John 10:11-15
Think what our lives would be like if the following statement was the greatest level of commitment we would ever be able to get out of anyone: "I'll be there for you if I can, but don't count on it." We would probably go bonkers, wouldn't we, if we could never fully count on anyone to make a promise to us and keep it. Our lives would be an asylum of uncertainty if none of the people we need to trust most never kept their commitments.
Our deepest relationships are held together by an invisible cord called commitment. Every important relationship we have ever developed, either with one person or with many people, depends on the strength of that unseen cord. If we don't dare to make commitments or don't care enough to keep them, we destabilize the relationships that most need to be steady. Also, we leave the people who need to count on us the most, unsure of where they stand. One of life's facts is that we can keep our lives together only if we can trust each other to make and keep commitments.
Jesus looked out over the crowds to whom he preached, describing them as sheep who were wandering about in their own chaotic lives, with no one to offer direction, no one to offer leadership, no one to offer guidance, and no one to offer protection. Those to whom the tasks of direction, leadership, guidance, protection, and caring were entrusted, shirked their commitment.
The spiritual leadership of that day were not so much "hired" as much as they had made personal commitments to God and to the people, that they would shepherd the sheep--they would lead God's people in God's ways. But they didn't end up doing what they originally committed themselves to do. The chaos of the people, their aimlessness, their ignorance, their unfaithfulness was not due as much to themselves as much as it was to the dereliction of duty on the part of the religious leaders.
And it wasn't that the religious leaders were inherently bad men; but they were men, nonetheless, who were originally trusted and who over time, took their positions lightly, and then abandoned their posts altogether. "I will be there for you if I can, but don't count on it."
University of California sociologist, Robert Bellah, and four of his colleagues published an important study about the loss of commitment in American life. It was called, "Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitment in American Life."
Bellah's group came to the conclusion that most of us don't really believe in commitment anymore. We believe, instead, in every individual's right to pursue his or her own fulfillment. And since we believe most in our own right to be satisfied with life, we shy away from commitments that could tie us to people who lack the power to bring us the satisfaction to which we feel we are entitled.
If this information is accurate, then it looks like things have not changed much from Jesus' day. Jesus was talking to the people about commitment. He was trying to tell them how far his commitment was willing to go.
There's the story told of a pig and a chicken who were walking past a church one Sunday morning. The chicken said to the pig, "You know, over the years those people in there have been pretty nice to us. I think we ought to do something nice for them."
"Good idea," said the pig. "What do you have in mind?"
"I think we ought to have a big banquet," said the chicken.
"I'm all for that," said the pig. "but what shall we serve them to eat?"
"Bacon and eggs," said the chicken.
"Not on your life!" said the pig. "For you, that's just a contribution. For me, it's a total commitment!"
That's what Jesus was trying to get across to the people. "I stand ready to be totally committed to your needs," Jesus was saying. But when you read on a little further, how did the people react? "Many were saying, 'He has a demon! He is crazy! Why do you listen to him?'" (Vs. 20). The people had gone so long without anyone entrusting themselves, without any demonstration of obligation, that they didn't have a notion of what Jesus was trying to say and do. Have we gone as far as they?
When I read of Bellah's findings, I wonder. I wonder if it is entirely accurate. I can answer only for myself, and maybe make some assumptions based on conversations with others. I know I believe in commitment. But more than that, I know I need commitment. Commitment from my friends. Commitment from my children. Commitment from my church.
But there is a quandary, and maybe this is what Bellah's findings are pointing to more than anything else. The quandary is this: I think most people desire and need commitment. They want genuinely committed relationships. But people are not always sure what a commitment asks of them. Or, they are not sure what they should do when a commitment that they once made, and made sincerely, becomes very painful, maybe impossible to keep.
Most people I know are not human honeybees. They don't flutter through other people's lives, stopping long enough to suck what they want out of them, and then fly off. They don't live with their bags packed, constantly moving on, leaving somebody else to pick up the pieces. But, we all find that the road of "commitment keeping" is rough, and the arguments for calling it quits are sometimes powerful.
So, what is it that makes up this thing we call commitment? How can we more than just dab our toes in the risky waters of relationships in life? How do we dare, and dare again, to make and keep, and care for our commitments? How can we believe in commitment, especially when we get into the hard places that commitment often takes us? There are many qualities that feed commitment, but I will highlight just a couple.
First, there has to be what has been called the no-matter-what quality. Even though we expect there to be a lot of consistency and predictability in our relationships, the truth is, we all change. Our needs change. Our desires change. Our feelings change. Our bodies change. Our personalities change.
When we make promises to others, we really can't be sure what we will be like at some distant time when we will really be needed. We can only hope that the people we will become, will keep the commitment that our present selves make.
Circumstances will change, too. None of us knows what life will be like when the time comes for us to keep the commitments we've made. Will times be hard? Will circumstances drive a wedge between us? Will life be too difficult for us to manage?
The shepherds Jesus spoke of in his parable of the Good Shepherd certainly faced changing circumstances, sometimes daily. They were as consistent as the sun, punching the time clock, and then settling down on some rock to watch the sheep. A cushy job. But no one ever told them about wolves. Or stormy weather that scattered the sheep. Or disobedient sheep that just liked to wander away--all the time.
