Demons of Revenge (Reflections on Pentecost 2, Year C 2025)

 

Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion,” for many demons had entered him. (Luke 8:30)

This is pretty creepy. At least I always get the creeps just a little when I read the story of the Gerasene demoniac, the Gospel reading for Pentecost 2, Year C in the Revised Common Lectionary (Luke 8: 26-39). Here’s a crazy guy with superhuman strength running around naked in a graveyard. The Bible tells us he’s possessed by a whole legion of demons, and in the world of the New Testament a demon[i] was always evil. Folks believed demons could take control of human bodies and cause mental illness or disease. They might even take control of nature and cause natural disasters. I know I’d be afraid of running into a guy full of evil spirits. Wouldn’t you? He’s like something out of a horror movie. Yikes!

I confess when I was a kid I rather enjoyed old horror movies. I even taught a film appreciation class once and discussed the evolution of the genre. I noted how the old gothic horror flicks started to disappear after World War II. Dracula and the wolfman just couldn’t compete with the real, demonic horror of bloody combat, the Holocaust, and the atomic bomb. The real world had become much scarier than anything Hollywood could put on film—and it still is.

The demons still possess us. Just look at what’s happening in Israel and Gaza (and now a potential war with Iran). The evil savagery of the October 7^th attack and destruction and loss of fifty thousand lives in Gaza, with the potential every day of more dead through famine and disease should fill all conscientious people with terror. We are seeing the real demons of addiction running unchained. The obsessive desire for revenge is just as addictive as alcohol or cocaine.

As we watch these horrors, it’s certainly tempting to fall victim to our own demons of despair and complacency. These are demons which really could use an exorcism. Nothing could be further from the mind of Christ than the absence of hope. The Gospel story is really about the ability to change, to banish the desire for evil, and to come to the feet of Jesus in our right minds.

I think a significant detail of this Bible story is that this tormented creature dwells in the tombs—a detail Luke emphasizes. The possessed Gerasene is in love with the dead and dwells with the morbid pain of loss. It’s like someone who has been wronged or who has survived a trauma but hasn’t really survived it because the fact of past victimhood still defines that person’s life. I had a friend in seminary who talked endlessly about AA and her alcohol recovery. She may not have been drinking, but the demon of her past addiction was as much a part of her current identity as her nights in the bars had been.

I pray for the day when the living memory of the Holocaust and the Nakba will give way to the reality of the current situation in the Holy Land. Could it be possible that young leaders will emerge who will say, “Let’s get beyond avenging past injustices. We are living with occupation and oppression and responding with terrorism. Terrorism only brings about retaliation and more oppression, and that only brings about more acts of terrorism. Enough! Let’s get out of the tombs and end the horror movie.”

There’s a legion of demons out there. There’s addiction to drugs, alcohol, gambling, you name it. But there’s also an addiction to revenge and the desire to control or to be right. The demons in the Gospel story beg Jesus not to send them into the abyss. They would rather enter the swine and send themselves into the abyss—an arrogant desire for control which is just as self-destructive.

What demons keep us in the land of the dead? Holding grudges? Holding on to outmoded ideas? Never admitting that we could be wrong or that someone else might have a valid point of view? Victimization or self-righteousness can become our identity. We can’t accept that our country or our political party or our religious denomination might be off track. When we get caught in these places there’s never any room for Jesus. Have you ever tried to share your faith with someone who is bathing in their own sense of indignation?

But Jesus is the only way out. Jesus leads with love, and love takes away the fear. When the fear is gone, there’s room for hope. The beauty of this Gospel story is, with the demons gone, the man is restored to his community. Sometimes we have to let some pigs die in order to be reconciled with the world.

 

[i] In case you’re interested (and why wouldn’t you be?) the Greek for this is daimaon. It once referred to any number of spirit beings who could be good or bad, but by the intertestamental period it was almost ubiquitously understood that a demon was Satan’s little helper.

