Good Shepherd Sunday
Fourth Sunday of Easter, May 3, 2009
Acts 4:8-12 I John 3:1-2 John 10:11-18
To the churched and unchurched[1]
gathered in a temple not built by human hands[2]
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to John (10:11-18)
Glory to you, Lord.
Jesus said: “I am the good shepherd. A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. A hired man, who is not a shepherd and whose sheep are not his own, sees a wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away, and the wolf catches and scatters them. This is because he works for pay and has no concern for the sheep. I am the good shepherd, and I know my sheep and my sheep know me, just as the Father knows Me and I know the Father; and I will lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. These also I must lead, and they will hear my voice, and there will be one flock, one shepherd. The Father loves Me because I am willing to give up my life, in order that I may receive it back again. No one takes my life away from me. I give it up of my own free will. I have the right to give it up, and I have the right to take it back again. For the Father has given Me this right.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ
Introduction
Good Shepherd Sunday
Good Shepherd Sunday
The fourth Sunday of Easter is called Good Shepherd Sunday. The gospel for that Sunday in all three liturgical cycles of A, B and C is from the tenth chapter of St. John, which lists the qualities of a good shepherd. A good shepherd does not drive the herd from behind but simply walks upfront, and they follow him. (Jn 10:3-4) A good shepherd feeds the sheep by leading them into green pastures. (Jn 10:9) Unlike the hired hand, a good shepherd protects his sheep against wolves and even lays down his life for them. (Jn 10:13-14) A good shepherd knows his sheep, and his sheep know him. (Jn 10: 15)
This last quality is always singled out on Good Shepherd Sunday by the alleluia verse just before the gospel. All the Sundays of the year have three different alleluia verses (one for each of the three liturgical cycles) to announce the gospel, but Good Shepherd Sunday has only one alleluia verse and repeats it every year: "Alleluia! Alleluia! I am the good shepherd. I know my sheep, and my sheep know me.” That knowing is not something purely intellectual; it has warm emotional overtones to it: a good shepherd lovingly knows his sheep, and the sheep, in turn, lovingly know him.
This last quality is always singled out on Good Shepherd Sunday by the alleluia verse just before the gospel. All the Sundays of the year have three different alleluia verses (one for each of the three liturgical cycles) to announce the gospel, but Good Shepherd Sunday has only one alleluia verse and repeats it every year: "Alleluia! Alleluia! I am the good shepherd. I know my sheep, and my sheep know me.” That knowing is not something purely intellectual; it has warm emotional overtones to it: a good shepherd lovingly knows his sheep, and the sheep, in turn, lovingly know him.
He knows his sheep.
What is it that a good shepherd lovingly knows about his sheep? Negatively, he knows, for example, which issues are not of prime concern to his sheep. He knows, for example, that most of them are not terribly concerned about a celibate priesthood or even about a male-only priesthood. He knows that 71% percent of them now favor or at least are not soundly opposed to married priests or even to women priests. He knows also that most of his sheep no longer agonize over contraception, or over divorce and remarriage, or over sacramental confession, as they used to agonize in days past. He knows also that an ever-increasing number of them no longer agonize over their homosexuality but accept themselves, even though the institutional church does not.
A good shepherd knows that many of his sheep have either solved these matters for themselves, or don't know what the problem is, or simply do not care much, one way or the other. The shepherd might not like these facts, but they’re there, and a good shepherd refuses to pretend that they’re not there. He refuses to blend into a culture of pretense. He is like that fearless prophet and former auxiliary bishop of Detroit, Thomas Gumbleton, who in a letter to the America magazine wrote, "I can vouch for the fact that very many bishops share the same conviction [that not every contraceptive act is intrinsically evil]. However, sadly enough, fewer and fewer are willing to say this publicly. [3]”
Such a culture of pretense is neither honest nor healthy. Worst of all, it is not good for our Catholic faith; at the end of the day it can set us wondering whether, perhaps, we are also pretending when we raise Bread on high at holy Mass and claim it is the very body of Christ. It all hangs together.
Positively, a good shepherd lovingly knows which issues are, indeed, of prime concern to his sheep. For example, in the present financial crisis which has everyone on edge, he knows his sheep are worried about losing their jobs, paying the mortgage, affording health insurance, educating their kids and replacing an old car or wash machine. And in the less financial and more spiritual realm of human life, a good shepherd knows that some of his sheep are afflicted with the monkey of addiction on their own backs or the backs of someone they love; or are battling a serious illness or are beset with deep grief over a loved one who has recently died.
And his sheep know him.
A good shepherd lovingly knows his sheep, and his sheep, in turn, lovingly know him.