So it is with many people. But just the same, so it isn't.
Take for example, James Ettison, one of those not-very-profound kinds of people. He was a salesman, and on the road for most of his work. A gentle and lovely woman named Alice came into his life and he was sure that she would bring him the fulfillment of his relationship dreams.
They got married, and settled snugly into happiness. But about two years later, on a cold November night, before the snow had come, Alice's car skidded on a stretch of icy road. She slid helplessly, head on, full speed, into a car coming from the other direction.
Alice survived. After tilting toward death for a year, she gave signs of living again. But she was never the same. She was paralyzed from the hips down. Her memory was spotty and selective. She uttered sounds that James had to learn to translate the way a person learns a new language.
As month's edged into years, the past crept back with fits and starts in Alice's memory, which, in some ways, made life harder for her, because she then became much more aware of her condition and what got her that way.
James quit his traveling job right after the accident, got some work near home, and made a nearly full-time vocation of taking care of Alice. Nobody ever heard a discouraging word from his corner, and the man who once appeared to be a spiritual lightweight showed he was a world-class keeper of commitment.
Alice died fifteen years after her accident and somebody asked James how he had done it all so patiently when he had gotten a slender portion of everything he had hoped he and Alice would share. He said he had never thought to ask himself that question. But when pressed he said it all: "I just loved her so much, I couldn't give up on her."
Such is the no-matter-what quality of commitment. It is the unconditional kind of commitment. No matter how I change. No matter what happens to you. No matter what happens to us, or around us.
What a risk! What a gamble! Think of what is at stake, when we make such statements. We stand to gain a lot: love; maybe even life itself. But to gain such things we also have to realize what we surrender--because we surrender so much when we make serious commitments to others. And that is the other quality of commitment: being willing to surrender.
There are at least three things that we surrender when we commit ourselves to another person, or a group of people. We surrender our freedom. We surrender a large part of our individuality. And we surrender our control. All in all, that's a lot to surrender.
But that's what Jesus was talking about when he said he was ready to lay down his life for the sheep. Think of all that he did in his ministry. We don't have to look too hard and for very long to see that everything he did, every word he uttered had to do with surrender of the self in these three areas. He gave up all of them, most dramatically on the Cross, so that we might see the way clearly to the kind of life he would have us live for each other.
In the parable of the Good Samaritan, how did he end it? "Go and do likewise." In washing his disciples feet at the Last Supper, what did he say? "I have set an example for you, so that you will do just what I have done for you."
Over and over, time and time again, Jesus demonstrated this quality of commitment that is willing to surrender the self in order to fulfill another's needs. Jesus said, "I am willing to die for the sheep." Making commitments is a form of dying of the self for the sake of others.
In terms of our freedom, when we make a commitment, we freely decide that our lives will not flow free, as if we were unattached, from one personal relationship to another. Our commitment builds an invisible fence around us and those we are committed to, and the only freedom we have is to choose to respect those limits and boundaries.
In terms of our individuality, when we commit ourselves to someone else, we put ourselves at the side of another. Once committed, I am no longer a separate "I." The mirror I hold up to myself no longer reflects a solitary figure. You no longer just take selfies; you take “usies.” What I see there in the mirror is me, and my family, and this congregation, and other friends in distant places. I am plural. Who am I? I am who I am in relationship with all those in my mirror; they are part of my self-definition.
In terms of our control, when we commit ourselves to another, we give up a segment of our own life. We let another, or others, stake a claim on our self. The person to whom we make a commitment can call us to task with two simple words: "You promised." We give up our control, our right to say, "I don't care." Therefore, somebody else shares control with me, over my life.
All in all, that's a lot to surrender for the sake of commitment. It is what Jesus said he was willing to do for the people he loved. It is what he is calling us to do for each other--for those whom we love. And remember, this is all done in the sure knowledge that we are going to change. Yet we make our commitments. High risk, with a lot at stake.
Which brings us to our final and most critical point. The only way to live with the high risk of commitment is through trust. When Jesus said he was willing to lay down his life for us, we have to trust him that that is exactly what he means. When we make a commitment to another person, we have to trust them to keep that commitment. And they are trusting us to, likewise. keep our commitment to them.
We have to trust others to whom we are committed to not abuse our commitment, not to scorn it, not to deflate it. And they are trusting us not to do the same in our commitment to them. We are trusting that neither we or them will turn away when we need the other to uphold their commitment and love.
Trust is our only guarantee. And such trust is the only thing that offers us the peculiar kind of hope that dares us to take the high risk of personal commitment. Without trust, nobody in his or her right mind would ever make a serious commitment to another person.
Or a Savior. I can't remember if it's on the way to Wichita, or on the way to Hutchinson, there's a sign with a picture of a pasty white Jesus. Beside the picture it says, "Jesus...I trust in you." Though I don't like the picture, I like the saying. When Jesus says he's the Good Shepherd, and he's willing to lay his life down for us, and that he will take care of us all because he knows each of us, can we trust that? Can we trust him? Can we trust that commitment he makes to us?
And can Jesus trust our commitment to him?
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