April 25 Easter IV
Have you ever wanted to see your name in lights? On a marquis, perhaps, naming you as the star of the show? Or perhaps you’ve dreamed of seeing your name on the cover of a best-selling book. How satisfying it would be to be the talk of the town. Or maybe you would like to have your name given to a new member of the family, or to a newly discovered star or vaccine. Can you imagine your name on a plaque underneath one of these stained glass windows, or maybe in the dedication on the inside cover of a prayer book? There is something in all of us, I think, that longs to have our names immortalized in some way. And I don’t think this is just about our egos or wanting fifteen minutes of fame. There is something in all of us that longs simply to be known.
Ironically, I got to thinking about this desire to be known by others while watching one of those nature programs on TV. It was a National Geographic special about the Appalachian Trail – that 2,175-mile trail that goes from Springer Mountain in Georgia all the way to Mount Katahdin in Maine. Those who hike the trail go in search of adventure, endurance tests, and solitude. If you hike the whole thing, you earn the honor of being called a “thru-hiker.” Thru-hikers are revered for their stamina and rugged individualism. They conquer the elements for six months and prove just how hard-core they are. The documentary ended with an interview of one such thru-hiker, who said something very surprising. Having just completing the whole thing by himself, he said that if it weren’t for the people connected to the trail, the trail wouldn’t exist. What made the journey meaningful to this solo hiker was all the people he encountered along the way. The folks who volunteer to maintain the trail, the people who provide emergency rations to wayward hikers, and fellow hikers out in the woods – it was with all of them that he was able to share the adventure and to find its meaning. Even in the most solo of activities, this hiker longed to be known and to know those whom he encountered. And it was in this knowing that the journey found its meaning.
On Good Shepherd Sunday, you might be expecting a more agricultural image than the wild Appalachian Trail. The day brings to mind the image of shepherds lovingly caring for flocks of sheep, who in turn follow their shepherd where he leads them. This is a tried and true image for the nature of Christ as our own loving shepherd and we his sheep. But such a familiar, bucolic image runs the risk of us missing just how wild the message is on this particular Sunday.
The Gospel tells us that Jesus was surrounded by a crowd of people in the Temple, who demanded to know whether or not he is the Messiah. There was tension in the air. They had heard him preach before, and yet they remained unconvinced. They longed to know the truth, which kept bringing them back, to question him again. “I have told you, and you do not believe,” he answered. Others did believe. “My sheep hear my voice. I know them,” Jesus says, “and they follow me.” Perhaps the idea that there is a God who knows us, who truly knows each of us, and calls us into relationship was more of an answer than the crowd was ready for. The Good Shepherd is far from a tame, ho-hum image. The Good Shepherd is the one who reaches us in the deepest part of ourselves that longs to be known, and draws us into a relationship that gives fundamental meaning to this journey that we’re on.
As Christians on the journey, we know that Christ calls us each by name. And as we heard in the collect for today, we pray that we may go where he leads. We are to know others as we are known, and to call others by name as we offer companionship along the path. There is a fundamental dignity in every child of God that deserves to be known and cared for. This is our job as Christians, to continue the work of bringing people into relationship with God and each other. To call one another by name.
There is a group of children who have been called by name as if their names were up in lights on Broadway. Well, not exactly in lights, but rather in bright colors on steel I-beams at a construction site. A new building was being constructed next to the Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston a few years back. One day, a child who was undergoing treatment there tried to get the attention of the construction crew next door. She held up a piece of paper with her name on it so that they would be able to read it through the window. One of the ironworkers noticed, and much to her delight, he spray painted her name on an I-beam before it was hoisted up into position. Once in place, she was able to look out the window every day and see her name in huge, bright pink letters.
This has become a beloved ritual at Dana Farber. A 14-story cancer care center is currently under construction next door. Every day, children who come to the clinic write their names on sheets of paper and tape them to the windows of the walkway for the ironworkers to see. And, every day, the workers paint the names onto I-beams and hoist them into place. The walkway fills up daily with children watching through the windows. Every time a new name goes up on the building, the children cheer and clap. Over the last month, a hundred new names in a rainbow of colors have been added to the new building, as well as the likeness of SpongeBob SquarePants on a nearby crane. When asked about this tradition of painting the names on the beams, a sixteen-year-old answered, “It’s your name. It makes you feel important.” And it also gives the ironworkers a sense of satisfaction, knowing that they are able to bring smiles to these children’s faces.
The ironworkers are carrying on the tradition of the Good Shepherd, calling the children by name in a dramatic way that assures them that they are known, and that their struggles and joys have meaning. The children, too, are doing their part, calling something forth in the workers that draws them into relationship and which means so much more than simply a construction job done well. These are the relationships the Good Shepherd models for us and calls us to create. Christ our shepherd calls each one of us by name, and as we follow and do likewise, it is the people we encounter along the way that help us to find the meaning of our journey. Amen.