The Good Shepherd

I grew up in New York City in the ‘50s. We lived in a two–family house in Brooklyn. I recall it as a carefree time of life. It was a time which while doors marked certain boundaries, 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. Our ability to come and go was safe. However, in later years when both my parents worked, I as the oldest of my siblings, was entrusted with that key. Later concerns for safety appeared to be heightened and more attention was paid to doors and security. I know I was older and more aware of the news of the day but times were changing. We were a little less carefree and the world was not as safe as it was before.

While gates and doors provide protection and security, they are the means for going in and out of a home or place. They also serve as boundaries to permit entry and exit. In today’s Gospel (John 10:1-10) 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 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 one of church’s stained glass windows. Yet, when Jesus lived and John writes his Gospel, shepherds were among the most disreputable and mistrusted outcasts of society. We might consider replacing the image of the loving guardian strolling peacefully in the sunshine among his flock, with the marauding gangs currently in the news and the focus of National attention. 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 disconnect.

But John challenges his listeners to look past their assumptions of where God is located and who God belongs to and who can belong to God. We and the people of John’s time are asked to see God in those who are outsiders, who exist on the fringe of the community, who are despised and even a little feared. The readers of John’s story are told to look for God among the despised. Richard Rohr writes that “the significance of Jesus’ wounded body is his deliberate and conscious holding of the pain of the world and refusing to send it elsewhere….the wounds are to convince us of the path and price of transformation.” (A Spring Within Us, p 221.)

When Jesus proclaims that “My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me” he characterizes his role as a loving protector. We are told that there was no actual gate in sheep-folds and that the shepherd would stand, sit or lie down in the opening which allowed entry and exit. 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

Can Religion Keep Us From Our Journey?

 

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. 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. Fear not doubt gets in the way of our letting the Holy Spirit take charge. 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.”

 

Why Easter Matters

 I suppose if we think of Easter as more of a sacrament and less a miracle, its impact would likely have a greater effect on modern man. The proclamation of a miracle excuses us from having anything further to do with it. A miracle is God’s doing. A sacrament, however, places a demand on us for its existence. God performs miracles but men celebrate sacraments. God may work a miracle even without faith and he may work it apart from men. Man, however, is essential to the presence of a sacrament.

If Easter is to be a sacramental event, we must symbolize it for our fellow men, not only in the grace of God, but with our flesh and blood. Easter is sacramental every time one of us makes his life a source of light for his fellow man. 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 men see 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.

Jesus became incarnate to not only teach us how to live our lives but to reside in Him through Jesus. When the celebrant 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)

 

Father , if it's possible let this cup pass from me...

He Suffered Under Pontius Pilate…

Daily experience shows us how difficult it is to stand up for those spiritual values to which we are committed even when we are at our best. Whenever we have to swim against the current or buck the trend we can relate to why Jesus suffered under Pontius Pilate. St Paul reminds us that “Indeed, all who wish to live God-centered lives in Jesus Christ will suffer persecution.” (2 Titus 3:12)

Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, among others were punished and in some cases killed for standing up for their values. 

For us no less than Jesus, history is the stage on which our spiritual convictions are put to the test. Jesus was executed by a domination system that is as powerful today as it was then. How do we in our everyday lives follow Jesus as we too stand up for our spiritual values and in our own way “suffer under Pontius Pilate?”

He Was Crucified…

Jesus’ crucifixion is a matter of historical fact. He like so many “prophets” who represented threats as subversive to Jewish law and Roman authority, were subjected to murder by crucifixion. Crucifixion was the corporal punishment of choice for political radicals, designed to kill the convicted and to send a powerful message to any followers, that his “reign” was ended. 

What then might be the spiritual implication of Jesus’ crucifixion for us? Perhaps this question is best found in our Creed, which professes that our faith in the incarnate, Jesus Christ, is one and the same with God. Our belief in Jesus who, in his humanity fully shared in God’s divine spirit, united us in Him through Him with Him. 

Thus when we profess that God’s tangible presence in the world was crucified, we express our faith that we can encounter God in the most horrible circumstances. In the midst of crucifixion—a scene that seems to scream out God’s absence…God is present. There is never anything so terrible in life or death that prevents us from enduring it with the trust in God’s presence. There is no injustice, no pain, no catastrophe that prevents us from God’s enduring love. This has given to countless men and women of faith a sense of peace and comfort in the midst of their darkest hours. Matthew 26: 14-27:66

(Adapted from Deeper than Words, Living the Apostles Creed, David Stendl-Rast).

