When was the last time you felt truly known? Not
tracked or targeted. Known. By name.
We are overwhelmed by voices. Some summon. Some
sort. Some sell. They all know your zip code. They know
your browsing history. They know what you fear and
what you want. Google, “How to fold a fitted sheet?” and
an ad will appear for luxury Egyptian cotton hammocks.
They can recognize the pattern, but they do not know
the person.
You know that not every voice deserves your life. But
how do you decide which voice to follow when so many
sound convincing? They promise efficiency or ease,
productivity or popularity, a quick fix for whatever it is
that ails you.
How to choose? Start with the ache behind the
deafening noise, the ache in your heart: the need to be
known. To be led and not used. To be loved and not left.
To be called by name.
God’s answer is a shepherd. He knows his sheep by
name. He stands between the flock and the wolf. He
leads by the gentle sound of a familiar voice. He lays
down his life for the lambs.
And that’s our story, the story that answers all the other
stories, the heart of everything we say about God. He
knows his own. He knows the one who limps along. He
knows the one who is easily startled and the one who
wanders a little too close to danger. The one who is too
cautious to venture out.
The shepherd knows us and will not stand at a safe
distance and call the sheep to face what he will not bear.
He moves toward the wolf. He places himself between
the flock and what would devour it. He does so freely.
No one takes my life from me, he says. I lay it down.
The shepherd’s is not the only voice in the text. There
is another voice, another character. It belongs to the
hired hand. He does not appear monstrous, and that’s
what makes him dangerous. He’s competent. He’s
reasonable. He’s attentive—until the cost becomes clear.
Then he runs. Because the flock was never his life. He
might manage the sheep, but he does not love them, not
enough to lose anything for them.
This is the line that Jesus draws. There is a shepherd, and
there are hired hands. The test is not the volume of their
voice, or the eloquence of their rhetoric, or the soaring
promises made from the safety of distance. The test is
the wolf. When danger is present, where do they stand?
The shepherd steps up. The hired hand ducks and runs.
The difference here is not subtle, nor does Jesus make
it subtle. It is also not confined to the fields of ancient
lands. Jesus tells this story. Jesus makes this distinction.
And so, we can safely assume that it is about us.
The voices we encounter have immense power over
us. The power to heal us. Power to harm us. Far greater
power than sticks and stones that break our bones. The
Book of James calls the tongue a fire, a world of evil.
And you know he is right. And so do I.
Way back when I was in fourth grade, my family moved
to a new town in the middle of the school year—bad
move! Not easy for an eight-year-old. Knowing that I
was struggling a bit with the move, my parents arranged
for me to go a few weeks early so that I could join the
church basketball team at the start of the season. I loved
basketball, then as now. Playing on my first real team
was the one bright spot on our move.
So, one Saturday night, my father and I slept in sleeping
bags on the empty floor of our rental home. We ate
powdered donuts from the gas station for breakfast
the next day, and then I got dressed and headed to
basketball practice. I was filled with excitement and
anxiety. I knew that I would be the youngest player on
the team, and I assumed based on my stature (then as
now) that I would also be the smallest player on the
team. Afterall, that team included middle-schoolers.
I was desperate to fit in. So, thinking they were my
coolest clothes, I got up, and I put on an almost-new
pair of jeans and headed to practice. The coach greeted
me warmly and told me to go join the boys who were
shooting around before practice.
And that’s when the words were spoken. Not to me,
but near me, close enough for me to hear the sound of
their voices. As I walked by my new teammates, one boy
said to another boy, “Jeans for basketball practice—now
that’s a new one.” Then they both laughed out loud.
It was so small. It was barely a moment. And I truly don’t
think they meant to hurt me. And let’s face it, blue jeans
are an odd choice for basketball. But their voices landed
like a verdict in my heart. You don’t belong here.
There was a clock on the wall behind one of the baskets,
and every time we ran that direction, I counted how
many minutes were left until I could get back in my dad’s
car. For weeks I had a stomachache every time we got
in the car to head to practice or a game. I’m relatively
certain that neither of those two boys would remember
that moment. And yet, thirty-five years later, as I tell you
the story this morning, I can still feel the sting.
A single sentence. A moment of laughter. A sideways
glance. Something in you changes.
