The Shepherd Who Heals the Strays
Reading (NIV): "Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps. ‘He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth.’ When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats. Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly. ‘He himself bore our sins’ in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; ‘by his wounds you have been healed.’ For ‘you were like sheep going astray,’ but now you have returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls."
Introduction
Grace, mercy, and peace be to you from God our Father and
from our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
Today is Misericordias Domini—Latin for “The
Mercies of the Lord.” The name comes from the Introit of the day: “The
earth is full of the mercy of the Lord” (Psalm 33:5). It is the second
Sunday after Easter—a season when we are still basking in the glow of the empty
tomb, but now the Risen Lord is teaching us what resurrection life actually
looks like.
And what does it look like? Not like a victory parade. Not
like a superhero’s triumphant march. No, on this Sunday, the Church turns our
eyes to a Shepherd—a wounded Shepherd—and to sheep who keep wandering off.
Our text from 1 Peter is brutally honest: you and I are not
naturally good at following. We are experts at straying. But Peter doesn’t
leave us in the ditch. He points to the One who came looking for us—not with
anger, but with wounds that heal.
Let us listen to God’s Word.
The Example That Shames Us
Peter writes: “Christ suffered for you, leaving you
an example, that you should follow in his steps.”
Now, be careful. The word “example” can be misleading. We
think of a moral demonstration: “Do what Jesus did.” And yes, that is part of
it. But Peter’s deeper point is that Jesus’ suffering is not merely a model for
us to copy—it is a substitute that first saves us. Only then does it become an
example.
Look at the specifics: “He committed no sin, no
deceit was found in his mouth.” When He was insulted, He didn’t insult
back. When He suffered, He made no threats. He did not defend His own honor.
Let that sink in. How do you react when you are wrongly
accused? When someone cuts you off in traffic, or spreads a rumor about you at
work, or your spouse gives you the silent treatment for the tenth time? Our
natural instinct is to retaliate—to threaten, to sulk, to get even.
But Jesus, the innocent one, stood silent before His
accusers. Why? Not because He was weak. But because He entrusted
Himself to Him who judges justly. He didn’t need to seize justice; He
trusted the Father’s timing.
This is the example that first shames us. Because we know
our hearts. We are quick to demand our rights. Quick to nurse grudges. Quick to
play the victim. Peter holds up Jesus’ silence like a mirror, and we see: I
am not like Him. I am the one who bites back. I am the straying sheep.
But that is not the end of the story—thank God.
The Transfer That Saves Us
Peter continues with the most important verb in the
passage: “He Himself bore our sins in His body on the cross.”
Notice the word “bore.” It means “to carry up and away.”
This is the language of the Old Testament scapegoat. On the Day of Atonement,
the high priest would lay his hands on a goat, confess the sins of the people,
and then send the goat into the wilderness—bearing their sins away. Jesus is
that goat. But He doesn’t run into the wilderness; He is nailed to a cross.
Your sins—the ones you remember with shame, and the ones
you’ve already forgotten—were transferred onto Him. He didn’t bear His own sins
(He had none). He bore yours. My bitterness. Your gossip. My pride. Your lust.
My impatience. All of it.
And here is the miracle: “By His wounds you have
been healed.” Not “by His example.” Not “by His teachings.” By His
wounds. The lash marks on His back. The thorns in His scalp. The nails through
His hands and feet. The spear in His side.
What kind of healing is this? It is deeper than physical
healing. It is the healing of the soul’s deepest sickness: separation from God.
Sin had infected us like a terminal disease. But Jesus took the disease into
Himself, and in His death, it died with Him. When He rose, He rose without your
sins. They are gone.
So when Peter says, “so that we might die to sins
and live for righteousness,” he is not giving you a homework
assignment. He is telling you what has already happened in your baptism. You
died with Christ. You were raised with Christ. The old straying sheep is dead.
A new sheep has been born.
The Shepherd Who Returns the Strays
Now Peter ends with a beautiful, pastoral image: “For
you were like sheep going astray, but now you have returned to the Shepherd and
Overseer of your souls.”
Sheep are not smart animals. They wander off because they
see a patch of grass that looks greener—and suddenly they are lost, vulnerable,
alone. That is us. We stray not always because we are malicious, but because we
are distracted. We chase comfort. We chase approval. We chase control. And
before we know it, we are far from the Shepherd.
But look at the verb: “you have returned.” That
is passive in a sense—but active in meaning. Who brought you back? The Shepherd
did. You didn’t find your way home. The Good Shepherd left the ninety-nine and
went after the one—you. He searched through brambles and ravines. He endured
the cross. He descended into death. All to find you.
And now He is your “Overseer”—your episkopos,
your Bishop. That means He watches over you. He guards you. He doesn’t just
find you and then leave you to your own devices. He leads you beside still
waters. He restores your soul. Even when you stray again (and you will, because
you are a sheep), He comes again. That is mercy. That is Misericordias
Domini.
The world says: “Get your act together, then God will accept
you.” But the Gospel says: “God accepted you in Christ while you were still
straying. Now, held by the Shepherd, learn to walk in His steps.”
Conclusion & Application
Dear friends, what does this mean for your Sunday morning?
It means you don’t have to carry your guilt anymore. Jesus
bore it. It means you don’t have to retaliate against those who wrong you,
because you have entrusted yourself to the just Judge. It means when you
fail—again—the Shepherd does not say, “I’m done with you.” He says, “I already
healed you with My wounds. Return to Me.”
This week, you will be tempted to wander. The grass will
look greener in resentment, in self-pity, in that secret sin, in that anxious
worry. But hear the voice of your Shepherd: “Come back. I have already
borne it all. Rest in My wounds. They are your healing.”
Misericordias Domini—the mercies of the Lord. They
are not a vague feeling. They are a person. His name is Jesus. And He is the
Shepherd who never loses a single sheep.
Let us pray: Lord Jesus, Good Shepherd, we have
strayed like sheep. But You sought us, found us, and carried us home on Your
wounded shoulders. Heal us still. Keep us near You. And when we wander again,
call us back by Your mercy. Amen.
Go in peace. The Shepherd watches over you.
No comments:
Post a Comment