4th Sunday of Easter C

See Commentary on John 10:27-30 in John 10:22-29 & John 10:30-42

Homily 1 – ANZAC Day

In today’s Gospel Jesus stated: The sheep that belong to me listen to my voice. Earlier in the chapter that today’s reading was taken from, Jesus had likened himself to a Good Shepherd.

In claiming that role, he laid claim to what had come to be accepted as the role especially of God. Centuries before, the prophet Ezekiel had called God the “Shepherd of Israel”. He had looked to God at a time when he, and most of the people, had despaired of the incompetence and moral bankruptcy of the political and religious leadership of the time.

Within a few years of his prophecy, the nation was destroyed; and anyone who was anyone deported to Babylon. The monarchy – the political leadership – was dismantled. With no temple, the priests – the religious leadership – lost their former purpose. In time, a remnant of the people returned to their Holy Land. They rebuilt a temple, but the Davidic kingship was not re-established.

Jesus made his claim to the role of the Good Shepherd during the annual festival  commemorating the Dedication of the Temple. It was a popular festival. Almost a century and a half before, Judea had come under the crushing control of a megalomaniac called Antiochus Epiphanes who declared himself divine and erected a statue to himself in the temple in Jerusalem. That was the last straw for his Jewish subjects. They revolted under the leadership of the Maccabees: they broke free of Antiochus, and rededicated the temple.

In time, the Maccabee line of kings turned out to be no better than their predecessors. They soon gave the office of Chief Priest to the highest bidder.. During the life-time of Jesus, Annas had bought his office of High Priest from the Romans. So much for leadership!

It was in this context that Jesus’ claim to be the Good Shepherd gets its relevance. Jesus’ claim, however, was not to structured, political leadership. It was something superior to that. He saw himself, and his life-style, as the criterion according to which all human leadership must be assessed. All leadership is essentially fallible and potentially corruptible. We don’t need to have read too much history to be aware of that. 

Today we commemorate Anzac Day. Lived examples of courage stir something in our psyche, perhaps, particularly, in the male psyche, and sometimes so powerfully, but unnoticed, that we need to be careful of it. 

But along with the courage of the ordinary soldier that the day commemorates was the colossal incompetence of their Military High Command. They sent thousands of trusting soldiers on what proved to be an impossible, and totally unnecessary suicide mission. What were Australians doing there, anyway, invading Turkey? And then the High Command followed up that tragedy with the brutal killing fields of Belgium and France. So much for leadership!

As well as commemorating Gallipoli, we are also being confronted at this time with so many in positions of leadership in the Church, even high up, admitting that mistakes were made in the whole area of clerical sexual abuse of defenceless children. How come that we, bishops and clergy, got away with it for so long?

It’s possible to have too much respect for leadership. There must be ways for keeping leaders accountable, whether they/we be political or religious leaders; and the more authority we give, the better our structures of accountability need to be. It is too easy to allow loyalty to blind judgment.

Yet, it is because we comprise this kind of Church, this kind of world, that Jesus comes among us this morning as bread broken and cup of wine shared – as body crucified and blood shed. And the risen Christ here in our midst says to us: Peace be with you.

In today’s Gospel passage, Jesus said that the sheep that belong to him listen to his voice.

Where, how, do we hear his voice? Ultimately, through a duly formed and informed conscience – no easy matter. To hear the gentle voice of conscience, we must be constantly tuned-in to it. There is no substitute for that. At the same time, we need to  be able to tune out, not just our own personal wants and fears, but the powerful brain-washing of the media, of the spin doctors, and, simply, of much of secular and religious culture in general, that deaden us and lead us to take too much simply for granted.

It is only to the extent that we listen to Jesus and that we follow him, that we begin to live the eternal life he promises us, and provide hope and enlightenment for the world in which we live.

Homily 2 - 2013

Today two young children will be baptised into this faith community.  Their baptism provides the invitation for us to think again about our own baptism – many long years ago, for most of us.  Does baptism make any difference? And, if it does, What is the difference? and, Is it worth it?  Not: Will it make any difference – perhaps, after I die? But: Does it now?

In today’s short Gospel, using the image of a shepherd and his flock of sheep, Jesus says that he knows us; he gives us eternal life; and we are safe in his hands – he will never let anyone drag us away.  All this, of course, is presuming that we say “Yes” [or, as  the Gospel put it, we follow him.]

What is it like – Jesus knowing us? I don’t know what it’s like for you – though I do know what it is like for me, and what it could be like for you.  There are, as we know, different degrees or levels in knowing people.  There are some things about me that no one knows, because I have not told them.  There are some things about me that I don’t know – some of which others know better than I.  But when someone knows me well, knows me deeply, their knowing me confirms my sense of who I am.  Indeed, it can tell me more than that: It can tell me that I am loved – all that I am just as I am.  When Jesus tells me that, it is quite powerful.  This side of the grave, I know it only on faith.  On the other side, it will be face to face.

Jesus also says he gives us eternal life - a wholly other way of living and of experiencing.  This side of the grave it takes shape in faith, hope and love.  On the other side, faith and hope will disappear because no longer needed, and love will be lived on a wholly other, unimaginable plane and intensity.

