continuation of the pointed rebuke of the Pharisees by Jesus that concluded the previous chapter. But when he used the phrase, “Most assuredly, I say to you," it meant he wanted even greater attention to be given to what would follow. And what follows is a lengthy parable about the shepherd and the sheep.

A parable isn’t a riddle. It’s not meant to hide meaning. It’s meant to reveal it. When Jesus used a parable, he was painting a word picture describing images and experiences that would be very familiar to his hearers and building a bridge of understanding from something they already knew well to something he wanted them to discover.

So, he used this beautiful shepherd/sheep illustration to describe the kind of relationship he wants to have with his followers. The passage is saturated with rich significance for every believer. And even though most of us today aren’t nearly as familiar with references to shepherding culture as his original audience, the heart of Jesus and the truths he conveyed easily bridge that gap.

The first two verses introduce the hero and the villain of the story and offer the first of several stark contrasts that are made between them. As the starting point of his parable, Jesus said the shepherd enters the sheepfold – an enclosure that provides safety for the sheep – through the door, but a thief tries to gain access by other means.

He was saying that anyone lurking in the shadows and attempting to infiltrate the security of the fold is a robber, someone intent on causing harm. And although he was clearly indicting the religious elite with this illustration, I think it’s also clear he meant for us to understand that anything seeking to breach the environment of our spiritual home is a serious threat.

A couple of days ago, I woke up in the middle of the night and noticed light from our side yard security lamp filtering in through our bedroom windows. It’s activated by a motion sensor. So, I knew something was moving out there. And although it was probably just a stray cat, it unnerved me because only unwelcomed guests seek to access a home by means other than the front door.

Is anything circling your heart’s defenses today in search of an unguarded way into that sacred space? What about fear, unforgiveness, guilt, pride, self-pity, lust, depression, anger, shame, or selfishness? These aren’t just stray cats. These are actual threats to your spiritual life. Don’t just lie there ignoring the light filtering in from your soul’s security lamp. The Holy Spirit may be alerting you to something moving out there that doesn’t belong, something the shepherd wants to protect you from if you’ll let him. But remember, he comes through the door. You’ll need to open it and invite him in.

We’ve all been given the freedom to try and deal with these intruders on our own, but in my experience, that doesn’t usually work out too well. On the other hand, I’ve noticed that when I stop pretending I can secure the premises of my inner life by myself and choose instead to welcome and respond to the shepherd’s powerful presence, I’m increasingly able to rest deeply in the safety of the fold.

I’m certainly not an expert on the subject, but I’ve read that because sheep are prey animals with little means for self-protection, their natural state is a hyper-vigilance that enables them to be ready to quickly respond to danger. But their well-being can be adversely affected by living with so much anxiety. So, shepherds work hard to help them be at peace.

And that’s what Jesus wants for each of his lambs. It’s what he wants for you. He’s ready if you are. Just open the door.

A man who'd been blind from birth received his sight when Jesus made mud from dust and spittle, smeared it over his sightless eyes, and sent him off to wash at a nearby pool. But the Lord had already moved on by the time he returned to thank him. So ironically, the man whose eyes had been miraculously opened didn’t get the chance to actually see the one who gave him that gift.

But John 9 verses 35-38 describe the very tender scene when the two of them met again.

It happened after the man had been excommunicated for boldly standing up to the Pharisees in defense of Jesus during the intense interrogation that followed his being healed on a Sabbath day. They cut him off from his family, community, and synagogue.

When the Lord heard what happened, he searched for, found, and revealed himself to him as the Son of God. And as the man’s newly opened eyes resolved the image of his healer and messiah, his grateful heart expressed itself with sweet faith and worship.

Then, in verses 39-41, Jesus brought the lesson of this whole episode into sharp focus. He said that he’d come into this world to give sight to those who desire to be healed of their spiritual blindness and to judge those who in their pride refuse to admit their need.

I know which group I want to be in, but I don’t think my membership can be taken for granted. Here’s why. Pride is the issue. And dealing with the relentless encroachment of that temptation is an ongoing process. Whenever I give place to it, I lose something of my spiritual visual acuity. And unless I take decisive repentant action, I incrementally drift back toward that pharisaical self-deception where I don’t realize how blind I’ve become.

