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I know very little about shepherds.  In fact I would argue, that very few of us do.  Frankly, I was shocked to discover that shepherds are still a real thing.  That, although modern methods of farming have made protecting and herding sheep a lot easier, there are still many places in the world, including places in North America, where shepherds continue doing the job which has been done for thousands of years – one source indicated it may well be the oldest occupation of all.  I also learned that while sheep may look docile, peaceful and easy to maniupulate, they can be very difficult to herd and guard. 

This fourth Sunday of Easter is sometimes called Good Shepherd Sunday, primarily because in each year of the lectionary cycle, the readings for it ask us to think about Jesus as a Good Shepherd.  It is an image I am challenged by, one I had considered out-dated, more reflective of the culture during the time of Jesus.   In point of view, given the nature of sheep … and of people … it is spot on.  Who knew???

Shepherds look out for their sheep.  They work long hours for little pay, spend many days alone in cold, wet weather, ensuring that the herds under their charge are protected from predators, led to new pastures when their food supply is exhausted, seek out errant sheep who have wandered from the fold.   What a powerful image for our God – a God who is always desiring what is best for us; a God who never tires of trying to guide, feed and protect us; a God who comforts and strengthens us when we are challenged by life’s circumstances.  

On this particular Good Shepherd Sunday, we hear the beloved Psalm 23.  It is one that is very familiar even to those who are not regular participants in the Sunday liturgy, sung as it often is at funerals.  Indeed, I have heard it so often than I no longer listen to the words – it has become a rote prayer akin to the Lord’s Prayer almost, another prayer that I have to work on praying  versus racing through.   Recenlty however, I received some disconcerting news, and in my preparations for this reflection, the words of that psalm have resonated with me in a new way.  “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want … he restores my soul … even walking through the darkest valley, I fear no evil … my cup overflows … I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.”  An aha moment for me.   No wonder these words bring comfort to so many as they sit in the midst of grief and mourning.

To have our souls restored when we are weighed down by life; to be open to the guidance of one who loves us unconditionally; to know that regardless what we must face our God is accompanying us; to accept that we dwell always in the Lord’s house – these are concepts that come to us through faith.   My father was diagnosed with terminal cancer at the age of 56, and died 20 months later.   In our home, our mother was the one we saw as the faithful Catholic, albeit that Dad joined us every Sunday at church.   Yet, from the point of his diagnosis to the date of his death, my father never expressed anger at his sickness or fear at what was to come.   He was a reticent man my dad, and I will concede that part of that may have been his natural inclination.  But what I witnessed during those 20 months was a man of profound faith, who knew that this journey he was making was not being done by him alone.   The Good Shepherd who is preparing a table for us all was with Dad during that time in his life, as He is with us all, always.   Like any good shepherd He never strays from the task of protecting and guiding us.   Comforting?   Yes, for sure.   

EllenBennett