Fourth Sunday of Easter
But Peter, standing up with the eleven, lifted up his voice and spoke out to them, "You men of Judea and all you who dwell at Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to my words.
"Let all the house of Israel therefore know certainly that God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified."
Now when they heard this, they were cut to the heart, and said to Peter and the rest of the apostles, "Brothers, what shall we do?"
Peter said to them, "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is to you and to your children, and to all who are far off, even as many as the Lord our God will call to himself." With many other words he testified and exhorted them, saying, "Save yourselves from this crooked generation!"
Then those who gladly received his word were baptized. There were added that day about three thousand souls.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He guides me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil. My cup runs over.
Surely goodness and loving kindness shall follow me all the days of my life, And I will dwell in the Lord's house forever.
For what glory is it if, when you sin, you patiently endure beating? But if when you do well, you patiently endure suffering, this is commendable with God. For you were called to this, because Christ also suffered for us, leaving you an example, that you should follow his steps, Who didn't sin, "neither was deceit found in his mouth." When he was cursed, he didn't curse back. When he suffered, he didn't threaten, but committed himself to him who judges righteously. He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we, having died to sins, might live to righteousness. You were healed by his wounds. For you were going astray like sheep; but now you have returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls.
"Most certainly, I tell you, one who doesn't enter by the door into the sheep fold, but climbs up some other way, is a thief and a robber. But one who enters in by the door is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. Whenever he brings out his own sheep, he goes before them; and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. They will by no means follow a stranger, but will flee from him; for they don't know the voice of strangers." Jesus spoke this parable to them, but they didn't understand what he was telling them.
Jesus therefore said to them again, "Most certainly, I tell you, I am the sheep's door. All who came before me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep didn't listen to them. I am the door. If anyone enters in by me, he will be saved, and will go in and go out and will find pasture. The thief only comes to steal, kill, and destroy. I came that they may have life, and may have it abundantly.
The shepherd's voice cuts through all the noise. In John's Gospel, Jesus speaks of sheep who know their shepherd so intimately that they recognize his call above all others. This isn't about blind obedience—it's about relationship, about a recognition that runs deeper than logic.
Notice how this connects to Peter's bold proclamation in Acts. When the crowd asks "What shall we do?" they're responding to something they recognize as true, even though it challenges everything they thought they knew. Peter doesn't offer a complicated theological treatise. He gives them something concrete: repent, be baptized, receive the Spirit. Three thousand people respond that day because they hear the shepherd's voice calling them home.
The movement here is from wandering to belonging. The Psalm captures this beautifully—we're sheep who have found our way back to green pastures and still waters. But Peter's letter reminds us that following the Good Shepherd doesn't mean avoiding difficulty. Sometimes we suffer precisely because we're doing what's right, following the voice that leads us away from the crowd's expectations.
Consider how many voices compete for our attention each day—social media, news cycles, workplace pressures, family demands. The challenge isn't identifying the loudest voice, but the truest one. Jesus promises that those who enter through him will "go in and go out and find pasture." There's freedom in this following, not restriction.
The shepherd knows our names. In a world that often reduces us to numbers or categories, we belong to someone who calls us by name and goes ahead of us into whatever we face.
Whose voice do we find ourselves following most readily? What does it sound like when the Good Shepherd calls our name? How might we create space today to hear that voice above all others?