For instance, the other day, my wife and I were watching an online church service, and I had already made three or four negative comments about the presentation’s mediocre production values before I realized how much pride had overtaken me. It had totally blinded me to the significance of what God was doing through that church’s efforts. Thankfully, the Holy Spirit’s conviction broke through, and as I confessed my sin, I could literally feel the eyes of my soul opening back up to the beauty of the heart of God on display in that program. It was as though a dark veil had lifted.

I hope this doesn’t sound presumptuous, but I’ll bet you’ve had similar experiences. If so, you’ll understand what I mean when I say I want to stay on guard against that kind of arrogance. 1 Timothy 3:6 tells us that when we become puffed up with pride, we’re guilty of the same sin as the devil. And I want to stay as far away from that as possible.

I know you do too. So, let’s heed the advice of Proverbs chapter 16. Just before telling us that “Pride goes before destruction,” it says, “The highway of the upright is to depart from evil.” Let’s strive, by the power of the Holy Spirit, to get on and travel that highway at top speed.

In John chapter 9 verses 24-34, the Pharisees continued their interrogation of the man who’d been healed of blindness. They were determined to find a way to turn this miraculous event into a means of condemning Jesus by twisting it into a Sabbath violation. But frustrated by their failure to discredit the man’s testimony or use it for their purposes, they reached a boiling point. Like a belligerent attorney in a courtroom drama, they demanded that he glorify God by finally telling the truth and admitting Jesus was a sinner.

Instead, he uttered the words that would inspire the most powerful line in the lyrics of one of the most recognized songs in the world, Amazing Grace. Staring directly into the teeth of the intimidating religious elite, he declared, “One thing I know: that though I was blind, now I see.”

Still, unwilling to give up their pursuit, the Pharisees decided to start over from the beginning. They commanded the man to tell them once again what Jesus had done and how he did it. But clearly wearied by this nonsense, he responded with a question of his own, one dripping with bold sarcasm. He asked them why they wanted him to repeat himself. Did they want to become followers of Jesus?

They reacted by reviling him – which literally means they stabbed him with words – and invoked the authority of Moses to try and pound him into submission. But this formerly blind beggar punched back by schooling them on the absurdity of their position.

They retaliated with a vulgar epithet and then ended the proceedings by excommunicating him.

Being shut out of his community by the Jewish authorities was a serious price to pay. But he did so without complaint, and he’s a hero in my book. Although he was the very definition of a nobody – we don’t even know his name – he stood his ground against an assault by the powerful and walked away with his spiritual integrity intact.

I want to be like him when I grow up.

But I’m embarrassed to admit how little it takes to intimidate me into spiritual compromise. Right now, the nations of the world are dealing with a health pandemic that has also created a global economic crisis. And the other day, I caught myself becoming anxious about how it will impact my personal finances.

Really? That’s all it took to cause me to discount the faithfulness of the God who has provided for me through my entire life? Instead of standing firm in the faith that as God has miraculously cared for me through many previous challenges and will not fail me now, I literally allowed fear to adjust my testimony. I began expressing my doubts to my wife.

But thankfully, I’m married to a woman of great faith. And her trust-filled reply – like a loving slap to the face – shook me from my compromise and steadied my shaky confession.

Can I pay it forward? Is the solid ground of your God-story beginning to sway under some form of spiritual assault? If so, please let me encourage you to remember the steady faith of the anonymous man in John chapter 9. And may that reminder serve to reestablish the solid footing of your trust in the one who cannot fail.

In John chapter 9 verses 18-23, the proxy trial of Jesus for healing a blind man on the Sabbath moved into a new phase. The Pharisees decided to subpoena the testimony of the man’s parents to determine whether his story was true.

They asked them to substantiate his identity by confirming whether he was really their son, and if so, to corroborate his healing claim by verifying he’d been blind since birth. And finally, assuming they could affirm all this, they wanted them to explain how he’d gained his sight.

His parents assured them he was their son and that until now he’d been blind his entire life. But they claimed to have no answer for how this dramatic change occurred or who may have been involved.

Although it’s likely their son had shared the story of his healing with them, it appears they weren’t on scene for the actual event. So, since they weren’t eyewitnesses, they possessed plausible deniability and chose to exercise it. They refused to even offer an opinion. And we’re told why. They were afraid.

