The Fourth Sunday of Easter is Good Shepherd Sunday every year. Our collect and readings remind us that in the Hebrew Scriptures and in the New Testament, the middle eastern shepherd is a metaphor for the divine nature.
Like the flocks they tended, the shepherds of the Bible were often dirty and woolly, enduring sun and rain for days or weeks on end. But unlike their flocks, they were vigilant and uncomplaining, watching for danger and trouble, providing pasture and allaying thirst. The shepherd knew his flock as no one else. And the sheep followed him “because they know his voice.”
Jesus speaks of himself as “the gate for the sheep.” Some scholars contend that shepherds of the period would often place their own bodies across the small opening of the sheep enclosure at night and during times of danger, risking their lives for the sake of their flock. Perhaps it is this image of the shepherd as human gate that Jesus has in mind with this metaphor, his own presence stretched out and bridging our insecurities. “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me,” he assures us, “will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture” (John 10:9).
Sometimes we are like lost sheep. We live in a world where it is easy to lose direction, to lose our bearings, and to lose a sense of who we are and where we are going. It is easy to go astray. It is then that we are most vulnerable to the “thieves and bandits” of the world,. We are also most vulnerable to the more destructive animal instincts that lurk in every human heart, such as hatred, anger, and violence.
Week by week, we come to the Paschal banquet ready to keep the feast, eager to partake of the Lord’s abundance, and to be nourished for the journey ahead. But the world is still a dangerous place. The human heart listens for the voice of the shepherd who brings peace and God’s reconciling love. He is the Gate through whom we pass as we come to be fed and as we go back out to feed others in his Name.
P.S. I want to share with you one of my favorite musical settings of the twenty-third psalm. It is by composer Howard Goodall and some of you will recognize it as the theme song from a BBC television production about a flock that was tended by a very interesting shepherd. The choir is that of Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford.
A couple of weeks ago on Maundy Thursday, we read the account of Jesus and his disciples in the Upper Room. In that passage, Jesus commands his disciples to love. What kind of love has to be commanded?
My reaction to execution of terrorist Osama bin Laden motivated me to search for a fresh answer to that question.
Gay and I were on a flight home from our nephew's confirmation. Within seconds after the wheels of the aircraft touched the tarmac, the man in the seat behind us said, "We've killed bin Laden!" He had turned on his smart phone and was reading the news that had been released while we were in flight.
My first response was one of relief. That seemed reasonable, given the number of innocent lives he took and the threat he represented. Then I felt a sense of joy. That didn't seem right, given what I preach. For the last week, I've struggled with the disconnect between my human feelings and my theological views. On the one hand, I found myself saying, "Good riddance! We got him!" On the other hand, the words of Jesus to his followers rang in my ears, "I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another" (Jn. 13:34, 35).
Yes, Jesus, but you were talking to your friends who had been following you around. Osama bin Laden was our enemy. He murdered thousands of people and not just Americans. He did it in the name of God. Why can't we be happy he's dead? How does one reconcile feelings of hatred and happiness for retribution with this commandment to love?
In case you think Jesus doesn't answer such questions, here's the next epiphany that came to me. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have?” (Mt. 5:43-46a).
What kind of love has to be commanded? Certainly not the feeling of love. Feelings sort of happen on their own, not because we make them happen. It is easy to love someone who is loveable and easy to hate someone who is hateful.
The love that Jesus commands is not grounded in human emotions. Love divine is grounded in the heart and mind of God. Such love has always been God's desire and God's decision about how things need to work in God's creation. It is the love that conquers human emotions, such as fear and hatred. Jesus demonstrated how this love is expressed in his dealings with both friends and enemies. His friends denied, betrayed, and deserted him. His enemies plotted against him, mocked him, and crucified him. He could have hated both his friends and his enemies. Instead, love divine became flesh and reigned from the cross. We are commanded to love like that – not because we feel like it, but so that our natural emotions will not enslave us. True freedom is found in that way of loving. It is a merger of human will with God’s will.
There is an old rabbinical story of when Moses led the people of Israel through the parted Red Sea. The armies of Pharaoh pursued them, but the water enveloped them and they died. The angels in heaven started dancing and rejoicing. But the low voice of God was mournfully heard to say: “Dare you rejoice when my children are dying?” My Israeli friend Mishi Neubach told me that this story is printed on the first page of the handbook that is issued to every person in the Israeli Army. “Its purpose,” he said, “is to teach that while you may have to kill your enemy, you may not hate him and you may not rejoice over his death.”
Just before Holy Week, Gay and I toured the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis. These words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. are inscribed there: “I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”
Anyone can hate. After all, the actions of bin Laden and his followers were motivated by hate. Did we not see images of them dancing in the streets after 9/11? Are we any better if we engage in similar demonstrations over the death of their leader? What is a better response?