Remembering the Innocent (Reflections on Christmas 1, Year A)

“Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, ‘Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.’” (Matthew 2:13)

After all the joy and festivity of Christmas, the Revised Common Lectionary leads us out of the calendar year with this disturbing story of jealousy, oppression, and mass murder (Matthew 2:13-23). I’m not sure I really blame the folks who decide to sleep in on Christmas 1. This story, known as The Massacre of the Innocents, is really a buzz kill, isn’t it? After “Peace on earth, good will to men,” we end the year getting reminded that this world we live in is still a pretty sick place.

Now, should it make you feel any better, I could tell you that the story of King Herod murdering all these little boys under age 2 in order to wipe out Jesus as his competition is believed by many historians to be apocryphal. Of course, it’s not that hard to believe that a ruler might use his governmental power to destroy a rival, is it? And we know historically that Herod the Great had no trouble murdering members of his own family in order to secure his throne. It’s not very hard to believe that he’d want Jesus dead, too.

The Gospel isn’t going to let us off easy with just a message of Joy to the World. Christmas 1 reminds us that suffering still abounds, and innocent children are still victims. This past year alone 100 children have been victims of gun violence in the city of Philadelphia. Between 2009 and 2018 there have been over 180 shootings in K-12 schools in the United States, resulting in 356 youngsters killed or wounded, and countless others scarred by the experience. Over 400,000 children are in foster care in this country. At this moment there are still over 700 children separated from their parents and detained at the US border. 35 million children are living in the world as refugees from violence, war, persecution, and starvation.

Our Gospel lesson should remind us of these suffering innocents because the Most Innocent, was, according to this story, a refugee from violence and oppression himself.

It’s kind of hard to know how to preach on a passage like this, so I’ll defer to the great Henry Wadsworth Longfellow who penned this poem (which later became a Christmas carol) during the bleak days of the Civil War:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
and wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I hung my head:

"There is no peace on earth," I said

"For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth good-will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men."

Then ringing, singing on its way

The world revolved from night to day--

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men."

Our Gospel lesson tells us two things: the world is sick, but God is still active in healing it. God desires wellness in our land, in our world, and in ourselves. It’s appropriate that we at Faith Lutheran of Philadelphia observe a healing liturgy on this last Sunday of the year. As the sands ebb out on 2019, we can come before God with all that troubles us and all that troubles God. We can pray for deliverance, but we can also recount how we, like the Holy Family, have been delivered and rescued. We can take that deliverance as a source of strength as we go forward to do our part—however small that may seem—for the healing of the world.

The poet said, “God is not dead, nor doth he sleep.” Take heart. Have hope. Go on.

May God give you courage and peace in the New Year.

A Word About Fathers (Holy Trinity & Fathers' Day 2025)

 

“All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you.” (John 16:15)

Holy Trinity is a pain. Yeah, I know it’s one of the six major festivals of the Christian liturgical calendar, but it’s a feast which celebrates a doctrine and not an event. There’s no story line here, so it’s hard to make Holy Trinity dramatic—or even interesting. It’s just this confusing teaching about the way we understand God—and that’s assuming we actually understand God at all! Trinity sermons are the benzodiazepines of homiletics. Nothing can put a congregation to sleep faster.

Fortunately, this year Holy Trinity falls on the American secular holiday of Father’s Day. The Father is the first person of the Trinity, so if I preach about fathers I won’t be straying too far from the appointed readings and I won’t get in trouble in case there’s a liturgy Gestapo.

As you can imagine in heavily Roman Catholic Northeast Philly, I often find myself being addressed by the neighbors as “Father.” I don’t mind. Even though I have no biological children of my own, I feel great kinship with dads everywhere. A parent and a parish pastor share one important attribute: we are both completely responsible for something over which we ultimately have no control.

It’s not easy to be a dad. I think my own father did the best he could, given that his dad died just two months after my father was born. My father didn’t have much in the way of guidance. Many people, boys and girls, grow up with absent fathers or fathers who are shining examples of how not to parent.