The Jewish elite had agreed that anyone confessing Jesus was the Messiah would be excommunicated. That meant they’d be cut off from the worship life of the synagogue and excluded from all interaction with their family and fellow Israelites. It was an extremely severe punishment known as the curse. And the threat of this loss of belonging was being used as religious intimidation.

Those are two words that never belong in the same sentence.

But first century Pharisees aren’t the only ones in positions of spiritual authority who’ve acted in ways that have left vulnerable people traumatized. And it deeply grieves me to consider how the Christian church and its leaders have at times also been guilty of wounding the people we've been called to serve.

For example, twice in the years of my ministry I was called on to lead a congregation through the aftermath of a previous pastor’s moral failure. And both times it was a heartbreaking challenge to wade into the pain, anger, distrust, and fear left behind in the hearts of precious people Jesus died for to try and minister his healing love to them.

Emotional wounds sustained in the context of one’s faith in God afflict the deepest part of the soul. Sadly, many people carry this type of pain. There’s even a term for it, church hurt.

Some of those who bear these scars have left the faith altogether. Others are like walking-wounded. They remain in our churches but feel distant from God and deal with trust issues that hinder their relationships with leaders and keep them from the rich fellowship with other believers we all need.

If that sounds familiar, if you’ve experienced any form of church hurt, my heart breaks for you. More importantly, God’s does. And I urge you to not allow the scars you’ve sustained to define either your relationship with him or his people. I encourage you to bring your pain to him and not allow it to keep you from him. Pause right now and let him draw you close. I assure you he’s able to heal your wounds and restore the kind of secure, loving connection with his church you long for.

In 2013, my wife was diagnosed – based on the results of two surgeries, a panoply of tests, and two different types of imaging – with stage-four, untreatable, incurable, and terminal cancer. But during a third surgery performed for the purpose of debulking the cancer to provide a short extension to her life, no trace of the lesions could be found. And her scans have been completely clear ever since.

The medical community can often be quite skeptical of divine healing. But the force of my wife’s miraculous story has left many among them literally speechless and shaking their heads.

A testimony is a powerful thing.

John 9:13 opens the description of what followed Jesus’ healing of the man who’d been blind from birth. When people heard that this miracle involved Jesus making mud on the Sabbath, they brought the healed man to the Pharisees. They knew there was going to be trouble, and they wanted to make sure they weren’t in the line of fire when the religious stuff started to hit the fan.

Among other things, the Pharisees were a kind of self-appointed Sabbath-police and part of a religious system that had turned a blessing from God – a one-in-seven day of rest – into a ritualistic nightmare. And they’d already determined that Jesus should get the death penalty for a previous Sabbath infringement when he healed the lame man at the pool of Bethesda. So, they were chomping at the bit to investigate this current violation.

But they ran into a problem. The man they set out to intimidate with their interrogation – who just minutes before would have been disregarded by them as nothing more than a blind beggar – proved to be unshakable because of the power of his testimony.

Verses 14-16 describe the beginnings of what would become a proxy trial of Jesus and reveal the impotence of pride and doubt to ultimately resist the story of a life impacted by him. Even before the proceedings really got rolling, cracks began to form in the solidarity of the Pharisees. This formerly blind man’s opening statement of the simple facts was so powerful that it caused some of them to begin reconsidering their negative perceptions of Jesus.

The impact of this used-to-be-blind man on some of the Pharisees wasn’t the result of a well-crafted theological argument. In fact, in verse 17, when the man was asked his opinion about Jesus, the gaps in his still-developing Christology were revealed when he described him as a prophet not as Messiah. He didn’t have all the answers yet, but he did have a story.

Let me repeat myself. A testimony is powerful thing. And if you’re a Christ-follower, your testimony is a powerful thing. It may not include a dramatic physical healing. But the impact of Jesus’ touch on your life and the progressive healing he’s daily producing in your soul as you pursue him in faith is incredibly potent and cannot be disputed. It’s your story.

Remember that the next time life challenges your faith like a group of Pharisees sitting in judgement. You have a testimony that’s unshakable because it’s rooted in the one who’s immovable.