Easter 4C

April 21, 2013

Today is often called Good Shepherd Sunday, and it’s not hard to figure out why.  Nearly every reading mentions or alludes to shepherds or sheep.  Some references are subtle, like the multitudes clothed in white robes from the reading in revelation.  Then there’s Psalm 23,  one of the most memorized piece of scripture, second only to the Lord’s Prayer.  We all know how it begins.  “The Lord is my Shepherd.”  Direct.  Not so subtle.   Good Shepherd Sunday. 

The first reading today is about Tabitha.  This reading doesn’t tell us directly so much about shepherds, but it does illustrate what shepherds do.  Interestingly, Tabitha is the only female in all of Scripture to be referred to as a disciple, because of her belief and her actions.  She was pretty valuable to the other women of the time.  

As you can imagine, in Tabitha’s time, the world was very patriarchal.  A daughter’s worth was measured by her father until she married, and then it was measured by her husband.  Widows who no longer were protected or funded or defined by their husbands were at the absolute bottom of the pecking order.  Even today, women are often left with little, when marriages end due to death or divorce.  But back then, the women were disposable; there was no to care for them.  Except Tabitha.  She took care of the widows.  Now, with the social stigmas surrounding widows lessened, this seems like noble and defensible work.  But worldwide women still constitute a disproportionately high number of people in poverty – 70-% of the world’s most impoverished are women.  And only 1% of all land is owned by women.  But back then, Tabitha was bucking the system and had the audacity to care for those the rest of society had dismissed.  And she was called a disciple.  

When Tabitha died, the widows are horrified.  Again, there will be no one, and they will be nothing.  They call for Peter.   And Peter raises her from the dead.   Of course everyone is extremely grateful, as their Tabitha is back.  But more than that, they realize that God will take care of them.  Before Tabitha’s death, through this lone female disciple, God cares for the widows, and through Peter, God will not let them be snatched. God shows his care and concern for the “least of these”.   

In the Gospel reading, we see Jesus at the festival for the dedication of the Temple.  The Jews press Jesus to answer if he’s the Messiah.  He answers that My sheep hear my voice, and they follow me.  To understand this, you need to know a little about shepherding back then, and here’s what little I know.    Shepherds used to put their flocks together to graze. Many shepherds with many flocks, all mixed together.  At the end of the day, each shepherd would call his sheep, and they, knowing their shepherd’s voice and unique call, would leave the collective grazing and follow their shepherd.  

We’re all thrown together on this earth to graze together.  And Christ has a unique call.  Those who know his voice and his call, follow him.   And Psalm 23 gives us a great image about us collectively grazing, hearing the voice, and following the lord.  

I think Psalm 23 is a lot like a Disney movie.  I saw Disney movies as a kid and they were really funny.   I brought my kids when they were little, and my kids thought the movies were funny.  But I realized that when I was taking my kids, I thought the movies were funny too.  For an entirely different reason.  Disney movies enchant children, amuse teens and often make adults giggle, as they masterfully speak truths to many diverse audiences at the same time. I remember seeing Aladdin as an adult, and chortling at Robin Williams’ near raunchy and yet perfectly kid-friendly Genie.  

 As adults who’ve repeatedly heard Psalm 23 and perhaps memorized it as a child,  we still hear it with a child’s ears.  But as adults, we owe it to the psalmist to listen with fresh ears, to hear it as adults, to hear it today.   Like a good Disney movie, Psalm 23 will speak to us where we are, now as adults.  

The Psalm starts as light and wonderful.  Lie down in green pastures, lead me beside still waters.   All really great things.  I remember thinking this was a sunshine and happiness psalm.  Mostly. 

But after the lovely pastures and calm waters, we travel through those dark verses.  Walking through the darkest valley.  The version I memorized had me walking through the valley of the shadow of death.  I didn’t like that part, and I still don’t. Luckily that was a brief walk, for the next line assured me that I shall fear no evil, for you are with me.  Whew. That was close.  I walk scary places, true. But I’m immediately told not to fear.  I remember thinking as a child that that one line, the valley of the shadow of death, was entirely out of place.  It didn’t fit in the otherwise bucolic, pastoral, lovely setting. 

After that quick walk through the dark places, the rest of the psalm contained more lovely promises.  You prepare a table for me.  My cup overflows with your mercy.  Surely goodness shall follow me all the days of my life.   OK.  That was great.   Lots of nice promises.   We have only that one scary but brief walk through the valley.   That’s what I remember as a kid.  

But look again. Darkness is peppered throughout this psalm, not just in valley.  

Sure, God leads me beside still waters, but that’s because he’s restoring my soul.   This psalm is speaking to a people and a time where their souls did need restoring.  As grown-ups this week, we might too.  

And later in the psalm, that lovely table that’s laid before me?  It’s in the presence of my enemies.   So I’m supposed to enjoy this lush table and overflowing cup not in the absence of my enemies, but in the midst of them.  That’s not as lovely and bucolic of an image as the one I conjured up when I was younger. 

I don’t really like the idea of my soul needing restored.  I like it just the way it is.  The events of this week have been horrible and stressful on people throughout country and world. As I thought about the events in Boston and Texas and the impact on all the people directly affected, the people who know, love and worry for them, and the rest of us who sit by with a mix of grief, shock and confusion, I realized my soul did need a little refreshing after all.   

And it’s clear that we are not fed at this lush banquet, weekly at our Eucharistic Feast, in the absence of people who do bad things.  People who do bad things are all around.   And God lays a table before us, and we feast surrounded.  

But still we are asked to feast.    

The promise of this Shepherd.  Apparently, it’s not what I thought it was.  It’s not that I simply need to follow and all trouble goes away.  All cares cease.  All worries disappear.  But we are encouraged to “fear no evil”.  Not because the evil is removed.  Not because we’re protected or indemnified.  I shall fear no evil for you are with me.  
If left to my own devices, like a little lost sheep, I would fear the valley, my thirst, my enemies.  But because we have a good shepherd who always  calls us, we can choose to follow that shepherd.   In the midst of our communal grazing, we hear and follow our shepherd.  God is with us, and we can get to the place of fearing no evil.  

So what about that communal grazing?   Who’s in there?  All of us.  All of humanity.  You and me.  The widows, the orphans, the confused. The mean.  The bombers. The unlovable.   

God is trying to call us all – all of humanity, to follow his shepherd, to be loved and tended, and protected.  Revelations talks about the multitudes from all nations, clothed in white robes.   God’s vision is that all of us feast, all of us are loved, all of us are shepherded.  

Yes, we have recognized our shepherd’s voice  - to varying degrees on varying days.  We have mercy overflowing.  Until the vision of Revelation occurs, we should do everything we can to share God’s vision and love and care with the multitudes from all nations.  The widows. The orphans.  The confused.  The mean.  The bombers.  The unlovable.   We are, after all, stuck grazing with them in this life.  And it’s because of God’s overflowing mercy that we have the capacity – we are asked to do this.    

So thinking about this week, about the victims and the bombers. About their families.  About the people in Texas.  Let’s finish by reading Psalm 23 together, with grown up eyes.  And pray that we all, as we graze together,  know or come to know and follow the voice of the Good Shepherd. 

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. 
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;* 
he restores my soul.*
He leads me in right paths*
   for his name’s sake. 
Even though I walk through the darkest valley,*
   I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
   your rod and your staff—
   they comfort me. 
You prepare a table before me
   in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
   my cup overflows. 
Surely* goodness and mercy* shall follow me
   all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
   my whole life long.*


Amen.