I hate to say it, but the Bible isn’t much help. The Scriptures are crawling with examples of inept fatherhood and dysfunctional families. Look at Adam. His son Cain was a murderer. I guess if your dad has sinned against God, been put out of Paradise, and blames it all on your mom you might grow up with some issues.

Then there’s Noah. He saves his family in the ark, but (in a story we don’t tell in Sunday School) he later drinks himself into a stupor, passes out buck naked, and then curses his son Ham for discovering him sleeping it off in the nude.

Fast forward to the Patriarchs of Israel. Abraham banishes his oldest son Ishmael because Ishmael is illegitimate. Abraham also attempts to cut his legitimate son Isaac’s throat and offer him as a human sacrifice. Neither of these acts speak very well for Abraham as a dad. Isaac and Rebecca split their sons apart with favoritism, and Jacob isn’t any better. Eli, the prophet and judge of Israel in 1 Samuel, is an overly permissive father whose two sons, although priests of the tabernacle, couldn’t seem to keep their hands off the serving girls or out of the collection plate. God smites both sons for their wickedness and also knocks off Eli for being a bad parent.

Perhaps the most egregious example of lousy fatherhood is King David himself. David committed adultery and lost all moral authority over his sons. His oldest, Amnon, was guilty of sexual violence against his half-sister, Tamar. David couldn’t bring himself to punish his crown prince, a fact which angered David’s other son Absalom, Tamar’s full brother. Absalom subsequently murdered Amnon and led an armed rebellion to overthrow his father. The rebellion failed and Absalom was killed, proving that dads who set bad examples and/or fail to teach their sons right from wrong stand a pretty low chance of seeing their boys grow up to be men they can be proud of.

It's not until we get to the New Testament that we see a dad we can admire. You have to love Joseph. He’s not actually Jesus’ father, but he’s a righteous man and he really loves Mary and is willing to be dad to the Son of God. Luke actually has Mary refer to him as “your father[i]” when she’s talking to Jesus. Sometimes being a dad has nothing to do with biology. It has to do with being present. We know Joseph was a great dad. After all, Jesus turned out alright.

But Jesus gives us an even better example of fatherhood. In the famous parable of the “Prodigal Son[ii],” Jesus draws a picture of a father who is generous, understanding, forgiving, and loving. No matter what kind of bozo sired us, in our hearts we all long for a relationship with a father like the one in Jesus’ parable—a father who inspires our love, admiration, and trust. This is a concept of fatherhood which, even if we haven’t experienced it, we can imagine and desire. It’s the fatherhood we believe in when we call God our father. Martin Luther wrote of “pure, fatherly, and divine goodness and mercy” as the attributes of God. He encouraged us to pray Our Father, which art in heaven “boldly and with complete confidence, just as loving children ask their loving father.[iii]”

No earthly dad is ever perfect or completely lives up to the ideal which we yearn for in our hearts, but many try to be the best they can. Our heavenly Father knows this, forgives them their shortcomings, and inspires them to do better. God also provides us with substitute fathers—stepdads, coaches, teachers, bosses, and other men who see both our needs and our potential and can speak to places in us our own biological fathers can’t always reach.  

As I said above, being a father isn’t easy. Dads are called to be protectors and providers and instructors in the way of the world. They can never be sure of the fruits of their labor, and even the best dad is willing to have his heart broken by a wayward child. If you’re a dad or stepdad, I honor you. If you had a great dad, be grateful to God for that relationship and for the patience, love and sacrifices that man made for you.

As the hymn says, “Thank you, O my Father, for giving us your son and sending your Spirit ‘til the work on earth is done.[iv]”

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[i] Luke 2:48

[ii] Luke 15:11-32

[iii] See Luther’s explanation to the Lord’s Prayer in the Small Catechism.