Now, if you can, imagine voices like that repeated until
they become your inner soundtrack. Voices that sort
you, and rank you, and judge you based on likes and
followers, streaks and stories, squads and shares. You
develop the relentless need to be affirmed by a crowd
you cannot control. Voices with no faces. And you don’t
just hear them. You start to become them. You join the
chorus so you won’t be left out or targeted.
Scripture names it plainly: what we follow we come to
resemble. What we worship, we grow to reflect. It is not
dramatic. It is slow. A series of small moments stacked
one on top of the other until we are formed in ways we
could not have imagined. Friends, if the voice you follow
is fluent in contempt, contempt will begin to speak
through you. If the voice you follow insists that every
stranger is a threat, you will wake up one day and find
you have made your world very, very small.
That’s how formation works, and no one is exempt. So
you must be very careful which voice you follow. Even
those claiming to speak for the shepherd can lead us
astray. They quote scripture but lead toward fear of
neighbor, contempt for the vulnerable, resentment of
the other, violence defended as divine right. But watch
where they lead. Watch what happens when the wolf
comes. Don’t focus just on the words—watch the way.
The Shepherd says: I came that they may have life and
have it abundantly. Abundant life—for the whole flock.
Every voice that wants of piece of you must be tested,
and the test is simple. Where does it actually lead? What
kind of person does it tell you to be? When you look in
the mirror, do you recognize yourself?
Look at these teenagers. They have grown up drowned
in noise. Devices in their hands before the tools to
discern their voices. They are what marketers call the
target demo. Targeted. Think of that. Forces that keep
them scrolling but will never give them peace surround
them at every turn.
Today they do something very brave. They are here
to declare that they know which voice to follow; they
are here to tell you they belong to a story bigger than
themselves. This is no small thing. In this climate, it is
courage. A community of teenagers who have grown
strong enough to choose the voice that knows their
name and leads to life.
Confirmands, this part is for you. In just a few
moments, each one of you will be called by your name.
One by one. Because that is how this Shepherd knows
his sheep. Not as a group, but individuals. One by one.
And then, you’ll walk out those doors. And they’ll be
after you from the minute you do. The voices that want
your soul, and they will pursue you all your life.
And here’s the trick. Some of them are going to sound
brave, and some will sound clever. Some will offer you
belonging or identity, success or security, certainty and
confidence. And all you need to do is harden your heart.
All you need to do is shrink smaller or grow meaner, or
be less tender, tough enough for the real world. If you
hear nothing else I say today, please hear this plea from
your pastor: do not give them your soul.
The voice calling you today knows your name. Not
your profile or your metrics. The name spoken at your
baptism. The name spoken before you even knew
yourself. Yes, there will be days when you cannot hear
his voice. When the noise is louder. When the wolves are
closer. When the hired hands are so persuasive. When
you are tired, or you are angry, or you are far from home
and ashamed to go back.
On those days, you should not try to remember the
whole faith, the whole curriculum. Just remember this:
the same Shepherd who calls you by name today will still
be speaking to you. He will not stop speaking because
you stop listening. He will not leave because you
wander. He will not run when the wolf comes.
He will stay. He stays with the wounded, and the
wandering, and the worried, and the overwhelmed. He
stays with the hard questions, and the deep doubts,
and the swirling chaos. He stays to give his life for
your life. He offers himself to show you the way. Listen
through the noise for the one voice your heart will
always recognize.
And to the rest of us: you cannot outsource this. You
cannot bless these confirmands and then build a church
they won’t recognize. You cannot call him Shepherd and
follow the hired hands. We cannot sing of a Savior who
laid down his life and not offer yours. If you hear nothing
else today, please hear this plea from your pastor: they
are watching to see if you mean it.
If the Shepherd is Lord, our church must look like him.
The wolves are already waiting. They are in the hallway
and in the group chat. In the mirror at midnight. The
voices will never stop. They will tell you that you aren’t
good enough or that faith is a foolish dream.
The hired hands will scatter, and every promise they
made to stay will be broken when times turn tough. But
the Shepherd stands firm. Still calling. Not because of
your worst moments or your best performances. Not by
your data or your metrics.
By your name. The one that cannot be bought or sold
or stolen. The one that even death cannot silence. He
knows it. You know it.
And so, go among the wolves. Live as people unafraid of
the noise. Live as people unashamed of the gospel. Live
as people who know whose they are. Listen and don’t
ever forget it. You belong to God. Amen.