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Fr. John Allison

11B.2

Jeremiah 23:1-6

Psalm 23

Ephesians 2:11-22

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

July 21, 2024

Christ Church, Hudson

 

“As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd and he had compassion on them because they were like sheep without a shepherd and he began to teach them many things.” This sentence from our Gospel comes as Jesus has taken his disciples by boat to a deserted place, or so he thinks, just after their return from their mission. If you recall, two Sundays ago we heard of him sending them out two by two to heal the sick and cast out demons. Finally, they have returned and as they gather around Jesus to report on their journey they are so besieged by people “they had no leisure even to eat.” The implication is then is that their mission had been a great success and that Jesus, as well, has continued to build a following. We see just how great a following as we’re told that the people, seeing Jesus and the disciples leaving, figure out where they are going and race ahead to meet them there as they are coming ashore. And it’s here, in their fervor to see Jesus, that this great throng of people demonstrate for us what is still, two thousand years later, at the core of our experience as humans—we need Jesus. We need his healing; we need his wholeness; we need his peace—desperately. Humanity is scattered. We are like sheep without a shepherd. 

St. Augustine said “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” This is the search we are all on. This is the restlessness that compels us to seek our completion in Christ, to heal our brokenness. This is the desperation that drives the crowds to race ahead to meet the one who offers peace.

As I’ve reflected on this scene over the past week, I’ve been trying to think of instances in modern life that generate the same excitement, the same clamor and energy these crowds have for Jesus. What comes to mind is the cult of celebrity, of politicians, of rock stars and actors, and other public figures to whom the public looks to fill the void in our souls. Or, we look to other aspects of life—the drive to a successful career, to more money, a bigger home, a more luxurious car. The list goes on and on. And still, our heart is restless, O Lord, until it rests in you.  Augustine wrote those words as he enjoyed the success of an academic career and many worldly pleasures. Still, there was something missing, an emptiness that couldn’t be filled.

For us, as twenty-first century Americans, it may seem we have little in common with the crowd who raced to meet Jesus as he came ashore, but in our restlessness, in our great need to be filled, we are the same. And, like those same desperate souls that sought healing and wholeness, Christ comes to us. He has compassion for us, suffers with us. That’s the literal meaning of compassion—to suffer with. He is present to us in all our humanness—God with us. That’s what changes everything. Christ comes to unite us in his love. He is not veiled in cloud on some high mountaintop, or tucked away in the inner recesses of a temple to be accessed only by the high priest. He comes to us, as we are, right here, and we are made one.

Our reading from Jeremiah makes reference to this. Writing in the fifth century before Christ, Jeremiah refers to the shepherds who have destroyed and scattered the sheep; specifically he was referring to the last succession of the kings of Judah who acted corruptly and precipitated the downfall of the southern kingdom and the enslavement of Israel. Jeremiah knows that God will send a new shepherd to redeem Israel. The shepherd was a common image for the king, one who cared for the people and led them as a shepherd leads his flock and protects them. The kings of Judah had failed in this and God would send one to save those who had been scattered—that’s the reference Mark uses as Jesus comes ashore. We are the sheep once scattered that are now gathered in Christ’s name, united in his love. 

In our best moments, we follow him, like the psalmist, as he leads us to green pastures, beside still waters and we are refreshed. We fear no evil and we rest in the assurance that goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our lives. That’s the promise that God has fulfilled in Jesus. That’s in our best moments. But there are times when we forget, when we are lost. When we are scattered like sheep without a shepherd. It’s then, in those moments of forgetfulness, what I sometimes call willfulness, when we are more like goats than sheep, it’s then that we are most desperate. 

Today’s lectionary, omits an important part of the story that, for me, is at the heart of our unity in Christ, though over the next two Sundays it will feature more prominently. Just after Jesus comes ashore and offers his teaching to the crowd he feeds them. This is the feeding of the five thousand with the five loaves of bread and two fish, and, at the most basic level, it’s what we share together when we come to God’s table for Eucharist. We are nourished by Christ and filled, and it’s in this sharing together of his love that we are reminded that we rest in him. It’s right here, at this table, that our restlessness is quieted and we are made whole. This is where we remember. We may not be rushing forward and trampling one another to get there, but we come to him right here and he feeds us. 

But that’s not the end. We have work to do. In our post-Communion prayer we pray, “Send us now into the world in peace, to love and serve you with gladness and singleness of heart.” Like the apostles we are sent out. We are sent out beyond these walls to bring the love of Christ to the world. We are sent to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and visit the prisoner. We are sent out as Christ’s body to love others as he loves us. What do we allow to get in the way of doing that? What scatters us and divides us? These are important questions to pray about because it’s there, in the sharing of Christ’s love, that we have our rest, for our hearts are restless until they rest in you, O Lord.  Amen.