[iv] From “There is a Redeemer” by Keith Green, Birdwing Music 1982.

She's With You (Reflection on the Day of Pentecost 2025)

 

“Peace I leave you; my peace I give to you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” (John 14:27)

Don’t let your hearts be afraid? Have you watched the news lately? There’s plenty in this world to be afraid of. There’s climate change and war and run-away inflation. There’s plastic in our drinking water and all kinds of crap in the air and a possible loss of the social safety nets we Americans have relied upon. If you’re a young person—like those making their Confirmation on this Day of Pentecost—there’s the very real fear that your prospects for a comfortable lifestyle exceeding that of your parents might be slipping away from you. And, if that’s not enough, let’s remember the fear of gun violence. In my day, there was no such thing as an “active shooter drill.” You guys are dealing with a lot—and yet, Jesus in our Gospel (John 14: 8-17, 25-27) is telling you not to be afraid.

That’s where the Holy Spirit comes in. Today I’m asking you—Confirmands and the already confirmed and anyone else who reads this—to remember the promise of your baptism. You are washed in the promise of God. That’s a promise that you will never be left alone or abandoned. It’s a promise that you serve a God who is more powerful than all the powers of this world combined. I can’t (and won’t) promise you that nothing evil will ever happen to you. I certainly won’t promise you that if you live a godly and righteous life God will reward you with material blessings and safety and health. I will, however, repeat the promise of your baptism: You are sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.

This promise and anything related to spiritual things may not be that important to you today with all the other things that are crowding through your life. But someday, the meaning of your life, the existence of God, and the perplexity of righteousness will be very much on your mind—just as it has been and will be for all of us. I’ve often joked that Confirmation has been considered “Graduation from church.” What I’m hoping and praying for is that it might only be “Vacation from church.” I pray you’ll be back because a spiritual life only matures with spiritual discipline.

On this holy day we celebrate the coming of God’s Holy Spirit to Jesus’ confused and often dumbfounded disciples. In honor of this, I will place my hands on your heads (you Confirmands, that is) and ask God to send the Holy Spirit into your lives. Actually, since God tends to pay in advance of the work, God’s loving spirit is already with you. I’m just going to pray that you come to see and know her.

Jesus told the disciples that the Spirit will be a Spirit which will let you see the truth. She will live with you and be part of you. She’ll give you wisdom and peace to navigate all the freaky, crazy stuff this world throws at you, because she’ll remind you of the things Jesus taught all of us: love of God and neighbor, forgiveness, compassion, generosity, humility, hope, honesty, and courage.

Martin Luther taught us in the Small Catechism that Spirit “enlightens (us) with (her) gifts.” You all have been drenched in marvelous blessings which some day may make an awesome, earth-shaking change in this weird, broken, and limping world.

God’s Holy Spirit can be a spirit of peace, but on this festival day we are reminded she is also the Spirit of whirlwind and fire. She can lead you into calm contemplation, but she can also drive you into the wilderness to face the devil. She can lead you into combat with the powers of this world that value wealth and power and fame over love and acceptance and respect for all of God’s creation. I don’t imagine you’ll start speaking in other languages, but, as Peter tells us in the First Lesson (Acts 2:1-21) you may just prophesy—that is, you’ll proclaim in your own words the Word of the Lord. And you may just see visions of a new society, a new mission, and a new way to be the people of our great and loving God.

May the Holy Spirit of God confirm our faith, guide our lives, empower our serving, give us patience in suffering, and bring us all to eternal life. Amen!

Somebody's Praying for You (Reflections on Easter 7, Year C 2025)

 

“The glory you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one.” (John 17:22)

Don’t you love being part of a family? Not just a family that swims in the same gene pool, mind you, but a group of people with common goals and interests who love and trust one another and have each other’s backs. I’ll bet Jesus’ first disciples were that kind of family, and the early church must’ve felt much the same way.

