I am the Gate and The Good Shepherd

I grew up in New York City in the ‘50s. We lived in a two–family house in Brooklyn. It was a carefree time of life, a time in which doors merely marked certain boundaries. For the most part, we were not so afraid of others inappropriately crossing them. It was not always necessary to lock our doors. And when we finally did, my father kept a key in the milk box on the porch or left one with our upstairs neighbor. Even as children, we could safely come and go within the confines of our stated limitations. Perhaps the only time in those formative years that I was aware of heightened concern for safety was during the polio epidemic. While as children, our need to process the true impact of this plague was limited and I suppose that was a good thing, the published photos of children in iron lungs were to this day, indelibly printed in my memory. It’s hard to contrast that time with today’s Covid19. For the most part our only news media were the daily, make that twice daily, newspapers. TV’s news were short and not by any means comprehensive. All in all, as long as we stayed in our “sheepfold” we, as children, went about our days without concern.

While gates and doors serve as boundaries to permit entry and exit and security, they also demarcate a safe place, home. In our Gospel (John 10:1-10) (John 10:11-18) Jesus, the Good Shepherd, is portrayed as a “gate” and a caretaker. Our frame of reference for a shepherd does not likely fit with the image of the shepherd in the time of Jesus. Is there any more powerful artistic depiction of compassion than the image of Jesus the Good Shepherd in our Christian heritage? For me it is the famous painting of Jesus with the lamb draped over his shoulder that was hung on the wall in one of my grade school classrooms, and was also depicted in our church’s stained glass window. Yet, when Jesus lived and John wrote his Gospel, shepherds were among the most disreputable and mistrusted outcasts of society. Shepherds were drifters with no fixed address and because of their occupation, they were perpetually unclean and, by definition, in violation of Jewish law. These outcasts are the very people John’s gospel is talking about. So comparing Jesus to a shepherd and then later calling this very shepherd “good” seems at the very least, a paradox.

When Jesus proclaims that “My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me” he characterizes his role as a loving protector. There were no actual gates in sheepfolds; rather, the shepherd would stand, sit or lie down at the entrance to the pasture. In this way the shepherd could serve as protector of his sheep. He knew his sheep and they knew him. John purposely contrasted Jesus, the Good Shepherd, with disreputable religious rulers of his time who exploited their congregations.

Jesus clearly spells out is role as the Good Shepherd and his Father’s steward when he says I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish. No one can take them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one can take them out of the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one

Our Journey to Faith

Does our religion contribute to our spiritual development? Now don’t get me wrong my religion is important to me, although over the years I have come to appreciate that religion and faith are not always mutually inclusive or “symbiotic.” And while the Church, the Bible and the liturgy are important to our development, spiritual formation is more about learning to discern the call of God in our everyday lives. Spiritual Formation is an ongoing dynamic process in which we develop the “tools” to be able to see and align ourselves with people, places and things in which God is at work. I know this might sound like heresy but in some ways religion can become a static process that lulls us to sleep in its repetitive sameness. As such, it can become an “obstacle” to our call to “bear witness” to God’s Word to those outside the “upper room.” In a real sense we are preaching to the choir!

We in the comfort and security of our Church community, are like the apostles in the upper room after the Crucifixion. When Jesus appeared to the apostles and Thomas he said “... As the Father has sent me, so I send you," he beckons us as he did his disciples to leave the upper room and live our lives outside the walls of our Church as we engage in Christian practices that are fundamental to human needs, and may have nothing to do with religion but everything to do with faith and God’s will for us. As such, we join with one another, and with Jesus, and with the communion of saints across time and space in a way of life that proclaims Christ’s victory over death and our eternal life. (Luke 24:13-35)

Now in “bearing witness” to the Word, I'm not talking about "life-style evangelism." That term for many of us, may evoke discomfort and have a strange connotation. Yet, we “bear witness” to the great movies or television programs we've seen and want others to enjoy. We bear witness to the accomplishments (or failures) of our sports teams. We bear witness to the important events in our family or work lives. We bear witness -- that is, tell someone about -- the things that matter to us all the time. We bear witness to feelings of joy, sadness and despair. We share life, our lives, with each other. No, I mean we bear witness to the presence of God, the Love, in all things in the here and now all the time.

Witnessing is not really all that different when it comes to faith. It does not mean shoving our beliefs down someone's throat or threatening them with eternal hellfire if they don't believe as we do. The ego tries to convince, while love shares.  To witness is simply communicating with others where we sense God’s presence -- at home or work, at church or school, or in a stranger or a friend, a doctor or teacher or neighbor, or even in a tragedy. Bearing witness is nothing more than proclaiming God’s presence in our life and  in our behavior as the Word becomes flesh in us and those we encounter as we live his Word…  by Him and with Him and in Him in the unity of the Holy Spirit.

My Lord and My God

In many ways we are just like Thomas; aren’t we? We really don’t want to come by our faith second hand (John 20: 19-31). Our parents taught us that something worth having was something worth working for? So we ask; is there really such a thing as “blind faith?” Blind faith does not encourage us to probe; it denies us the opportunity to question, to know what we believe intuitively, in our “core.” Blind faith requires minimal spiritual investment, and permits those inclined to cruise through their spiritual journey without the opportunity to really living life’s joy and danger. True faith requires knowing what we believe…beyond any doubt. So Thomas in refusing to say that he understood what he did not understand, or believe what he did not believe, exhibited an honesty that prompted his need to know.

Thomas wasn’t the faithless doubter. The so-called faithful disciples remained locked up in the upper room hiding in fear, convinced they were abandoned and bereft of hope. Fear, not doubt, gets in the way of our letting the Holy Spirit take charge and opening our hearts to His voice. 

So, where did Thomas go while others were in hiding? What prompted him to return to his community? Was Thomas “working” at trying to know what he was asked to believe? Thomas wanted the experience of a deeper vision or sight. He was unwilling to blindly accept; it had to be real for him.

True faith is based on trust in God. True faith knows we can deepen our faith by asking critical questions of our traditions and our “inherited” belief propositions. We do this by leaving our comfort zones and living in new ways. Thomas’ encounter with the risen Lord challenges us to know what we believe so for us as, with Thomas, we too can personally acclaim “My Lord and my God.”

He Has Risen

If we think of Easter as more a sacrament and less a miracle, would its effect have a greater impact on us? The concept of Easter being a miracle relieves us from our being intimately involved with it. After all, a miracle is God’s doing. However, a sacrament is a reciprocal transaction, a gift from God that requires our involvement and participation. God performs miracles but men celebrate sacraments. God may work a miracle apart from men. Man, however, is essential to the presence of a sacrament. 

If Easter is to have an impact on our faith at a deep and spiritual level, should it be considered a sacramental event? If we are invested in its meaning in the grace of God and with our flesh and blood Easter becomes a life source for us. Easter is sacramental when our words heal, when our hearts understand, when lesser values die in us for the sake of greater realities. 

We are sacramental with Easter when men know us to be faithful. We are sacramental with Easter when our fellow man sees us suffer not for selfish advantage but for their redemption. Easter is never more sacramental than when one man gives his life on behalf of another. Christians seek to make Easter sacramental in their lives by their memory of Jesus. If Jesus is remembered, he has not died altogether. If the memory of Jesus inspires us to sacrificial love, Jesus is grace. Jesus is an Easter-maker.(Dawn Without Darkness, p 78, Anthony Padovano.)
Jesus became incarnate to not only teach us how to live our lives but to reside in Him through Jesus. When the priest says “in him through him and with him,” he’s reminding us of our participation in his birth, death and resurrection. 

(John 20:1-9)