In the gospel today Jesus refers to himself as the Shepherd. The early Church was very fond of this image. One of the earliest images we have of Jesus is found in the Catacomb of San Callisto. It is a fresco from the early 3rd century. It depicts Jesus as the Good Shepherd with a little lamb on his shoulders.  He is carrying a bucket in his right hand.  He has a youthful face and short hair.  

Jesus, who perfectly understands us, was sacrificed as an innocent lamb, so that he could arise as our Shepherd.

When the early Christians, who were steeped in the Old Testament, heard Jesus call himself their shepherd they would have immediately connected to several passages in the Hebrew Scriptures in which God says that he himself will shepherd Israel. 

Especially they would think of Ezekiel 34. Where God promises: "As a shepherd seeks out his flock when some of his sheep have been scattered abroad, so will I seek out my sheep; and I will rescue them from all places where they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness. I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will give them rest, says the Lord GOD."  It is a tender and touching image. The shepherd seeking and finding the little sheep that is lost in the fog and darkness—afraid, alone, and vulnerable. And bringing it back safely to the flock, where it can feel safe and rest.

When the people of the 1st century heard Jesus call himself a shepherd they would have been able to draw not only from Scripture, but also from their own experience to know what that means. Most contemporary Americans probably have very little experience of sheep or those who care for them, but for the person Jesus was saying this to it would have been something they were very familiar with—and even depended on. 

When I was recently in Austria, my friend and I were hiking along a mountain path. We came to the top of a hill and found a peaceful valley below us. We decided to take a break and eat our sandwiches there. While we were eating we had the opportunity to witness an interesting scene. First I heard a very odd sound. I had no idea what it was. Eventually I found it was the sound of hundreds of little bells ringing. Little bells attached to hundreds of little sheep. I finally saw, in the distance, on the other side of the valley, off to my left, a herd of sheep come spilling over the mountain top on the other side. They wandered down in neat little rows towards the valley bottom. A few minutes later, I heard the volume increase, off to my right, and saw another little flock of sheep appear. They also spilled into the valley, mixing with the other sheep. My friend and I were intrigued by the scene, wondering if this was the same herd in two parts, or not. And if they would have to separate them. I wondered if this was a mistake. But I watched the little shepherds, small as ants, walk over to each other with their dogs, seemingly calm. We finished lunch, but decided to stay and watch. After some time had passed, the shepherds decided to keep the flocks moving. They each went to opposite sides of the valley and gave a series of whistles and calls and started walking away. The sheep, knowing exactly which one was their shepherd, gradually separated themselves and headed off in different directions.  It was an amazing scene.

The sheep knew which shepherd was their own. They knew they could trust him because he had proven himself faithful. They didn’t know because they were born knowing. They didn’t know because someone had told them. They knew through association. They had spent so much time with their shepherd that they knew his voice, they knew his call, his whistle, they even knew his walk. He would whistle when he led them to food or water. He would call to them when he would bath them or give them medicine. He would call to them together when the predators arrived. When they were lost in the fog, they would see his peculiar stride appear in the mist to comfort them and lead them home to the flock. They knew him and they associated his call with food and safety—so they followed him.

Jesus is our shepherd.   And we know his voice.  And we learn his voice through familiarity.  We hear his call when he feeds us with the Eucharist and washes us in baptism.  We know the whistle he gives when he heals us with confession and sacramental anointing.  It’s his voice that protects us from harm through the moral teaching of the church.  It is his voice that gathers us together today—to worship. And we have to struggle to remain united so that we are not vulnerable.  To be strong we simply must unite into one flock, under the one shepherd.  But mostly, we have to pray, spend intimate time alone with God, so that we can hear the peculiar whistle that he gives, and hear his words of encouragement.

So that in weeks like this, or any time when the clouds and fog of confusion, pain, suffering, exhaustion, and fear, descend on us—even if our vision is obscured, we can recognize him walking through the mist to come and find us—and he can lead us out of the fog, towards courage, forgiveness, and peace.  And we are able to act with confidence in following him, just like those sheep on that Austrian hill that day.