Yet even now I know on faith where I come from [or whom I come from]; where I am heading [or whom I am heading for]; and, at least in general terms, how to get there.  Together, all those things give meaning and purpose to life.  They put things in perspective, and provide the possibility to know what is worthwhile and what isn’t.  Along with hope, they put a spring in the step and a sparkle in the eye.

The third thing that Jesus mentioned is that we are safe in his hands – no one will steal us from him.  This is supportive because life brings its share of unanswered questions, of things we can’t work out, of things that don’t seem to make sense.  I find it encouraging to know [on faith, certainly] that he is around – not pulling strings, but empowering me nevertheless to grow somehow – noticeable sometimes only in retrospect.

The condition for all this is, as he put it, that we follow him.  We need to hang around together, he and I; we need to waste time together – as all true friends do. For me, that means that I have to pray, somehow - to listen to his voice and to come to recognise it easily.

I need to let life touch me, and raise its questions, push my boundaries and challenge my assumptions.  I need to ponder it in my heart [as Mary had a habit of doing].  

Please God, the children baptised into our community today will have the chance to follow Jesus, will be supported to follow him, and will follow him.  To the extent that they do, the adventure of life is at their feet.

Homily 3 - 2016 

We Christians in the Western world think differently from those in the Churches of the East. We think differently from the Jewish people at the time of Jesus and Paul. We can blame, if we like, the ancient Greek philosophers, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle especially. We are obsessed with detail, definitions and logic. It has helped us in many ways, in science and technology, for example, but not in everything. And, surprisingly perhaps, it is not all that helpful when it comes to relating to God. The Catechism is a classic example of Western thinking, where we have everything clear, defined and all tied up – including God, the Blessed Trinity, resurrection, you name it. There is little room left for mystery. And God is essentially mystery, totally beyond our capacity to comprehend – but not beyond our capacity to relate.

Where we think in definitions, the Jews of Jesus’ time, and even Jesus himself, were more likely to use images and examples. Some of those images we love, the Good Shepherd being one of them. But we tend to define even the images – and get ourselves into trouble. Look at today’s Second Reading, where we were introduced to “the Lamb who is at the throne”, and to an array of martyrs who “had washed their robes white in the blood of the Lamb”! We are told that the Lamb “will be their shepherd, and will lead them to springs of living water” where “God will wipe away all tears from their eyes”. If we had started to read a little earlier, we would have been told that the Lamb in question “had been slain” yet was at the same time “standing upright”! Try to make intellectual sense of all that! For Jewish people, images invited reflection, perhaps suggested a mood, but they weren’t defining anything. They were not so much meant to clarify or illustrate, but to challenge us to get in touch with something far more mysterious – and significant.

I sometimes wonder if the Good Shepherd image, interpreted through the lens of Western eyes, is responsible for the passivity of so many Catholics. The priest has become the shepherd, the one in charge, and the laity are the flock, there to be looked after. The priest knows the Church’s laws and makes the decisions; he says, “Yes, you can” or “No, you can’t”. Individual conscience goes out the window. We have not encouraged or educated each other to be adults, to think carefully and deeply for ourselves, to be responsible, to be accountable.

Today’s short passage talks beautifully about the relationship between Jesus and us, and invites us to feel our way into it. He “knows” us. Let us come to terms with that, not just understand it intellectually. He “gives us eternal life”. That is present tense stuff - now. What is eternal life like? Is it meant to, has it helped, to make us more mature, more sensitive, more responsive, more adult? Or is it only for some vague “later on”. Can we ease into the mystery? He talks of our “belonging” to him, being safe with him. What is that like? He hopes that it will lead us to “listen to his voice”. Do we take that seriously? Have we learnt to distinguish his voice from the thousands of other voices bombarding us? How have we set about doing that? and, Are we satisfied? Has what we have heard from him led us to want to “follow” him? In theory at least, we know where that is likely to lead.

Just last week, Pope Francis released his response to the recent Synod of Bishops meetings on the Family. I haven’t had a chance to read it yet, but I have heard that some bishops are dissatisfied that he hasn’t told them what to do, what to think! He has even encouraged married couples themselves to develop and responsibly to follow their consciences!

 Homily 4 - 2019

If we have been watching our TV screens, we are well aware that this weekend is Mothers Day, Megan and Harry have had a baby son, and also there is a Federal Election next Saturday. And if we listened carefully to the Gospel Reading this weekend, we would have heard Jesus claiming right at the start that “my sheep listen to my voice, and they follow me, and I give them eternal life”. Jesus’ interest, of course, is that we live life to the full, cooperatively, that we become truly human, together.

I think that Jesus’ comments are particularly timely and relevant to next Saturday’s Election. Each election gives us citizens a very limited, though also very real, opportunity to determine how the wealth and welfare of the Commonwealth to which we all contribute in multiple ways will be divided up and put to use. We give considerable power to the candidates we vote for and the political parties to which most belong, to represent us; and their decisions will affect, often quite deeply, the complicated social, economic and legal web of relationships that make us precisely a common wealth.

