The Shepherd: Philosopher and Lover

I've been meditating on one of my favorite art history symbols of Jesus: that of the shepherd and philosopher above. Notice that he has the staff of the philosopher, the shaven face of the Greeks, and that his other hand is placed oh-so-gently on the lamb. Jesus is all about the integration of the human and divine, in his very essence, and in the humility with which he comes to us as a man. He can truly be a "philosopher" and all that word contains, including wisdom and knowledge in its fullness, and yet take the humble position of the shepherd. I have been reading my man Benedict XVI's encyclical Caritas in Veritate (Charity in Truth) and recently I came across the following: "Human knowledge is insufficient and the conclusions of science cannot indicate by themselves the path towards integral human development. There is always a need to push further ahead: this is what is required by charity in truth. Going beyond, however, never means prescinding from the conclusions of reason, nor contradicting its result. Intelligence and love are not in separate compartments: love is rich in intelligence and intelligence is full of love." The emphasis is his, not mine.

Talk about lightening bolts from God. This summer I specifically asked him to help me integrate the various aspects of my life, including my passion for literature and communication and my love for Jesus and missionary work. If Jesus can be both philosopher and lover, so can I. If Jesus can be an academic as well as a humble man who goes to the hungry and broken, then so can I. If the great man Benedict XVI can talk about intelligence as nothing without love, then I can talk like that too, and hopefully live it out.

I've recently had two "run-ins" with people in academia who, I feel, live their life based on hierarchies: the university, to them, represented the epitome, the pinnacle of life. Contrast that with all the wisdom of God becoming man, becoming a humble shepherd. In Lesson 1 of Discovery, which we led last night in the parishes of the Calgary diocese, one of the scripture passages we looked at is John 10: 10-15. Verse 11 says "I am the good shepherd. A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep." During faith study training this past Saturday one of my fellow Impacters pointed out the stupidity of sheep: why does Jesus "lower himself" so much, even to the point of dying for his stupid sheep? Because the sheep have value given to them by the shepherd. They represent his livelihood, his whole life. He has bought and paid for them.

To love is to flow outside of oneself, and Jesus does this through his death.

Two days ago I sat in the library reading articles on C. S. Lewis and historicism. It felt unbelievably good. It felt even better in the knowledge that I'm a missionary this summer, and that my missionary work doesn't fall off of me at the door of the library. Every smile I give and every moment I offer up is a prayer for the conversion of souls.

The main challenge that I've had in ministry so far is encountering a sort of "been there, done that," attitude towards the basic message of God's love as expressed through Jesus Christ. The four-point Gospel message is something we'll be growing in until we die. We won't know the fullness of his love, nor express it properly, until the great Beatific Vision. Until heaven, I will be perusing the fact that I'm made for a relationship with God, that I break it through my sin, that Jesus has restored that relationship through humbly becoming man and dying and rising for my sins, and that I have a choice as to whether or not I will participate in that relationship. I can expand in this great mystery to no end, and praise God that this is so! This fact keeps me child-like, humble, and more attune to the sufferings of others.

May I never tire of discovering the depth of his love. May I remain in awe of the kerygma, just as Father Gerard Manley Hopkins maintained his awe of the simple flight of the falcon, in awe of its power and majesty, despite its being something that happens every day. Hopkins dedicated his poem, The Windhover, to Christ our Lord:

I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,	5
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion	10
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.