Upon the death of Pope Pius XII in 1958, Angelo Roncalli, the Patriarch of Venice, was elected pope and took the name of John XXIII. In his homily on the day of his coronation, he said, “People have different ideas about what the new pope should be: diplomat, scholar, statesman. The new pope," he said, "has in mind St. John's example of the Jesus, the Good Shepherd, who came not to be served but to serve.” The next day, Good Pope John put his money where his mouth was. Removing his triple tiered tiara (that ostentatious toy of papal power) and dismounting from his sedia gestatoria (that ostentatious portable throne that bore the heavy weight of popes on the backs of hefty men), Good Pope John went forth to shepherd the universal church. Off through elaborate Vatican portals he sped to visit prisoners in a Roman jail and to console aging priests in nursing homes. Then on his first Holy Thursday as pope in 1959, he restored the ancient liturgical custom of foot-washing, and bent down to wash the feet of thirteen young priests. The church’s disuse of the foot-washing was itself symptomatic. Its restoration by Pope John was his gesture to tell the church that its new pope was going to be a good shepherd who comes, not to be served but to serve.
Upon the death of Pope Pius XII in 1958, Angelo Roncalli, the Patriarch of Venice, was elected pope and took the name of John XXIII. In his homily on the day of his coronation, he said, “People have different ideas about what the new pope should be: diplomat, scholar, statesman. The new pope," he said, "has in mind St. John's example of the Jesus, the Good Shepherd, who came not to be served but to serve.” The next day, Good Pope John put his money where his mouth was. Removing his triple tiered tiara (that ostentatious toy of papal power) and dismounting from his sedia gestatoria (that ostentatious portable throne that bore the heavy weight of popes on the backs of hefty men), Good Pope John went forth to shepherd the universal church. Off through elaborate Vatican portals he sped to visit prisoners in a Roman jail and to console aging priests in nursing homes. Then on his first Holy Thursday as pope in 1959, he restored the ancient liturgical custom of foot-washing, and bent down to wash the feet of thirteen young priests. The church’s disuse of the foot-washing was itself symptomatic. Its restoration by Pope John was his gesture to tell the church that its new pope was going to be a good shepherd who comes, not to be served but to serve.
John did such a wonderful job of lovingly knowing his sheep that the sheep, in turn, lovingly knew him. When he lay dying on June 3, 1963, the whole world was there kneeling at his bedside. (Yes, the whole world! We, who that day were listening to the news covering the event, know that this is not an exaggeration.) In that whole world kneeling at his bedside was Morris L. West (1916-1999). He was an Australian writer, famous especially for his books The Devil’s Advocate and The Shoes of the Fisherman. Though West was and always remained a Catholic, his various writings contained an amount of criticism of the church, and the church was not always pleased with him. He was, however, one of those sheep who lovingly knew his good shepherd, Pope John.
In a little volume entitled A View from the Ridge written in his eightieth year Morris feels “like a mountain climber who after a long and arduous ascent has reached a height and then pauses to catch his breath in order to muster up enough courage for the last lap of his journey.” Of that last lap he writes,
I believe I can say with certainty that I remained in communion with the Church
even when the Church itself excluded me, and I remain there still, principally
because of the presence of John XXIII, the Good Pastor, whom I never met, though
I did meet his predecessor and his successor. Goodness went out from this man to
me. I acknowledged it then. I acknowledge it again. The Romans named him un
Papa simpatico. And everyone wished he were younger, so that the imprint of his
personality might be deeper on the corporate life of the Church and the common
life of the world. We had had a surfeit of princes and politicians and
theologians – even of conventional saints. We needed a man who spoke the
language of the heart, who understood that the dialogue of God with man is
carried on in terms far different from the semantics of professional
philosophers. We had John too briefly.
Conclusion
Popes and parents – shepherds all
Popes and parents – shepherds all
An old ecclesiology lurking within some of us simply views shepherds as hierarchy and sheep as laity. Life isn’t so clear-cut. Sooner or later we are all shepherds who have to shepherd someone, and sooner or later we are all sheep who have to be shepherded. And that’s not simply a matter of age. Good Shepherd Sunday is not only about popes, bishop and priests who shepherd their sheep; it’s about all of us who at some time are sheep, and at other times are shepherds. It is especially about parents who shepherd sons and daughters by walking up front and showing them the way, and who lead them into green pastures, and who protect them from wolves.
It is especially about parents who know their kids, and whose kids know them. They know their kids because they have freed them from the need to pretend and say what they think their parents want them to say. They know their kids because they have given them the freedom to be honest with them and tell them everything. That path of honesty might be a lot more messy than the path of pretense, but in the long run it pays off: in return, their kids know and love them, as Morris West knew and loved his Good Pastor.
It is especially about parents who know their kids, and whose kids know them. They know their kids because they have freed them from the need to pretend and say what they think their parents want them to say. They know their kids because they have given them the freedom to be honest with them and tell them everything. That path of honesty might be a lot more messy than the path of pretense, but in the long run it pays off: in return, their kids know and love them, as Morris West knew and loved his Good Pastor.
