Homilies are not supposed to
be geography lessons but it’s hard to escape geography in today’s
scriptures. There was geography in the opening words of the reading from
Acts: “Paul and Barnabas continued on from Perga and reached Antioch in
Pisidia.” Going from Perga to Pisidian Antioch was not like going from
Seattle to Tukwila or Renton to Issaquah! It involved a big leap across
a good stretch of Asia Minor (present day Turkey), and, of course, for
Paul and Barnabas it was but one in a series of leaps across the
Mediterranean world as they moved almost breathlessly to proclaim the
gospel of Jesus Christ.
But
the greatest leap was not geographic. The greatest leap was the leap of
faith that people made in great numbers in response to the preaching of
Paul and Barnabas, preaching that had to have been incredibly persuasive
in order to have taken people such a distance in so short a time!
And
then there was the reading from the Book of Revelation. There was
geography there too, some heavenly geography - John’s vision of a huge
crowd beyond all counting from every nation and race, people and tongue,
the entire world from every time and every place turned into a global
village, or better, transformed into the heavenly city where all God’s
people, after suffering all manner of trial and tribulation, are
gathered together in the shelter of God’s throne. They hunger and thirst
no longer, nor do they weep or mourn because Christ, their shepherd, has
led them to springs of life-giving water.
That
consoling image of Christ the shepherd leads me to one more piece of
geography – this, a very local one – my desk over in my office in the
rectory where random stacks of desktop debris make it a pretty chaotic
piece of geography and something of a disaster zone! But in the midst of
it all, and providing a calm center of gravity, is a lovely little
statue of the Good Shepherd. You probably noticed a photograph of it on
the cover of last Sunday’s bulletin. The statue was given to me nearly
sixty years ago by a Dominican sister friend who, I’m sure, wanted to
give me a reminder of my calling. I’m grateful to her, for that little
statue has served that purpose more times than I can count – especially
on days when shepherding wasn’t easy and seemed to cost too much.
And on
this Sunday we call Good Shepherd Sunday, we, of course, can’t help but
be mindful of our new Pope, Leo XIV, who is a sign of great hope for our
church and our world. He has the daunting responsibility of shepherding
the entire people of God: modeling for us the servant Christ, inspiring
us, awakening our consciences, and bringing a very diverse body of
believers together ‘on the way’ to the kingdom. And the world – not just
the Church - looks to him for leadership, too - at a time when so many
elected leaders lack moral authority, moral weight, moral credibility.
We must pray for Pope Leo- pray earnestly - and we will.
But priests
and popes are not the only ones who are called to be shepherds. There is
a sense in which we all have that calling because all of us have people
in our lives whom we need to feed, to nourish, to love and care for. And
that’s especially true of mothers whom we honor in a special way today.
Who are better, more loving shepherds than mothers? Mothers are my
heroes. Good shepherds they surely are.
But no one
can do the demanding work of shepherding without first looking to Jesus,
the Good Shepherd, who leads us through all the geography of our lives:
in verdant pastures, through dark valleys, near restful waters.
Sometimes it’s comfort he gives, other times it’s courage; always,
though, his goodness and kindness follow us, and when our path is rough
and uncertain, and our spirits drooping, he is there, spreading his
table before us, anointing us with healing oil, anointing our spirits.
So, my friends, wherever we are
today in the geography of our journey of life and faith – and we’re all
in different places – I hope we can let the Good Shepherd spread his
abundant table before us as he does at every celebration of the
Eucharist. For his table gives us hope and strength and nourishment to
keep going on the journey, and his table is a foretaste of the heavenly
table to come where hunger and thirst shall be no more – only abundant
springs of life-giving water and joys without end!
Father Michael G. Ryan
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