Governing comes under the general umbrella of what we call distributive justice, and hence is a matter of morality, of conscience. The candidate we choose to represent us becomes then also a question of conscience for us. Whose voice shall we listen to? According to Jesus, apparently, our following him is a factor of how carefully we “listen to his voice” quietly whispering within us, deep in our conscience.

I want to mention a few priorities that arise, not from my political loyalties [I hardly have any left these days], but from the way I see God.

At the end of today’s passage, Jesus said, “The Father and I are one”. That was true of him, of course, in a quite unique way. But in a different way, it is also true of us, all of us. God is creating me right now. God is creating you right now. God gifts us with existence. If we are anything at all, in one sense, we are God – ‘The Father and I’, and you, “are one”. It is not just we humans. Every electron, every neutron and proton within every single atom, and the energies keeping them whirling around yet holding together, are being created at this moment by God. The world is God’s. The world is God!

God has given us a certain responsibility for the world, as the Book of Genesis so poetically expressed it – “to cultivate and tend it”. But we are suffocating it and raping it – right now – and the world is going mad, slowly but inexorably; and sometimes it seems that so are we.

We are a commonwealth, and are proud of that, but we are intrinsically a part of the wider world, too, that is becoming more and more tightly interwoven. I am distressed that in the lead-up to the election so little has been said about our quite gratuitous cruelty to asylum seekers interned on Manus Island and Nauru - as Pope Francis said, "We have forgotten  how to weep" - but also about human-induced local and global climate change and human-induced pollution - as Pope Francis again has so passionately reminded us. Somehow we don’t draw conclusions from the ever-increasing extremes of droughts and fires, and floods and gales and tsunamis.

This is God’s world, there for our enjoyment [among other things], and we are exploiting it. Sadly, the ones who suffer first are precisely the poor and the powerless.

The electioneering, so far, seems to me about how we arrange the chairs on deck while we are heading full-steam into an iceberg. Well, given the way we are going, we won’t have to worry about those chairs soon. Of course, changing will cost something. It will mean changing our life-styles. Why the surprise?

The Good Shepherd is doing his bit. Shall we simply barrack for him; and, together with so many others, choose to ignore him and the Father he loves? Or shall we, followers of his, “listen to his voice”, as he gently speaks in our conscience?

Homily 5 - 2022

The Universal Church celebrates today as World Day of Prayer for Vocations. Here in Australia and some other places, this year it is also Mothers Day. The connection is not deliberate, but it is a happy coincidence. This year, we reflect on both against the backdrop of the War in Ukraine, which is itself such an evil negation, the desecration of so much of what we want to celebrate today.

Pope Francis has written a message for World Vocations Day that, unsurprisingly, invites us to enlarge our vision. I would like to quote from it some of the passages that invite our further pondering. The thoughts may not be new to some of you — in that case, the reminder can be helpful; but they may be new to others of you, in which case, I hope you find them enlightening.

Right from the start of his message, he made clear that “…the word ‘vocation’ should not be understood restrictively, as referring simply to [priests, nuns and brothers] who follow the Lord through a life of special consecration.”

Rather, he insisted, “all of us are called to share in Christ’s mission to reunite a fragmented humanity and to reconcile it with God. Each man and woman, even before encountering Christ and embracing the Christian faith, receives with the gift of life a fundamental calling: each of us is a creature willed and loved by God; each of us has a unique and special place in the mind of God. At every moment of our lives, we are called to foster this divine spark, present in the heart of every man and woman, and thus contribute to the growth of a humanity inspired by love and mutual acceptance. We are called to be guardians of one another, to strengthen the bonds of harmony and sharing… [We are also called] to heal the wounds of creation lest its beauty be destroyed. In a word, we are called to become a single family in the marvellous common home of creation.”

A little bit further on he wrote: “Within this great common vocation, God addresses a particular call to each of us…”, which he specified as, “..[to] go forth from ourselves and become the masterpiece that we are called to be.”

He then illustrated his point by naming two of those particular vocations, the two that we are celebrating today, where individuals can become the masterpieces they are called to be — “in the vocation to the ordained priesthood, to be instruments of Christ’s grace and mercy… In the vocation to marriage, to be mutual gift and givers and teachers of life.”

Francis sees the framework for all this happening within what he calls “synodality”. The word means “journeying together”. It is a process that is learnt and can become more perfect over time. Ultimately it allows communities, whatever their size, whether parish community or family community, to reach decisions together — after careful listening to as many voices as possible and searching out the most suitable outcome that all involved can accept freely and willingly. He expressed the vision generally in these terms: “This is the mystery of the Church: a celebration of differences, a sign and instrument of all that humanity is called to be. For this reason, the Church must become increasingly synodal: capable of walking together, united in harmonious diversity, where everyone can actively participate and where everyone has something to contribute.”

He concluded his message, tying all things together, in these words: “Priests, consecrated men and women, lay faithful: let us journey and work together in bearing witness to the truth that one great human family united in love is no utopian vision, but the very purpose for which God created us.”