4th Sunday of Easter May 11, 2003 "Series B"
Grace be unto you and peace, from God our Father and from our Lord, Jesus Christ. Amen.
Let us pray: Dear Heavenly Father, you sent your Son into our world, that we might come to know the truth and depth of your steadfast love and faithfulness. Open our hearts to the gift of your grace, which Jesus revealed in his life, teachings, and laying down his life for our redemption. And through the power of your Holy Spirit, enable us to personally experience your love for us, that we might be strengthened in faith, and empowered for witness. We ask this in Christ’s holy name. Amen.
One of the normal aspects of grief is to reminisce, to recall events of the past that have endeared us to the person whom we have lost. I’ve been doing quite a bit of this lately, as old friends and acquaintances from my past, who attended my father’s funeral, have brought back to mind so many things that I have not thought about in years.
Of course, to share these thoughts can be risky. There was a time when I shared some memories with Chal and Marc one evening after supper, and I got this, "Yeah, right. And I suppose that you walked ten miles to school each everyday, through rain and snow."
"Well," I responded, "it was only a mile. And on the way home I carried eighty papers on my paper route." Of course, they still didn’t believe me, thinking that I was just exaggerating "the good old days." But the real joy for me came when we visited my parents. The look on their faces as my Mom verified my story, was worth enduring their ridicule.
So, here goes. When I was a child, we would often spend summer evenings sitting on the front porch of my parent’s home, listening to the ball game on the radio. And when someone walked by, my Dad would say "Hi," and greet him or her by name. They would stop and chat, and then be on their way.
Now, have you ever thought about the fact that as teenagers, we don’t always compute the significance of those everyday events in our life. At least I didn’t. My cousin Dianne and I were a part of this coed "gang" that would hang out together nearly everyday. Oh, we weren’t a "gang" in the sense that that term is used today. We just enjoyed each other’s company, doing things together, and exploring the issues of life.
Of course, that doesn’t mean that we didn’t occasionally cross the line of our parent’s expectations. One day we were sitting on the curb in front of one of our gang’s house, when this older man walked past, wearing gum boots and dirty looking clothes. We knew he was a little slow, but on that day we teased him.
When it was time for supper, we said our good-byes, and I walked the three and a half blocks home, only to find my father looking at me over his glasses, tapping his fingers on the table, and greeting me with the words, "I’ve been waiting for you." I knew that look, and so I responded, in defense, "I’m not late."
"That’s not the issue," he responded, and invited me to take a seat at the table, as he folded his arms, letting me know that I was in trouble. "I understand that you and your friends made fun of Mr. Morris this afternoon. Don’t you know that this man is disabled and is doing the best that he can. You have disappointed me."
Well, I again assumed that teenage defensive attitude, and you can imagine that my response was not exactly what my father wanted to hear. I said, "How did you find out about that. Did he call you?"
"No, he didn’t call me!" my father said, his voice more stern, his hands now resting on his hips. "Someone who cared about you called me. We live in a community that knows us and cares enough to keep me posted on what is going on."
Needless to say, my responses to our discussion were, from that point on, limited to "Yes Dad," or "No Dad," as I came to realize the significance of what I had done. But in addition to this, I also discovered that I was not invisible to my parents, even when I was blocks away from home. I was known, and the people who often stopped to chat with my parents while sitting on the porch, cared enough to keep an eye on me. Some things take years to compute.
But as I thought about this learning experience, I couldn’t help thinking about how things have changed since my teenage years. We’ve lived in Reynolds for sixteen years, and have come to know our immediate neighbors. But there are only a few persons that I know who live on the next block, and very few of the children. If I did notice a child exhibiting some behavior that I felt their parent might wish to address, I wouldn’t know who to call.
Unfortunately, I believe this is just a symptom of our modern culture, which seems to be leading us to increasing isolation. Neighborhood shops where the community would gather, have been replaced by large malls where strangers from all over come to buy their wares.
In those small shops, you could often charge things simply on your name, or write a check because you were known. In the malls, if you decide to pay for your purchase by check, you have to give the cashier your identity, in the form of your numbers - address, telephone number, and driver’s license number. They don’t care about your name.
Now, with the advent of computers, you don’t even have to leave your home to shop. You just go on line, select what you wish to purchase, how you would like it shipped, enter your identification numbers and bank numbers, press enter, and wait for your purchase to arrive at your front door, where you sign for your purchase according to the shipping number.
Think about it. The IRS knows me by my social security number. The State knows us by our driver’s license number. Our bank knows us by our account number. The Internet web sites know us by our e-mail number. On and on it goes for you, for me, for everybody. It seems that everybody knows my numbers, but I’m not sure that many people actually know me!
Again, this is but another symptom of the loneliness and isolation that surrounds us in our modern culture. It is a part of the reality of civilized life in this technological age. We just don’t know people the way we used to know them. And it is true in rural America as well as in urban America.
The pace of life is so swift that we do not know, and are not known by others, in a way that satisfies our human longing.
"I am the good shepherd," Jesus says to us in our Gospel lesson for this morning. And then he goes on to say, "I know my own, and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father…" These are words which speak of intimate knowledge. These are words that tell us that no matter how impersonal our culture may be, there is someone who truly knows us for who we are.
In those times when we might feel alone, in those times when we might feel more like a number than a person, in those times when we feel that no one really knows us, no one really cares, remember these words of our crucified and risen Lord. "I know my own, and my own know me…" We are known and known intimately by the very God who created us, so much so, that even the hairs of our head, Jesus tells us in Matthew’s Gospel, are numbered.
Again, When I was a child, I used to think of these words of Jesus as an ever-watchful eye, like the eyes of the community in which I was raised, always open to report back to my father about my behavior, especially when I did something I knew was wrong. Even on those rare occasions when I acted up and my parents didn’t find out, there was always that little voice in my conscience of Jesus saying to me, "But I know you, Ron."
But as I reminisce, as I think back on those defiant teenage years in my life, I now see those eyes of the community as loving, caring eyes, which were concerned to help me grow as a human being. And I am so thankful for having been known and cared for in that way.
The same can also be said for my growth in my understanding of being known by our crucified and risen Lord. Oh, I still think of his eyes being upon me, knowing me more intimately than I would sometimes like him to know me. But I see those eyes filled with love, compassion and caring, desiring to help me grow as a child of God.
After all, I now see those loving eyes peering at me from his cross, where my Shepherd laid down his life for my forgiveness, that I might come to live with him in the intimacy of eternal life in his very presence. And I look forward to this life, not as an individual, not as a number among many numbers, but as a person, whom he knows by name and loves intimately.
And through the power of the Holy Spirit, God can move each of us to care for one another in this community of faith, as a foretaste of the life to come. God knows each of us by name, who have been baptized into his church as members of his family. He has knit us together as a caring community, which is ever more important as a witness to God’s grace, as our culture becomes less caring, less personal. So let us love one another in witness to his love for us, and as a light to our world.
Amen.
