Fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B; Breen-Philips Hall.
Press play, and you hear Antonio Cipriani sing in a beautiful yet
subdued way, “That I would be good, even if I did nothing.” Then the melody
passes to Celia Rose Gooding, who responds, “That I would be good, even if I
got the thumbs down.” They continue alternating lines: “That I would be good,
even if I got resentful; that I would be good, even if I gained ten pounds.”
Lauren Patten then comes in with this plaintiff descant, “why won’t you accept who
I need to be?,” as Antonio and Celia keep on alternating, before Lauren takes
the melody and turns it up to eleven, coming in and belting out: “I need to
know that I would be loved, even if I am my true self; that I would be good,
even when I am overwhelmed.”
And at that point, I’m overwhelmed, with “this is just such a
gorgeous arrangement of this song.” The song is “That I Would be Good” by
Alanis Morrissette, and the version I’ve been obsessed with since I first heard
it a few weeks ago is from the jukebox musical, “Jagged Little Pill,” that
draws on her music. And the reason that song is so powerful, that it has over
75,000 views on YouTube (and really, less that 100 of those are me, I swear),
is partly the talent of the singers and the skill of the arranger who turned a
solo song into a trio; it’s partly the nostalgia of people around my age, who
relied on Alanis to sing some of our emotions for us during High School; but it’s
mainly that the emotions it conveys are so universal: in the mid-90’s; now;
2,000 years ago. The fear of rejection, the need to belong, the anxiety that we’re
not enough.
God responds to this. In our first reading today we hear that Christ
knew rejection. That doesn’t make rejection somehow easy to handle. Jesus
didn’t limit his love to only doing facile things for us. But when rejection
stings, we know Christ is with us, that Christ took the fullness of that on.
And that can give us courage, the courage to do the risky things, the things
that we worry might bring rejection, because we know we’ll never be alone even
if the world does give us the thumbs down. We know that we are good, good
enough for Christ to risk rejection for.
In the gospel, we hear that Christ, the Good Shepherd, commits to us.
He knows us fully, and he still commits: we are His, and He is ours. We don’t need
to be held back by anxiety; we belong.
We are the sheep of his pasture.
He has claimed us, and we are His.
His embrace of us in baptism, His calling out – “Look! My beloved daughter, my beloved son!” – His indwelling
in us with His own Spirit… all of that is His claiming of us, His shepherding
of us, intimately known and invited into intimate knowing. Jesus doesn’t
half-heartedly care for us, like a hireling who cares for sheep only if
exercising the care is less hassle than losing the paycheck. Jesus doesn’t care for us as a means to some
reward. Jesus cares for us as the Good
Shepherd, as the shepherd who cares because he’s committed to his sheep.
And we need that shepherding, we need that care and concern, because
there are things to be feared in the world. The world, created aflame with
God’s love, has grown cold, let darkness seep in. Our world knows so much isolation, hatred,
violence, sin and sorrow. Shepherds in
the ancient world really did sometimes have to make huge sacrifices for their
sheep, and some were actually killed by wolves and thieves. Where the hireling abandons, the good
shepherd stays. Our wounded warring
world grieves God as much as it does us, because of how deeply committed He is
to us. And that deep commitment is a promise, never to give up on us. Instead, in Christ, our good shepherd enters
into the reality of rejection, of sin and death, absorbs it and transforms
it. Transforms us.
Because His shepherding isn’t something static. He won’t leave us surrounded by wolves and
thieves, fighting off first one, then another, leaving us to always fear the
next attack, to fear that we might be tempted into attack ourselves. No, the good shepherd leads. The good shepherd acts to lead us, his flock,
transforming us as we go, so that we might be able to live lives confident in
our belonging, living out our true vocation, daring to offer ourselves
self-sacrificially, lovingly, courageously as witnesses against sin and
selfishness. He leads us home, to that
place where we can live wholly and holily in harmony with our flock, and with our
shepherd.
No comments:
Post a Comment