“Good Shepherds”
The sheep hear the voice of the shepherd who calls them by name
and leads them out…They will not follow a stranger, but will
run away, for they do not know the voice of strangers…They
follow the shepherd, for they know the shepherd’s voice.”
These words from today’s Gospel recall famous stories of this
Easter season, in which the question is whether Jesus’ followers
will recognize him in his risen body—whether they will hear
and understand his voice. Remember Mary of Magdala, the first apostle
to behold the risen Christ? She sees Jesus through her tears, but
perceives only a gardener. “Are you the one who took him away?
Please tell me where to find him!” Remember the two disciples
running away from Jerusalem to Emmaus? They think Jesus is just
the most dim-witted pilgrim in the history of Passover. “Are
you the only person in town who doesn’t know what’s
been going on?” All three disciples eventually recognize their
friend and shepherd by hearing his voice. Mary Magdalene throws
her arms around Jesus when he lovingly calls her name: “Mary.”
“My rabbi!” And the Emmaus disciples’ hearts burn
as Jesus names their reality by breaking open the Word and the Bread.
Today’s familiar reading about the Good Shepherd invites
us to reflect on the same challenges as Jesus’ first followers,
so long ago. How do we recognize the risen Christ working in our
world through the Holy Spirit? How do we rise from our defeated
hopes and hear him call our names? How do we follow the example
of the first Christians, recorded in Acts--shepherding one another
and the poor, and witnessing to truth and justice even at the risk
of sharing Jesus’ suffering? What makes our hearts burn with
the love of God, our gentle Shepherd?
To dig into these questions, I would like to explore another less
famous, but equally powerful Easter story. Each year the lectionary
reacquaints us with Mary Magdalene in the garden, and doubting Thomas
in the upper room. But this passage from the 21st chapter of John’s
Gospel appears only once every three years. It’s the Gospel
for the third Sunday of Easter in year C, which was last year. Scripture
scholars consider it an epilogue to John, because it follows what
sounds like a conclusion at the end of chapter 20: “Jesus
performed many other signs as well—signs not recorded here—in
the presence of his disciples. But these have been recorded to help
you believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, so that through
this faith you may have life in his name….Later on, Jesus
showed himself to his disciples once again…” It seems
as if the final redactor put down his or her pen, and then snatched
it right back up! It was impossible to resist adding one more dramatic
story of a powerful sign performed by the risen Jesus. And this
may have been, at least in part, precisely because of the Good Shepherd
discourse earlier in the Gospel, in the tenth chapter of John. The
two stories are linked by their themes of Jesus’ love and
what it means to follow him. They are also linked by the fact that
these two are the only Johannine passages to use the metaphor of
sheep to describe Jesus’ disciples. Some other gospels, especially
Matthew, use this literary device frequently; but any other sheep
mentioned in John are sure to be running around and saying baa.
This final resurrection appearance at first follows the patterns
of the earlier Easter stories. It has both a delayed recognition
of Jesus by the disciples, and a shared meal in which they celebrate
it. Peter, James, and John, with some others, retreat to their familiar
fishing boat, and fail to catch a single fish after working all
night. They see Jesus on the beach, but think he is just a stranger
calling out to them for idle conversation. “Caught anything,
guys?” “Nah, terrible luck.” “Try putting
your nets on the other side of the boat.” “What the
heck, let’s give it a try.” They make a miraculous catch
of one hundred fifty three fish, and then they recognize Jesus.
“It’s the Lord!” They begin to row in, dragging
their bounty; Peter, impulsive as ever, abandons the others to their
task. He throws on his tunic and dives into the water, swimming
as fast as he can to the shore. When the rest of the group catches
up, Jesus reaches out to care for these tired, hungry men. He has
built a roaring fire to warm them up and barbecue some of the fish,
and brought fresh loaves of bread to go with it.
Unlike the other stories, this one goes on to an intense conversation.
Jesus does not vanish from their sight after breakfast, but invites
Peter to take a walk down the beach. Jesus calls Peter to share
in his mission of being a good shepherd to God’s flock, and
gives him tips on how to do it. I was fascinated to discover that,
though both the Episcopal and Roman Catholic lectionaries include
the “fish story,” from the first part of the chapter,
only the Catholic reading goes on to add the conversation. This
may be a simple concern of length; it may also be because the First
Vatican Council used this passage to make extreme power claims,
including infallibility, for the bishop of Rome. Ironically, a careful
examination of the story shows that—to me at least--it has
precisely the opposite meaning, with much to say about the true
leadership and care God calls all of us to offer one another.
Jesus begins by making a probing threefold inquiry about Peter’s
commitment to him. This gives Peter an opportunity to make amends
for his earlier threefold denial of Jesus when the chips were down.
“Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?”
“Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” “Then feed
my lambs.” Jesus seems to be testing Peter a bit here. Will
he repeat his confident boasting at the Last Supper that he is the
bravest one in the group, and will follow Jesus to the death? No--Peter
shows he has learned from experience. He says only that he loves
Jesus, not claiming to love him more than everyone else does. Jesus
repeats a simpler question, calling his friend by name and speaking
to his heart, twice more. “Simon, son of John, do you love
me?” “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” “Then
feed my sheep.” Finally, Jesus reveals that Peter will ultimately
have a chance follow through on his earlier promise. After years
of preaching the Gospel, he will find himself facing a martyr’s
death. We know from history that when this second chance came, Peter
stayed the course; like Jesus, he did lay down his life for God’s
sheep. But on first hearing this news, he reels in shock, turning
away from Jesus as he tries to take it in. Can he really face this?
Will they all end dying for their faith? Maybe it would be easier
to know that he won’t be alone at the end. His eyes light
on the Beloved Disciple, of whom he’s always been a little
jealous, and he blurts out, “What about him, Lord?”
And Jesus gently tells him, “Don’t worry about anyone
else, my friend. Just follow me.”
Jesus’ word and example caring for the disciples, and talking
with Peter, flesh out today’s Good Shepherd Gospel with some
concrete practices to strive for in our life together. Good shepherds
are always alert to recognize the voice of God, speaking through
each human person and the whole created world. Good shepherds care
for the physical, emotional, and spiritual needs of brothers and
sisters. Good shepherds are prepared to work hard and pay a real
price to do what is right. Good shepherds learn compassion through
their own struggles, and challenge others, when necessary, with
patience and love. And good shepherds focus on faithfully following
their own path to God—not trying to make everyone else follow
the same one.
Can you imagine what our city would look like if we all did this
in our homes and workplaces? Can you imagine what the Catholic church,
and interfaith relations, would look like if the next Pope did the
same? Can you imagine what the world would look like if our government,
and those of other countries, began to think like this? According
to the Friends’ Committee on National Legislation, 42 cents
of each dollar on the taxes we just paid went for past, present,
and future wars, and less than 1 cent for humanitarian aid and international
cooperation. With this kind of “good shepherd thinking,”
perhaps these priorities would be reversed. We would come closer
to God’s dream, which the great fifty days of Easter calls
us to share, of a transformed, just, and peaceful world.