Lately I’ve been reminiscing about my old seminary buddies. Thanks to the miracle of social media (which didn’t even exist the year we graduated from the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia![i]) I’ve been able to keep up with some of them. One has become the bishop of Upstate New York Synod, one is on the synod staff down in Florida, one is now a seminary professor in California, and one is a hospice chaplain in South Dakota. Some have changed denominations, some have retired (one retiree lives on a boat with her husband and sails the Caribbean), and a few—alas!—have gone home to the Lord. The Church and the Holy Spirit have sent us each on our own journeys, but I like to think there’s a common bond between us which, should we ever sail into each other’s lane again, will make us feel like we’ve never been apart.

I’m grateful to my “Pastor School” classmates for many things and many sweet and wacky memories, but one thing I recall today is the way we promised to pray for one another. In our last semester each of us, in order to be ordained, had to appear before his or her home synod’s Approval Panel—an experience we acquainted with answering to the Spanish Inquisition. Each day, as we sat at lunch in the seminary refectory, we’d ask, “Who’s got an Approval today?” and we’d say a prayer for that fellow student. My home synod was Southwest California, which necessitated I fly back to LA in order to be grilled by the wise potentates who would decide my fate. My appointment was at 9:00 AM, just the same time, given the three-hour time difference, when my buddies in Philly would be sitting down to lunch. I remember feeling strangely calm (which is really strange, since I’m almost never calm) and at peace about the whole business. I felt safe and wrapped in a blanket of prayers coming my way from those who cared about me and wanted me to succeed.

In the Gospel lesson for Easter 7, Year C (John 17:20-26) Jesus is praying for his little family which he’s about to leave. Not only is he praying for them, but he’s praying for us too:

“I ask not only on behalf of these but also on behalf of those who believe in me through their word, that they may all be one.”

This is Jesus’ great prayer for his followers, that we become a family as tight with one another as he is with his dad. I’ll admit, that’s a pretty tall order. From the very first Christians have had some family dysfunction. Our egos and jealousies have made it hard for us to sit down together at the Thanksgiving dinner table and rejoice as siblings should. We love to bicker over details about what the Trinity means and the nature of sin and the right way to worship. We’re all set to be martyrs for our own opinions and burn heretics at the stake for disagreeing with us. Let’s just face it: being a family is hard. But here we are, all the same.

I think what Jesus was trying to do on that night in which he had his last supper with this little family was give them a master class on how to be the Church. He got down on hands and knees and washed their feet, demonstrating how we are to be present to help and serve each other. Then he prayed for them like a parent would pray for his or her children, asking God to keep them safe and help them get along.

Jesus is praying for us. He’s asking that God’s love would be in us so we can love one another. Maybe the best way to access this love is to be in regular and disciplined prayer for one another. I think there is something amazingly comforting in knowing that another is actively, lovingly praying for you. Perhaps our discipline should be spending a few minutes each morning in intercessory prayer for someone whom the Holy Spirit is putting on your heart. If you’re praying for that person, you might then want to reach out and contact them. Who knows? Your connection might be just the thing someone else needs at this very moment.

Christian legends tell us those first disciples were swept by the Holy Spirit to distant lands from which they never returned. They didn’t have Facebook or Instagram or smart phones to keep up with each other. But I’ll bet they prayed for one another all the same.

Somebody you know needs a prayer today. Send on up for that person, won’t you?

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[i] Now part of the United Lutheran Seminary, a merger between the Lutheran seminaries in Philly and Gettysburg.

Times Change, Love Doesn't (Reflections on Easter 5, Year C 2025)

 

"Peter's Vision" H.D. Northrop (American 1894)

“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.” (John 13: 34a)

As Bob Dylan reminded us, “the times they are a-changing.”