The followers of Jesus will be recognized by the love they choose to demonstrate instead of hate. That kind of love has to be commanded. It doesn’t come naturally. Feelings such as hatred emerge from the primitive reptilian part of our brains. The love that has to be commanded is the result of the exercise of higher human intelligence seeking the mind of God. It is the inspired decision to resist emotions that harm so that God can love through us.
The love that Jesus commands us to exhibit has to be smarter and more reliable than human emotion. When Jesus sends us out like sheep in the midst of wolves, this love will make us “wise as serpents and innocent as doves” (Mt. 10:16). The reason the love that has to be commanded will ultimately triumph is that the wiser decisions leading to the welfare and peace of the world depend upon it. It is the way to true freedom for all God’s children.
While searching for some commentary regarding Holy Saturday, I came across reflections posted by The Rev. Canon Patrick Comerford on his blog. Comerford is a priest in the Church of Ireland (Anglican), Director of Spiritual Formation at the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, and a Canon of Christ Church Cathedral Dublin. While Canon Comerford’s message concerns All Souls Day, a significant portion of it has to do with Christ’s descent to the dead, also known as “The Harrowing of Hell” and that is the excerpt I have chosen to share with you on this Holy Saturday.
Before you read the excerpt, I suggest reading the following passages of scripture:
In the Eastern Orthodox tradition there are several All Souls’ Days throughout the year, especially on Saturdays. Saturday is the day Christ lay in the Tomb, and so all Saturdays are days for general prayer for the departed.
The Western tradition of the Church has traditionally contemplated the cross, and then the empty tomb … and has been totally agnostic about what happened in between, between dusk that Friday afternoon and dawn that Sunday morning. The deep joys of the Resurrection have often been overshadowed in the Western Church by the Way of the Cross, as though the Cross leads only to death. We have neglected Christ’s resting place, his tomb, and given little thought to what was happening in the Holy Sepulchre that holy weekend.
The Eastern Churches, which lack a clearly defined doctrine of Purgatory, have been more comfortable with exploring in depth the theme of Christ’s Harrowing of Hell. For, while Christ’s body lays in the tomb, he is visiting those who were dead.
The icon of the Harrowing of Hell reminds us that God reaches into the deepest depths to pull forth souls into the kingdom of light. It reminds us how much we are unable to comprehend – let alone take to heart as our own – our creedal statement that Christ “descended into Hell.”
The Apostle Peter tells us that when Christ died he went and preached to the spirits in prison “who in former times did not obey … For this is the reason the Gospel was proclaimed even to the dead, so that … they might live in the spirit as God does” (I Peter 3: 15b- 4: 8).
The Early Church taught that after his death Christ descended into hell and rescued all the souls, starting with Adam and Eve, who had died under the Fall. The Harrowing of Hell is intimately bound up with the Resurrection, the Raising from the Dead, for as Christ is raised from the dead he also plummets the depths to bring up, to raise up, those who are dead, no matter where that may be in time and in space. The Harrowing of Hell carries us into the gap in time between Christ’s death and his resurrection.
In icons of the Harrowing of Hell, Christ stands on the shattered doors of Hell. Sometimes, two angels are seen in the pit binding Satan. And we see Christ pulling out of Hell Adam and Eve, imprisoned there since their deaths, imprisoned along with all humanity because of sin. Christ breaks down the doors of Hell and leads the souls of the lost into Heaven. It is the most radical reversal we can imagine. Death does not have the last word, we need not live our lives buried in fear. If Adam and Eve are forgiven, and the Sin of Adam is annulled and destroyed, who is beyond forgiveness?
In discussing the “Descent into Hell,” Hans Urs von Balthasar argues that if Christ’s mission did not result in the successful application of God’s love to every intended soul, how then can we think of it as a success? He emphasises Christ’s descent into the fullness of death, so as to be “Lord of both the dead and the living” (Romans 5).
However, in her book Light in Darkness, Alyssa Lyra Pitstick says Christ did not descend into the lowest depths of Hell, that he only stayed in the top levels. She cannot agree that Christ’s descent into Hell entails experiencing the fullness of alienation, sin and death, which he then absorbs, transfigures, and defeats through the Resurrection. Instead, she says, Christ descends only to the “limbo of the Fathers” in which the righteous, justified dead of the Old Testament waited for his coming.
And so her argument robs the Harrowing of Hell of its soteriological significance. For her, Christ does not descend into Hell and experience there the depths of alienation between God and humanity opened up by sin. She leaves us with a Christ visiting an already-redeemed and justified collection of Old Testament saints to let them know that he has defeated death – as though he is merely ringing on the doorbell for those ready to come out.
However, Archbishop Rowan Williams has written beautifully, in The Indwelling of Light, on the Harrowing of Hell. Christ is the new Adam who rescues humanity from its past, and who starts history anew. “The resurrection … is an introduction – to our buried selves, to our alienated neighbours, to our physical world.”
