Jeremiah 23.1-6, Psalm 23, Mark 6.30-34, 53-56
The Seventh Sunday after Trinity, 18 July 2021
Clapham, Eldroth
We have been wandering the wilds for some time: how we long to be gathered in safety.
Out in all weathers from foulest to fair: how we long to be gathered in safety.
Blown by the wind, scorched by the sun, soaked by the rain, stuck in the mud: how we long to be gathered in safety.
How we long to be gathered safely again with those who lost track, on the way.
How we long to be able to chew cud together once more, and pass the time of the day.
How we long to be able to call and respond all those things we’ve been longing to say.
That very atmospheric photograph of some of our local shepherds ‘gathering the mountain’ on Ingleborough last month, illustrates something which is a deep part of our cultural heritage around here: the gathering-in of the sheep for shearing is one of those centuries-old shepherding practices which mark out our year, every year, and it’s fitting for us to contemplate it today, this being one of those Sundays in the Church’s calendar when our scripture readings invite us to see God as our good shepherd, and ourselves as the flock who he gathers. [1]
And this theme of gathering together again after a long time apart, is so very current, as tomorrow in England sees the lifting of legal restrictions on our meeting and travelling. This will be both a relief and a cause of anxiety: what politicians are calling ‘Freedom Day’ feels less liberating than it might, as we’re asked to enter it with caution, and with particular care for others, especially those who are most vulnerable to Covid-19.
How we long to be gathered together again with friends, family and neighbours who we may have kept in touch with over the past 16 months but who we’ve not been able - or felt able - to see. But we long to be gathered in safety.
For some, church is a gathering-place which has felt a little off-limits during this pandemic. Besides the obvious risks involved in being in an enclosed space with others, the experience of worshipping without singing, of wearing a mask in the pew, of being unable to kneel alongside others at the communion rail and not taking the wine from the common cup, has been strange - and for some, strange enough to keep us away. Understandable.
But church also offers something very rich, very real, to those seeking reassurance in this shifting situation. It offers us the riches of our faith tradition. For as surely as our local shepherds gather in their flock from the mountain each year, so also surely our God promises to bring his flock back to our fold, the place of safety, security, community.
If we are feeling that ‘the world beyond our doorstep no longer makes much sense’; if we are feeling that the ‘pressure wrought by changes [has become] too much to bear’, [2] God promises us that we ‘shall not fear any longer, or be dismayed, nor shall any be missing’.
Just as the shepherds combine together to gather in their flocks, so the three persons of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, work in perfect community to gather us in and restore us to ourselves and each other.
The Father, the creator and source of all life - in whom each person is uniquely formed and by whom each person is uniquely valued; through whom we can be the people we were made to be; gathers us to become ourselves again, to renew our sense of our place in the world.
Jesus the Son, who has compassion on those whose world has lost all meaning, who longs to lead into better times those who now feel like sheep without a shepherd; gathers us to know we are loved.
And the Holy Spirit, whose presence at all times and in all situations can help us to pray; gathers us to renew our sense of the certainty of God’s care and direction for us all.
The thing about gathering the mountain, I’d imagine, is that it’s a joint effort. It’s the work of men and dogs and sheep together in motion, united in a common task, moving towards a common goal, each understanding the ways of the other and responding in kind.
The thing about being God’s flock is that we share in his gathering together. It’s never an isolated experience. And so as we gradually emerge into company again to tentatively meet and catch up and hear each other’s stories we rediscover the joy of realising ‘that each [of us] affects the other and the other affects the next, and the world is full of stories, but the stories are all one.’ [3]
We can help each other come to terms with the circumstances of our day and times by sharing how we are dealing with them. In doing so we strengthen and shield each other - physically, emotionally, psychologically - in ways which resonate today and will continue to resonate beyond this pandemic. [4]
Notes
[1] Thanks to John Dawson for sharing John Bentley’s photograph (with his permission), and for his comments on it which informed this paragraph.
[2] Billy Bragg, I will be your shield. Billy Bragg © 2021. YouTube: https://youtu.be/DL7bjuGcRFU.
When things start to unravel
and days fill you with dread
and comments dent your confidence
confide in me instead.
When every little setback
just makes you want to cry
and the whole world seems against you
and you don’t know why
In the battle against your demons
I - I will be your shield
when the world has lost all meaning
together we’ll stand
for our love is the one thing that’s real
When pressure wrought by changes
becomes too much to bear
and pain stops you from functioning
trust in me to care
When the world beyond your doorstep
no longer makes much sense
and hostile thoughts surround you
I’ll come to your defence
I will be your shield
when the angry waves are pounding
I will be your shield
when the wind whips up the shore
I will be your shield
when you hear the thunder sounding
and the rain beats on your door
I will be your shield.
[3] Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven, p.208. Thanks to Sheila Gooch for sharing this book.
[4] Billy Bragg, introductory notes to I will be your shield. Billy Bragg website.
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