Up to this point we liturgical Christians have been celebrating the joy of Jesus’ resurrection. At least that’s the theme of the first three Sundays in Easter in the Revised Common Lectionary. Then, on Easter 4, we got the obligatory “sheep Sunday[i],” and this week, on Easter 5, we hear the disciples getting the warning that Jesus has already packed his bags and booked his flight home to the right hand of the Father. He’s telling these guys to put on their big boy pants and get used to doing mission on their own without him. As he says in verse 33, “Where I am going, you cannot come.” Stuff is going to be different going forward.

The gospel lesson for Easter 5 (John 13: 31-35) comes on the night of the Last Supper just after Jesus has done the wacky, counter-cultural thing of washing the feat of his disciples. He’s basically turned the social order ass-over-tea kettle by taking the slave’s subservient role for those who had been following him around and hanging on his every word. This, he tells us, is how we love one another. We serve without making distinctions.

Unfortunately, being human, making distinctions is one of our favorite things to do. It’s how we spend our weekends and holidays. We’re not real keen on Jesus’ “the last shall be first” thing. We want to be first. Of course, if we’re first, that means others have to be behind us, and we’re generally cool with that. As the late Kris Kristofferson once so eloquently said,

'Cause everybody's gotta have somebody to look down on

Prove they can be better than at any time they please

Someone doin' somethin' dirty, decent folks can frown on…[ii]

 

Jesus has given us a pretty tough order: Love one another without regard to prestige of place and without judgment. That’s just not how we roll most of the time.

But it’s not impossible, either. Even Simon Peter took a while to get this “love without distinction” thing figured out. Just look at the first lesson assigned for Easter 5, Year C (Acts 11:1-8). God might’ve been a little too subtle for a numbskull like Peter to get what he was after in the dream he sent him. Peter didn’t quite catch on to the metaphor at first, not quite grasping God’s point that, just as there are no unclean animals, there are no unclean people. I’ll bet it was a test of his faith to believe that God could love and bestow the Holy Spirit on Gentiles—and the same Gentiles who had occupied Peter’s homeland, crushed his people with taxes, threatened them with violence, and hung his buddy Jesus up on a cross. Nevertheless, he went and preached to them and prayed with them and saw that, underneath it all, they were just the same as he. Some other good Christians gave Peter a load of grief for welcoming these uncircumcised foreigners, but Peter finally got it that in God there is no such thing as “them” and “us.” There’s only us. And that must’ve been a shocking adjustment for Peter and the early Christians to make.

It's a pretty shocking adjustment for us, too. It upends our whole idea of ministry. Why do we spread the gospel? The answer used to be to save souls. We had an “I’m saved and you’re not” attitude. We could define who we were by contrast with who we were not. But what if winning the world for Christ doesn’t mean getting everybody to share our exact same theology or point of view? What if it just means loving everyone as our equal? Even people of different faith traditions or no faith tradition at all. Even people who have different sexual or gender orientations. Even people who’ve come from or live in other countries or people who belong to a different political party. Or people who have wronged us in the past. Loving without a pecking order. Without desire for place or prestige. Without judgment.

On May 24 the ELCA commemorates the Christian mathematician, astronomer, and Roman . Catholic canon Nicolaus Copernicus, who died on that day in 1543. It was he who made the rather shocking—and to some, disconcerting—discovery that the earth isn’t the center of the universe. No. The earth actually revolves around the sun, and not the other way around. Not everything is about us. The world is changing and so is the Church. Perhaps, in ten years, we’ll no longer be at the center of American culture. Perhaps America will no longer be the dominant power in the world.

Maybe that’s what Jesus in John’s gospel is trying to tell us. Forget order and hierarchy and differences in culture or opinion. These things will always change anyway. Just love indiscriminately and let God do the rest.

Practice compassion this week, my friend. And do come and see me again.

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[i] Why a Sunday which always references sheep and shepherding you may ask? If you find out, let me know.

[ii] From “Jesus Was a Capricorn” from the 1972 album of the same name.