He says: “Adam and Eve stand for wherever it is in the human story that fear and refusal began … [This] icon declares that wherever that lost moment was or is – Christ [is] there to implant the possibility … of another future.” [Rowan Williams, The Dwelling of the Light: Praying with Icons of Christ, p. 38.]
I ask myself: what’s the difference between the top levels of Hell and the bottom levels of Hell? Is my Hell in my heart of my own creation? In my mind, in my home, where I live and I work, in my society, in this world? Is hell the nightmares from the past I cannot shake off, or the fears for the future when it looks gloomy and desolate for the planet? But is anything too hard for Lord?
The icon of the Harrowing of Hell tells us that there are no limits to God’s ability to search us out and to know us. Where are the depths of my heart and my soul, where darkness prevails, where I feel even Christ can find no welcome? Those crevices even I am afraid to think about, let alone contemplate, may be beyond my reach. I cannot produce or manufacture my own salvation from that deep, interior hell, hidden from others, and often hidden from myself.
But Christ breaks down the gates of Hell. He rips all of sinful humanity from the clutches of death. He descends into the depths of our sin and alienation from God. Plummeting the depths of Hell, he suffuses all that is lost and sinful with the radiance of divine goodness, joy and light.
Hell is where God is not; Christ is God, and his decent into Hell pushes back Hell’s boundaries. In his descent into Hell, Christ reclaims this zone for life, pushing back the gates of death, where God is not, to the farthest limits possible. Christ plummets even those deepest depths, and his love and mercy can raise us again to new life.
[Today], we think again of Christ in the grave, and ask him to take away all that denies life in us, whether it is a hell of our own making, a hell that has been forced on us, or a hell that surrounds us. Christ reaches down, and lifts us up with him in his Risen Glory.
May these thoughts from Canon Patrick Comerford be an epiphany for you on this Holy Saturday. Here's a hymn that also seems fitting for today.
During the forty days of Lent each year we spend time getting ready for the celebration of Easter. There is fasting, self-denial, prayer, intensified devotion, scripture study, and other disciplines designed to cleanse our hearts.
Then, comes the big celebration. Easter. Like so many Christian holy days, Easter seems to disappear the next day as life returns to "normal." But Easter should be more than that to us! It certainly was to those early disciples. Easter is more than a day!
Easter is a season of celebration. The Risen Christ walked among his disciples for forty days after his resurrection. He taught them, ate with them, prayed with them, and loved them. Before he was taken up into heaven, he promised to send the Comforter, the Holy Spirit. The promise was fulfilled on the fiftieth day when they were in Jerusalem celebrating the Jewish feast of Shavuot, the Feast of Weeks. In Greek, it is called Pentecost. Pentecost is seven weeks, or fifty days, after the observance of Passover and commemorates the spring wheat harvest. This feast has also been associated with the remembrance of the giving of the Law to Moses. As the law was written on tablets of stone, the Spirit would write God's law upon the hearts of believers. When Moses came down from the mountain, he found God's people worshipping an idol and 3,000 of them died. When the Spirit was given, the disciples were obediently waiting in Jerusalem. 3,000 people were saved! The New People of the New Covenant were empowered by the Life-giving Spirit to be Christ's Body in the world, proclaiming to all the Easter message that Christ is alive.
Easter is a lifestyle. We are Easter People! As those early disciples in Emmaus and Jerusalem and in Galilee experienced the living presence of the Risen Christ, so we recognize that he stands among us today. To paraphrase Jesus, "believing is seeing." When we gather to hear the Word and share in the Holy Meal, it is usually easy to experience his presence "enthroned upon the praises of his people." The challenging part comes when we disperse. When Christ's Body touches the world through you and me when we are apart from one another, do you suppose the Living Presence is felt?
Easter is our only hope. St. Peter writes, "By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead…" There is a lot of help out there for people with all kinds of needs. But Christians believe that beyond help, people need hope. So what if you are physically or emotionally well. Life is just not complete without hope. The Easter faith gives the world hope.
So, don't let Easter fade like the blooms on your Easter Lily! Easter is more than a day; it is a season, a lifestyle, and a faith that fills our lives with hope.
Some time ago, when I was engaged in a period of intense discernment, a dear friend of mine, Bill Cherry, presented me with a small silver cross I can carry in my pocket. He told me, that God had led him to give me the cross and that when the reason becomes clear to me God will let me know to whom I should pass the cross along. He's given out hundreds of these crosses through the years and each one has its own special story.
The story of this pocket cross is not complete because the time to pass it along to someone else has not yet come. So it is in my pocket every single day, reminding me of several things. For example, whenever I reach into my pocket and touch this cross, it reminds me of my friend and the faith we share. My pocket cross is also a constant reminder that a lot of people around me are carrying crosses. Some of these crosses are visible. However, there are crosses that people carry in their hearts. The crosses of the heart are usually carried quietly, sometimes secretly, and on occasion they seem almost too heavy to bear.
