“A Church That Thinks” – John 10:22-30 (Year C, the Fourth Sunday After Easter)

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If we could reinvent the Church for the 21st century—make it more faithful, more effective—I’d vote to make it less of an institution and more of a living community, with Christ at the center. Now, I’m not saying we need to reinvent the Christian faith. That’s as vibrant and life-giving as ever. But the structures we’ve wrapped around it? Sometimes they get… well, a little crusty. Like that loaf of communion bread someone forgot in the church kitchen back in 1997.

A few weeks ago, we talked about becoming a community that embraces people as they are—flaws, quirks, baggy spiritual baggage and all. A church that loves people into transformation. We need that church. The world needs that church.

Today, let’s talk about the second thing we need: a church that thinks.

A church that welcomes questions, doubts, wonderings—the whole intellectual enchilada.

Because honestly, in many circles, the church today has the intellectual appeal of a YouTube conspiracy theory. You know the kind: “If the King James Bible was good enough for Jesus, it’s good enough for me!” That’s an actual quote. From a “world-renowned” Bible scholar. On TV. I choked on my Diet Coke.

And we’ve all seen what happens when thinking is discouraged. I had a friend—professor of religion—who used to teach at a seminary. New leadership came in and told him, “You are free to research whatever you want—as long as you agree with us at the end.” That’s not scholarship. That’s a holy echo chamber.

And so we’ve lost thinkers. We’ve lost seekers. We’ve lost honest strugglers who’ve walked away—not from Jesus, but from a Church that sometimes says, “Check your brain at the door, but don’t worry, we’ll validate your parking.”

One of my favorite lines from a kid in Sunday school: When asked what faith is, he paused and said, “It’s believing things you know ain’t true.” Ouch. And kind of funny. And very telling.

In John 10, Jesus is at the temple, and the people say, “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you’re the Messiah, tell us plainly.”

Can’t you just hear them? “Look, we’ve got a potluck to get to. Just give us a yes or no.”

Honestly, I get it. Wouldn’t it be easier if God would just rip open the sky, poke His head through the clouds and say, “Hi! It’s Me. I’m real. Stop bickering. Also, pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza. You’re welcome.”

We all want that kind of faith—plain, simple, tweetable.

It’s why people love those billboard signs attributed to God. You’ve seen them:

• “Don’t make me come down there.” – God
• “That ‘love thy neighbor’ thing… I meant it.”
• And my favorite: “This Sunday, let’s meet at my house before the game.”

They’re funny. And they appeal to our craving for clarity. But then Jesus messes that up.

When the crowd demands, “Tell us plainly,” Jesus says… essentially, “No.”

Which seems like a missed PR opportunity. You’d think Jesus would take advantage of the moment and just say it. “Yes, I’m the Messiah. Yes, I’m the Savior. Yes, Chick-fil-A sauce is indeed anointed.”

But he doesn’t.

Why?

Maybe Because faith isn’t about information. It’s about transformation.

Jesus says, “I told you, but you didn’t believe. You saw what I did. But you’re not my sheep.” He doesn’t mean they’re spiritual rejects. He means they’re trying to get the truth the wrong way.

They want a list of facts.

Jesus offers a way of life.

They want bullet points. Jesus offers footsteps to follow.

Faith isn’t a creed you memorize—it’s a path you walk.

You don’t learn the power of forgiveness by acing a theology quiz. You learn it by forgiving the person who hurt you—and maybe realizing, a decade later, that the pain finally softened.

You don’t prove the love of God in a lab. You discover it by loving when it’s hard. By serving when it’s inconvenient. By following when it’s uncertain.

That’s why Jesus says, “My sheep follow me.”

They don’t know where He’s going. But they go anyway. And in the following, faith is born.

So yes—bring your questions. Bring your doubts.

Jesus welcomes them. He doesn’t swat them down with a ruler. He invites you into a relationship where you learn how to think faithfully.

We need churches where it’s okay to ask,

• “Was the world really created in six days?”
• “Why did my child suffer?”
• “Do only Christians go to heaven?”
• “What does Jesus say about gay marriage, or war, or climate change?”

And when Jesus doesn’t give us a PowerPoint presentation with answers, we don’t walk away. We walk with Him. Into the mystery. Into life.

Will Willimon once wrote about his father-in-law, Carl Parker, a small-town Methodist pastor. One Sunday, Carl preached about the lost sheep—the one Jesus goes after. Then he brought up a man on death row, guilty of heinous crimes.

And Carl said, “According to Jesus, God would go to death row, sit next to that man, plead with him, love him home—and heaven would rejoice more over him than over the 99 of us sitting here today.”

He then looked at a deacon and asked, “Joe, how many people do we have here today?”

Joe said, “About 99.”

“Well then,” said Carl, “the party’s not for us today. It’s for the one still lost.”

(He retired soon after that sermon. Can’t imagine why!)

So here’s the invitation from Jesus today—not a plain and simple list, not easy answers, but a path. A way. A Shepherd who says,

“Follow me—and bring your brain with you.”

Amen.