There’s an old story about a Welsh pastor who was celebrating his 50th Anniversary of Ordination.  For this occasion he had invited his personal friend, Richard Burton, to come and recite his favorite Psalm - Psalm 23.  Richard Burton agreed to do this on the condition that the priest would also recite it after him. 

At the appointed time, Richard Burton stood and proclaimed the popular psalm with such oratorical mastery the congregation immediately applauded.  And then this humble pastor stood up and began to recite, from heart, this beloved Psalm.  After he had finished his not nearly so professional recitation, the congregation was in awe, and many were moved to tears.

Someone in the front pew with Richard Burton leaned over and asked him, "Why did people loudly applaud you, but were silently moved by the pastor?"  Burton replied, "Because I know the Psalm, but he knows the Shepherd."

Throughout the Church, on this 4^th Sunday of Easter, we celebrate “Good Shepherd Sunday”. In the Gospel, Jesus presents himself to us as the Good Shepherd: as one who cares for his flock, who knows each one by name, who protects them from danger, and who promises them “abundant life.”  The Good Shepherd issues an invitation to each of us: to trust in the Father’s love, to experience the joy he desires for us, to embrace God’s call to friendship with one another, and to discover the fruitfulness that comes from a living relationship with God in Jesus.

Today is also the World Day of Prayer for Vocations.  It is an opportunity to remember each year that you, and I, and all of us, has received a special calling from God, a personal vocation.  By now, I am assuming you have heard me repeat often enough that “vocation” is not just for priests and sisters and “professional holy people”, but all of us.  Since we entered this lockdown nearly seven weeks ago, perhaps many of us have had reason to question what has become of our “vocations” in this Covid-time.  For many of us, the job we usually do, the tasks we accomplish, even the state of life to which we have committed ourselves are in some way taken away from us. 

This is why now, more than ever, is the time to draw near, in the words of Peter in our second reading, to the One who is the “shepherd and guardian of our souls.” To remember that before calling us to “do” any particular thing, God calls each of us personally: he knows us by our name.  He knows us personally and uniquely; he calls us his friends; he invites us, in the beautiful phrase at the end of the Gospel, to share in his gift of life: of abundant life. In the phrase of Presbyterian pastor Frederick Buechner, “we will find our vocation at that place where our deep gladness meets the deep needs of the world around us.”  Jesus calls us by our name for our own sake, but also because he wants us to join him in the task of transforming the world.  Right here, right now, in the midst of this crisis.

In a recent message for the World Day of Prayer for Vocations,  Pope Francis tells us:

“We need not be afraid: God follows the work of his hands with passion and skill in every phase of life. He never abandons us!  Jesus has the fulfilment of his plan for us at heart, and yet he achieves it always with our consent and cooperation.

Today too, Jesus lives and walks along the paths of ordinary life in order to draw near to everyone, especially the weakest and the most vulnerable, and to heal us of our infirmities and illnesses. To those who desire to listen to the voice of Christ that rings out in the Church, and to understand and embrace more deeply their own vocation. I invite you to listen to and follow Jesus, and to allow yourselves to be transformed interiorly by his words, which “are spirit and life”.

No vocation is born of itself or lives for itself. A vocation flows from the heart of God and blossoms in the good soil of faithful people, in the experience of fraternal love.  Did not Jesus say: “By this all will know that you are my disciples, by your love for one another?”

It has been an interesting week here at the rectory, to say the least.  Those of you who heard Fr. Bertoli’s message to us last week probably picked up that he has become quite a bit weaker and more dependent these past few weeks.  For those of you who aren’t fluent in Italian, this was the message our good and faithful shepherd Don Adelchi wanted to share with the people of St. Monica:

The disciples are seeking Jesus; they know he appeared to the others, they seek to meet him themselves.  The Gospel reminds us we must never tire in seeking for the Lord.  Jesus walks on the road next to us: even if we do not always see him, we can feel his presence: in the peace we sense in our heart, in the knowledge that He loves us, that He cares for us. Let us ask for the grace to celebrate his presence in the world today. Lord, grant us peace; grant health to the sick, comfort to those who are alone, strength to families. May God give us the grace to always remain faithful to Him.

What better description of the heart of Jesus, the Wonderful Shepherd, than this one provided by our good shepherd Fr. Bert? Because I am not running around from pillar to post, trying to fix all the problems in the parishes – a hopeless task if there ever was one, whether in person or by Zoom meetings! – Jesus my Shepherd is inviting me to slow down, to remember that I need help also, to listen to those who tell me I am pushing too hard or trying to carry too much of the burden myself. 

After several nights of very broken sleep, a priest-friend living in isolation who is very close to Fr. Bert called me, and insisted on taking a night shift so that I could get a full eight hours of sleep.  The secretary fed me a nourishing lunch and sent me out for an hour’s walk to clear my head and get some exercise and sunshine into my bones. That advice in the airplane about making sure your mask is well-attached before trying to help others has never made so much sense to me as it does now! 

We are called to be good shepherds, not solo artists.  Although each person’s call is unique and personal, a vocation is never a private thing.  It evolves in community, it flourishes in community, it finds its deepest expression in community.  That can feel hard right now, when many of the traditional and familiar bonds of community are denied us. When we say the prayer for Spiritual Communion, we renew our faith that Christ, our Good Shepherd, will never abandon us, that we can trust in his care, and that we can support one another in prayer.

As I mentioned earlier, I have been learning a lot about shepherding from my interactions with Fr. Bert these past weeks and months.  Like Richard Burton’s pastor-friend, he may sometimes forget the words now, but he always knows the Shepherd.  More than once, we have shared together on the deeper meaning of that final appearance of the Risen Christ in the Gospel of John, when Jesus receives Peter’s affirmation of love and entrusts him with the task to “feed my sheep.”  And then, Jesus’ famous words to Peter: “When you were young you tied your own belt and went where you wanted; but when you are old, someone will tie a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.  Come, follow me!”

Not easy, that!  And it’s been happening a lot to Fr. Bert, and in a different way, to his caregivers. I am moved by Fr. Bert’s trust in the Shepherd even in this time of fragility and weakness.  The Risen Christ comes to give us abundant life; but Psalm 23 also speaks of the comfort of the Shepherd who walks beside us even in the darkest night, in what the Psalmist calls the “valley of death.”  It is no coincidence that virtually every funeral Mass includes this beautiful expression of trust in God even in dark and painful times.

Of all the musical settings of Psalm 23, the one that always sticks in my mind – and the one that is really speaking to me right now – is this setting by Marty Haugen: 

Shepherd Me, O God: Beyond my wants,
Beyond my fears, From death into life.

May Jesus, our Good Shepherd, lead us, and lead our world, on this path: beyond our wants, our fears, from death to life.