During Holy Week, we will walk with Jesus in the Way of the Cross. As we do, we should remember that Jesus carried two kinds of crosses. One was visible, made of wood. It was ugly and heavy as he dragged it down the streets of Jerusalem toward Golgotha. The other cross he carried was even heavier. It was the cross of estrangement between God and humanity. It was a cross weighed with the sin of the world and the evil of a fallen cosmos. But Jesus carried both of these crosses with such courage and grace that today the cross is a symbol of hope and a testimony about life’s meaning and purpose.
I think my friend gave me the pocket cross because he recognized that I seemed to be struggling under the weight of a cross I was trying to bear. He wanted me to know the strength that comes from the Savior who carried a cross to Golgotha and transformed an instrument of death into a means of redemption. When I am thinking that I have a cross of the heart to bear, he wanted me to remember how to carry it as Jesus carried his, trusting in the divine power that is at work in me, which can accomplish more than I can ask or imagine. After all, God can do more with us than we can do with ourselves. That's what St. Paul is getting at when he writes, “I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me” (Galatians 2:19-20).
P.S. Here's an inspirational poem entitled The Cross in My Pocket written by Verna Mae Thomas. The photo is of the actual cross I carry in my pocket, created by artist Jeep Collins.
From the musical Show Boat we have the song, “Old Man River.” The words and music of this song combine to depict the sad plight of the black slave along the banks of the Mississippi. The depths of despondency and grief are vocalized in the lyrics: “Ah gits weary an’ sick of tryin’, ah’m tired of livin’ an’ skeered of dyin’.”
These words strike a familiar chord in all of us. The fear of death is a major psychological problem for humankind. As Sigmund Freud once observed, “In dealing with death, most of us are living psychologically beyond our means.” And, at the same time, the weariness of living presents people with problems. St. Augustine suggested that the fear of dying and the lack of zest for living are related. After the death of a very close friend, he became despondent and wrote: “Some incomprehensible feeling arose in me: both a loathing of living and a fear of dying weighed heavily within me.”
I am reminded of something someone said, “In this age, the important question seems not to be is there life after death, but, rather, is there life after birth?” There is an answer to both questions. In fact, the main theme running through the Bible is God’s concern that we be given every possible chance to enjoy life to its fullest – now, and in the hereafter. If we are to face death, we first have to learn to face life. And life – on the river of life – is best faced in communion with God.
During this Lenten season, we have seen this concern repeatedly in our Sunday readings. In no place is this more evident than in Sunday’s gospel in which Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead (John 11:1-45). Here we see Jesus’ humanity and divinity revealed in a magnificent way. By the power of the God of life, Jesus calls forth the dead man from the grave. If God can and will do this, can it be any more difficult or any less God’s desire to pour new life into us?
This message is central to the witness of the Church. After Jesus raised Lazarus, he turned to those standing nearby and said, “Unbind him.” The Church today continues to carry on the new-life-giving, liberating work of Jesus, loosening all sorts of bonds that cause weariness in living and fear of dying.
At the Great Vigil of Easter, the Paschal candle will lead us with our candles in procession into the dark nave. The pews, altar, pulpit, and font are there in the darkness but we cannot see them until they are illuminated by the lights we bear. The darkness must surrender to the Light.
In an encounter with a man who was blind from birth (John 9:1-41), Jesus’ disciples saw someone whose blindness they assumed was punishment either for his sins or the sins of his parents. Jesus enlightened them by saying they were wrong on both counts. When Jesus healed the man they understood.
The blind man was accustomed to a world of darkness. When Jesus healed him, he could see for the first time. There was also an inner illumination; He understood that Jesus was the Messiah.
Other people didn’t believe it was the same person but someone who looked like him. Their point of view and frame of reference obscured their vision.
The criteria of established religion prevented the Pharisees from seeing and believing what was before their eyes. They suffered spiritual blindness. They were supposed to be enlightened, but this incident revealed them as “the blind leading the blind.” The man born blind had more vision than the Pharisees.
I remember watching The Christophers television broadcast as a child and a line from their theme song, recorded by Perry Como in 1952, "If everyone lit just one little candle, what a bright world this would be". The mission of The Christophers is to encourage people to use their God-given talents to make a positive difference in the world.
When our lives are illumined by the Light of Christ, we become lights. The Light of Christ shining in us disperses the darkness – as a parent saying bedtime prayers with a child, as a host providing Room in the Inn for a person with no home, as an ethical business person, as a friend giving encouragement.
In the words of St. Paul to the Ephesians, “Once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light– for the fruit of the light is found in all that is good and right and true” (Ephesians 5:8-9).