Easter 4A
Sermon for Fourth Sunday of Easter, Year A
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
The Rev. Andrew McLarty
On this Fourth Sunday of Easter, the Church gives us familiar images that are more than they seem: sheep, a shepherd, a gate. Jesus says, “I am the gate.” Not a gate among many, but the gate– the threshold, the passage, the moment of crossing.
Theologian Cynthia Jarvis:
Is the church the gatekeeper and Jesus the gate to protect the morally weak and vulnerable within the fold or to privilege a community of the ethically pure?
Is the church a hospital for sinners, as Augustine believed, or a society of the morally perfectible, as Pelagius thought?
Does Christ as the gate keep the flock from corruption by the world, or did God so love the world that the gate swings open for the lost sheep in particular?
Is Jesus alone the gate, so that, in the end, every disparate flock will be made one in him
What kind of flock are we! What kind of gate is Christ?
Because if we are honest, most of us might prefer the Pelagian version, a community of the morally improving, the spiritually competent, the ones who are getting it right. A place where we can finally belong because we measure up.
But the Gospel resists that instinct. And Pelagius was deemed a heretic…
Because Jesus does not say, “I am the gate, and only the worthy may pass.”
He says, “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.”
Come in and go out.
This is no static enclosure. This is a living, breathing Jesus movement. The gate is not simply for keeping danger out, it is for letting life flow.
Jesus is not guarding a museum of the morally successful. He is standing at the threshold of a mercy that is always in motion.
Because if Christ is the gate, then the Church is not the owner of the gate. The Church is not the bouncer checking credentials at the door. The Church is the flock that has already passed through, often limping, often carried, often surprised to find ourselves inside at all.
Which means we should not focus on who is “in” and who is “out.”
We should only hope to recognize the voice of the shepherd and follow.
“Other sheep I have that do not belong to this fold.”
They are not an afterthought. They are not a threat. They are part of the very mission of God.
So, as Jarvis asks, does Christ as the gate keep the flock from the corruption of the world?
Well… yes, and no.
Yes, in the sense that Christ calls us into a life marked by self-giving love rather than self-serving, by mercy rather than judgment.
And
No, if we imagine that church means retreating in fear or distaste from the world God loves.
Because “God so loved the world” as it is: wounded, wandering, and worth dying for.
And if that is true, then the gate does not simply close behind us.
It swings open.
For the lost sheep.
For the wounded.
For those who do not yet know the shepherd’s voice.
Do we stand at our doors as guards? Or as witnesses?
Do we stand there to measure worthiness?
Or to point to mercy?
Do we stand there to narrow the way?
Or to trust that Christ himself is the way?
And as you know, I called for 2026 to be, for St. Paul’s, the Year of Invitation. Not because we have finally figured everything out, nor because we have something to control or protect, but because we have some special and life-giving to say about Christ. Invitation is not about deciding who belongs, it is about echoing the shepherd’s call. It is standing near the gate, not as gatekeepers, but as those who say, “Come and see.” Come and see… and hear… and be fed… and find rest. If Christ is the gate, then our work is to extend welcome and to trust that the same voice that called us is already calling others in the pasture of God.
Amen.
