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Third Sunday of Easter, Year C
April 10, 2016
Church of Saint Ignatius Loyola Chestnut Hill MA
Joseph M. O’Keefe, S.J.
One of the earliest artistic depictions of Jesus was discovered in the
catacombs of Rome. It is the familiar figure of Jesus, with a sheep on his shoulders.
The image of the good shepherd remains one of the most common of the symbolic
representations of Christ. It is indeed a comforting image; just as sheep rely on the
shepherd to stay alive, so we rely on the Risen Lord to sustain us. In the tenth
chapter of John’s gospel, Jesus says, "I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays
down His life for the sheep.” In today’s gospel, Jesus tells Peter to do the same; that
to love the good shepherd is to become like the good shepherd. Jesus’s followers are
called to care for the sheep.
Two years ago I directed an 8-day retreat at Gloucester. One of my
retreatants was a woman religious who works in the inner city. Her retreat days
were filled with sincere and profound prayer. In her conversations with God, the
people to whom she ministers would surface: They were poor, many came from
broken families, some were homeless, others were wandering, a number were sick,
some were undocumented, many were lost and confused. On day six of the retreat I
told her, “You smell like sheep.” She looked at me -- What? Then she got it. She
knew that I was referencing one of the early homilies of Pope Francis, at the chrism
mass on March 28, 2013. He spoke of those who minister in the Church. Many, he
lamented, “don't put their own skin and their own heart on the line…This is
precisely the reason why some priests grow dissatisfied, lose heart and become in a
sense collectors of antiquities or novelties — instead of being shepherds living with
‘the smell of the sheep.” “This is what I am asking you,” he said with emphasis,
looking up from his prepared text, “be shepherds with the smell of sheep.”
These are powerful and challenging words for all of us who are “professional”
pastors – clergy, religious, and lay ministers. The very term pastor comes from the
Latin word for shepherd. And what is the job description of a shepherd? Shepherds
know the sheep, they provide them food and water, they look after the sheep who
are sick, they seek out the sheep who are lost, they protect the sheep from predators.
And they lead the sheep with care. Likewise pastors are to lead with care. In the
encyclical published Friday, Amoris laetitia, one reads:
Therefore, while clearly stating the Church’s teaching, pastors are to avoid
judgments that do not take into account the complexity of various situations,
and they are to be attentive, by necessity, to how people experience and
endure distress because of their condition.
Good pastors know the joys and the sorrows of their people, they empathize with
their struggles to live with integrity, they help them be attentive to the better angels
of their nature, they remind them again and again that, no matter what their
situation, they are children of a God who loves them beyond all measure. Good
pastors are humble because they, like the sheep, have experienced the challenges of
living the Christian way in the midst of life’s difficulties.
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Three years ago next Thursday, on April 15, 2013 we got a big dose of life’s
difficulties – the Boston Marathon bombing. On that day, hundreds of runners were
stopped at mile 21. They were physically exhausted by their run, they were
scattered, dazed, and confused – like sheep without a shepherd. They found refuge
in the pews in which you are sitting tonight. Six days later, I was set top preach to
the Sunday congregation people sitting in these very pews. What to say in the midst
of such sadness? Where was God in all of this? Never was it the truism more apt: if
you don’t pray, you can't preach.
As I was preparing my homily, what came to mind was a very moving story
about Father Emil J. Kapaun, an Army chaplain who died a prisoner in the Korean
War for his lifesaving ministrations to his fellow prisoners. Four days before the
Marathon, he was posthumously awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. At the
ceremony, President Obama called Kapaun “a good shepherd in combat boots.”
Inspired by that term, three years ago I said the following in my homily that day:
During this surreal week, we have seen horror, we have felt the fear, and we
have lost our collective innocence. But, and this is so crucial and I cannot
emphasize it enough, we have seen good shepherds in our midst, good
shepherds in combat boots, good shepherds in running shoes, good
shepherds in nurses’ shoes, good shepherds in flip flops, good shepherds in
high heals, good shepherds in wing tips. We have seen the bystanders who
chose not to run away from danger but run into danger because the sheep
were wounded, and fearful, and lost.
And here we are, in this same church, three years later. Most of the wounds
have healed, there are fewer tears but, given the violence and terror of our world, we
still live in a valley of darkness.
To paraphrase, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “If you love me, feed my sheep; if
you love me, tend my lambs; if you love me, be a good shepherd.” Jesus says the same
to each of us. No matter what kind of footwear we are sporting, each of us is called,
like Peter, to be a good and merciful shepherd for the people God puts in our lives.
We remember with gratitude the good shepherds of Marathon Monday and we call
to mind all of those, in various circumstances, who risk their lives for others, who
give of themselves without reserve, who reflect the tender mercy of the good
shepherd himself. Like Simon Peter, we say “Yes, Lord,” even if our shepherding
brings us dishonor, as it did for the apostles in our reading from Acts, and even if it
leads us, as it did for Peter, to places where we do not want to go.”
As we reflect on our call to follow the Good Shepherd, may each of us ponder
and make our own this prayer from Catholic Relief Services:
Lord of the 23rd Psalm, I have known death, and you have refreshed my soul. I have
known fear, and you have comforted me. I have known hunger, and you have set a feast
before me. In the darkest valley no calamity of humankind or nature has separated us.
Teach me to walk as you walk beside those in mourning so that they will know joy,
beside those in fear that they will know comfort, beside those in hunger that they will
feast until their cup overflows.
As your goodness and love follow me, may mine follow my neighbor, that the threat of
the worst terrors may turn to the knowledge of the comforts of the house of the Lord,
where you have invited us to dwell forever.
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So let me strive to help build on earth would you have promised us in heaven. In the
face of all calamity, present and yet to come, let me lead my neighbor beside quiet
waters, the quiet waters of the Good Shepherd. Amen