Homilies & Thoughts

The upper room has the stillness that comes before grief. Jesus has spoken of departure, and the disciples feel the ground shift beneath them. Their daily life has taken shape around his presence. Now the one whose nearness has steadied them speaks as though he will soon be hidden from sight.

That apparent hiddenness is where this Gospel touches us most today. The disciples could look upon the face of Jesus. They could hear his voice without the veil of memory and meet the gaze of the Son who reveals the Father. Their confusion was real, but their privilege seems undeniable. They could see God in the flesh.

I think we all recognize that the incarnation—God becoming man—is God’s free choice. He decides to do that. Nothing compelled him or coerced him. But I do not think we always appreciate some of the consequences of that choice. Not only does he freely choose to become man; he also chooses of whom he becomes man.

He chooses the Blessed Virgin Mary. He did not have to. And in choosing her, he chooses the situation in which she lives. God could have chosen to be born among the royalty of the world. He could have been born the son of a king and lived that life. He could have been born into the leisure classes, among those who do not have to work.

There is a kind of noise that does not merely fill a room. It takes possession of it. Leave a television running long enough, keep the phone close enough, let the commentary pour in day after day, and the soul begins to change. The noise takes root. What was once a stranger begins to sound familiar, it begins to sound like the truth.

That is the danger Jesus calls out on this Good Shepherd Sunday. The stranger does not always sound strange at first. He may sound like courage itself. But his voice carries a hidden deception. It pulls the sheep away from the gate and into places where the heart grows suspicious and hardens.