St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Wesley Chapel, FL
Preacher: The Rev. Adrienne R. Hymes, Vicar
Fourth Sunday of Easter/Year B: John 10:11-18
April 25, 2021
In December 2001, the Gallup News Service published a poll entitled, “Religion in the Aftermath of September 11,” three months after the terrorist attacks on U.S. soil. Surprisingly, the study found that contrary to the dominating media images of full houses of worship—across different faiths—behaviors of the American population, in terms of religious practice, did not mirror the images. George Gallup, Jr., said, “Traumatic events on the national or world scene appear to have a powerful but short-lived impact on the spirituality of the U.S. populace.” Only a few weeks ago in March, Gallup published a poll with the headline, “Religiosity Largely Unaffected by the Events of 2020 in the U.S.” According to this poll, the ongoing impact of the pandemic did not increase or decrease the importance of religion in the lives of Americans. Just as I was shaking my head, the study continued noting that “…Lasting changes of heart most likely come about in response to close-at-home, personal and family traumas, not because of these types of national tragedies.”
The very real threat posed by the death-dealing coronavirus might not have felt real to many until someone they knew, or someone they loved became seriously ill or died from it. The very real threat to public health is the sickness of systemic racism, the various expressions of which may only be acknowledged as such when video recordings of the assault perpetrated upon people of color, and the murder of people of color, can be viewed with one’s own eyes. Mass shootings, left unchecked in this country, don’t seem real, until they become the living nightmares in the places that claim that, “Such things just don’t happen here.” There is no question that the national tragedies have become more and more personal to the human family. The question is whether or not lasting changes of heart will come about as a response to them.
In times of great anxiety, fear, turmoil and helplessness, faithful people are often drawn to Psalm 23, the song attributed to King David, entitled “The Divine Shepherd” for words of comfort. It is one of the psalms often used in the Burial of the Dead. Because Psalm 23 is so closely associated with death, the fourth verse, which includes, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…,” can overshadow the other messages of Psalm 23—messages that make it a powerful song of praise to God for his presence through the many experiences of life, of which death is a part. The valley of the shadow of death is not death itself; rather, it is the journey through life itself. The shadow of death is the human being’s inescapable awareness of our mortality. It is the reality that today I am here, and tomorrow, I may no longer be.
We live in a temporal world, and death visits us many times, and in many forms, before the final death of the body. Temporality reminds us that there is constant change all around us and within us. Where there is change, there is loss. Where there is loss there is grief. And, where there is grief, there is spiritual suffering. Consider the death experiences of broken relationships, empty nesting, the sudden loss of a job, a long-awaited retirement, moving one’s residence, graduation, marriage, and on and on. Death is inextricably entangled with life. These “small” deaths serve to powerfully condition us to ultimately return—as Jesus did—to the Father—the source of all love and the creator of all life—while we live this human experience. The gift of the shadow of death is that it forces the living to appreciate the divine breath of life that is within us, which can so easily be taken for granted.
Whether or not we have statistics to validate it, we know that the impact from the multiple traumas of our shared experiences as a nation, and our individual traumas can certainly take their toll on the soul. Human beings are comfort seekers, often looking for lasting comfort from people and things of this created world—people and things which are, by their very nature, the things which do not last. But Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd.” A good shepherd is always with his sheepfold; abandonment is not Jesus’ mode of operation. And, when people find themselves in the low places of life, the danger is not the low valley; the danger is getting stuck in the valley without the knowledge of the divine shepherd who is already with them to lead them through the trials of life. Let us not ignore the remainder of verse four, which continues, “I shall fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod, and thy staff, they comfort me.” Trusting that Jesus is with us at all times—in the valley and mountaintop experiences of this life journey— equipped with his rod for protection and his staff for guiding and leading—is comforting.
The Church does not need Gallup polls to confirm what she already knows empirically: when things turn dark, human beings seek light. When the created world, literally and figurately, crumbles around God’s people, Whether or not one practices a religion, all people in times of crises, seek spiritual comfort, reassurance and grounding. As the body of Christ, the Church is the beacon of Christ’s light in this dark, broken world, and provided sacred space for ears and hearts to be inclined to the voice that calls his own by name.
And, it is the voice of Jesus, the good shepherd, which cuts across the many manifestations of death, calling all souls to himself—both the sheep of his fold and those that do not belong to the fold—so that there will be one flock, under the one good shepherd who laid down his life to conquer death; and took his life up again so that all may have eternal life in God.
It can be challenging to trust that God is actively moving through this dark period in the life of humanity. I echo the findings of the Gallup poll with a necessary adjustment. Lasting changes of heart come about not through close-at-home, personal traumas, but through close-at-home, personal relationships. Jesus was all about relationships, and if we do not engage in personal relationships with our savior, how can be begin to recognize the face of Christ in our neighbors? Recognizing Jesus’ voice, as his faithful fold of believers, demands that we imitate Jesus’, life-giving love by modeling a culture of care marked by compassionate curiosity and empathy.
There is no question that the national tragedies have become more and more personal to the human family. The question is whether or not they have become personal to you—so personal that radical changes of the heart last beyond the 24-hour news cycle. As 21st century disciples, we must take seriously our responsibility to imitate Christ, the good shepherd, in order to lead the suffering from the spiritually-terminal condition of faithlessness to the spiritually-enlivened condition of faithfulness.
May the Lord so incline our ears, and hearts, to instinctively recognize Jesus’ loving voice, and seek His abiding presence as we journey through the valley of the shadow of death into life abundant with the triune God.
One good shepherd. One flock. One faithful response…love. Amen.