Who Was Your Shepherd? (Reflections on Easter 4, Year C 2025)

 

“The Father and I are one.” (John 10:30)

The last thing Jesus told Saint Peter—and us—in last week’s gospel from the Revised Common Lectionary (John 21:1-19) was “Follow me.” This always seems to be our evangelist’s point. You want to know God? Look to Jesus. He’s the way, just as John has him say in John 14:6. The whole freaky, wonderful, mystical, “I AMness” of God is too far beyond our puny brains’ ability to comprehend it. I don’t care if you’re a MENSA scholar, God remains a mystery. The clue we have as Christians to living with this mystery is the person of Jesus Christ.

On the fourth Sunday of Easter, we always get these “Good Shepherd” reading in our lectionary. Our gospel is John 10:22-30 in which Jesus promises eternal life to his “sheep.” If you know anything about sheep, you may take a certain amount of umbrage at being compared to a critter renowned only for its fluffy coat and notoriously low IQ. What’s more significant, I think, is that Jesus compares himself to a shepherd. That’s his way. Shepherds don’t drive sheep like cowboys drive cattle. Shepherds lead sheep. Jesus is always leading us by his example. A fun little detail about the Easter 4 gospel reading is that we encounter Jesus in the act of devotion. He’s a good Jewish boy, so he’s in the temple for the Festival of the Dedication—Hannukah. He’s being observant of his faith tradition, taking time to celebrate an historic act of God’s goodness and love for God’s beloved people. Just like we all should do, right?

But what else does a shepherd do? Looking at the appointed Psalm (one which everybody’s grandma probably knew by heart back in the day), we see that a shepherd keeps the sheep safe, provides food and drink, and makes sure they go where they’re supposed to go. Who in your life has been the protector, the provider, and the guide?

(Don’t you like the way I handle this segue?)

For a lot of us, our mothers served a shepherding role. Moms make sure you’re fed and clothed and they try to teach you to grow up as a decent, contributing member of the human race. When I taught a diakonia class in my synod, I asked the students who was the most important religious influence in their lives. Just about every student replied that influence was their mother or their grandmother.

Although my dad was a big influence on my faith, it was my mother who said nighttime prayers with me and my sisters, who taught us the dinner grace, and taught us the words to “Jesus Loves Me.” Dedicated Lutheran that she was, my mom was also my Sunday school teacher. I learned the doctrine of justification by grace through faith from mom, not my pastor or my seminary Confessions professor.

My wife was a single mom for many years. I know she did a terrific job because my stepdaughter didn’t grow up to be a jerk. Rather, she’s one of the most accomplished people I know, and she credits her mother with being her inspiration.

Moms don’t have to swim in the same gene pool with us, either. Sometimes God puts other shepherds in our lives like teachers or Girl Scout leaders or coaches or aunts, grandmoms, foster moms, or bosses. The mom who raised you had the duty of leading you to the green pastures and beside the still waters, but another shepherdess might’ve seen your talents, inspired you, corrected you, and made you see something about yourself you didn’t know was there. I will always be grateful to my grad school thesis advisor, a little English lady named Dr. Sybil Robinson. She was very patient with me, always good-humored, and she encouraged me to be a teacher. My seminary theology professor, Dr. Margaret Krych and my Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) supervisor, Sr. Aine Garvey, were mature ladies whom I thank for their inspirational wisdom. I’ve also “borrowed” moms like my very cute late mother-in-law Mary Meidhof and older ladies from the congregation who always made me feel welcome and valued like a visiting son.

John’s gospel points us to the sacredness and mystery of God through the person of Jesus, our good shepherd. We know we follow Christ so we may live in relationship with God. But I believe the way of Jesus, through the Holy Spirit, is manifest in the brothers and sisters around us. Let’s thank God for our mom/shepherds, and keep looking for the way of Christ in others so we, ourselves, may be that way of Christ for others.

A Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there. Thanks for leading your sheep.

PS - Prayers and blessings to Pope Leo XIV. May our two communions join together some day as one.