...Jesus Wept

 

As I read the Gospel appointed for this upcoming Sunday, I happened to recall a news story from 60 Minutes a few years back. I remembered her first name, a beautiful memorable name, Gabriella and that the child had ultimately succumbed to cancer. The story made an impression on me then that continues to this day. I searched the 60 Minutes archive, linking her first name with brain cancer and found “Gabriella Miller.” I wondered what prompted my need to know, although I realized that something I read in preparing for this week’s Gospel reminded me of this child. That something I read was John’s (John 11:1-45) account of the story of Lazarus. Is there any more familiar story to us than that of “Lazarus?” Well beyond the realm of religion, the name Lazarus has become a well-known metaphor for revival and resurrection.

 So why did I connect the Lazarus story to this child, who died four years ago at the age of 10? Gabriella was diagnosed with brain cancer in November of 2012 but rather than retreat to her illness and the discomfort of all the interventions designed to reverse or halt her condition, she never lost hope. Instead, she dedicated her young, fragile life to raising awareness for cancer in children who like her, were suffering and who unlike her, had no voice…quietly retreat to waiting. She became a force for action, raising funds to support research and seeing to the “comfort” and wishes of terminally ill youngsters. To that end she raised millions of dollars and vicariously saw to the aid and comfort of hundreds of afflicted children.

The story of Lazarus shares much in common with the woman at the well and the blind man. The faith of Martha and Mary and the Samaritan woman’s belief that Jesus was the Messiah, instilled a spark of faith in all those around them. They stepped out of their comfort zones despite the risk of being criticized if not condemned.

 In many ways Gabriella is like the woman at the well. She defied her illness as the Samaritan defied convention. Gabriella did not step back in silence, reserved for the terminally ill, and was not willing to submit to her illness as she called for action… as we stand by wringing our hands in sympathy…and go on about our lives. No, the story of Lazarus doesn’t lead us to believe that God would save Gabriella from death, or raise her from the dead; after all, even Lazarus would eventually succumb to physical death. But the story makes us realize that God through Gabriella resurrects us and transforms our faith to as we see the love of God played out again and again, through the life of this 10 year old child… again and again.

Seeing is Believing

 

Spring is only a few days away, but we’re not convinced are we? Temperatures are still hovering in the winter range and although we’ve just finished with a late winter “nor’easter,” and are dealing with its aftermath, today’s forecast calls for more light snow. Yet, somehow the world around us knows what we don’t see, or perhaps refuse to see. There is more light as daylight lengthens; the lawn, wear it is visible, shows some signs of green in response to the light. The birds have once again begun to sing; they know the light, and ignore the cold. Yet I, layered in warm clothing, watch out my window as the woodpecker drills holes in my Atlas cedar, and mines the rising sap. He knows what the light reveals. And what about the crocus struggling under remnants of not-yet-melted snow, making its presence felt in response to the light. It knows despite its icy blanket. Yet I question and wonder, can it really be spring?

In our Gospel (John 9:1-41), John presents Jesus as the light in the darkness, calling forth life. And as witnessed by the world outside my window, all life springs from the light as it lengthens in the world. In this ambivalent month: warm one day, cold another, the light warms the soil and calls the seeds to come to life. March knows instinctively what we find hard to believe.

We can deny the season but we cannot deny the light’s return. Seeing is believing…right? In our Gospel, Jesus restores a blind man’s sight. Yet, the Pharisees are unwilling to accept what they see, ask a barrage of questions: can he really see; is this the same man; ask his parents if he was born blind; how did Jesus open his eyes. What more can the man say; he was blind, Jesus gave him sight and now he can see. Still not wanting to believe what they have seen and heard, the Pharisees drive the man away…out of their sight.

Perhaps the unwillingness to believe in the obvious may seem an exaggeration by John to make a point, but is it? Sometimes, despite what we see and hear, we find it difficult to let go of what we think we know. The inability to let go and put our egos aside is part of our human condition. It can be argued that believing and understanding are the Provence of the intellect, while knowing is an intuitive part of our being. We know air, we don’t believe in it. So, what does it take for his light to penetrate and our hearts to open and to just let go without question? Isn’t it curious how all of nature knows the light and responds without question, and we can’t let go of winter and open our eyes to the light?


And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart

And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart