Good Shepherds and Good Mothers

Jesus said: I am the good shepherd. (John 10:11)

Today is traditionally known as Good Shepherd Sunday. It’s also Mother’s Day. In thinking about what to say for this homily, of how to tie the two themes together, I was reminded of an Italian proverb my mother used to recite to me when I was a boy. "Due cose al mondo non ti abbandoneranno mai (Two things in life will never abandon you) – L’occhio di Dio che ti vede ovunque (The eye of God that sees you everywhere) – Il cuore della mamma che ti seque sempre" (A mother’s heart that follows you always).

As an aside, if there’s any doubt about the strong bond that exists between an Italian son and his mother, which to this day assumes operatic proportions, I invite you to ask an Italian son’s wife! I wish a had a quarter for every time Gloria has said to me in the past 35 years: "I am not your mother" or "You should have married your mother." Perhaps that’s the reason my mother-in-law, who was Polish-American, advised her daughter early on, half-jokingly I suspect, not to date and certainly never to marry an Italian male. Thankfully, Gloria didn’t listen to her mother on that point!

Additionally, in preparing for this homily I came upon a Jewish proverb that likewise seems to bridge the themes of good shepherds and good mothers: "God could not be everywhere and, therefore, He made mothers." (Unfortunately, I don’t know it in Yiddish.) And yes, it goes without saying that Jewish mothers and Italian mothers are cut from the same cloth, particularly in matters of their sons! Need I point out that Jesus had a Jewish mother? Like all Jewish mothers she thought her son was God, but in his case, she was right! So in short order I had this revelation -- the common link between good shepherds and good mothers is caring for their charges.

For many people in the ancient world, shepherding was more than an occupation; it was their life, their very identity. The needs of sheep -- to be fed, watered, and protected from harm -- were of paramount concern. Livelihoods of entire families and villages depended on shepherds being devoted to the well being of their flocks. Hard work, long hours, and sacrifice were all part of the job. Shepherds had to nurse sick and weak sheep, gather the young lambs that couldn’t keep up and carry them on their back. At night shepherds soothed the flocks by playing the flute. Not at all unlike what mothers have done and still do for their children the world over, except maybe for flute playing.

In today’s gospel from John, Jesus, drawing from the rich storehouse of Hebrew tradition, especially from the best known and best loved psalm, the 23rd, declares himself to be "The Good Shepherd" who lays down his life for his sheep. Elsewhere in the New Testament Jesus promises that he will go to any length to keep his followers safe and to find them if they get lost. He promises each one a personal relationship, a genuine bond of intimacy. He makes it clear that he is devoted to them, as he hopes they will be devoted to him. After commissioning the disciples for ministry, he tells Peter: "Feed my lambs, tend my sheep, feed my sheep. Again, echoes of a parent-child relationship.

When it came to feeding, my mother, God rest her soul, was without peer. For her, feeding was purely and simply an act of love. She was happiest when was preparing, cooking, and serving food. Even when money was scarce, she refused to skimp on food. She delighted in shopping at the public market for the freshest and best ingredients. There was always enough food at our house to set an extra place or two at the table for whoever happened to visit around meal times. And if one of us sons brought home a prospective daughter-in-law who was skinny, it promptly became my mother’s mission to "fatten her up." Mom’s mantra, you see, was – "mangia, mangia" ("eat, eat").

My American friends went to school with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on mushy white bread that came out of plastic packages. I, on the other hand, went to school with pepper and egg sandwiches, eggplant parmigiano sandwiches, or veal cutlet sandwiches, all on crusty Italian bread. If my mother ever suspected that I was playing hooky, all she’d have to do was follow the trail of olive oil from our house to know exactly where I went!

And holiday meals were, of course, special. My non-Italian friends would eat turkey on Thanksgiving or Christmas. Or, rather they only ate turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. At my house, on the other hand, we also had turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce, but only after we had finished the antipasto, soup, lasagna, meatballs, fried carduni, fried calamari, salad and whatever else Mama thought might be appropriate for that particular holiday. The turkey was usually accompanied by a roast of some kind (just in case somebody walked in who didn’t like turkey), and was followed by an assortment of fruits, including exotic ones like pomegranates or prickly pears, nuts, pastries, cakes, and, of course, homemade cookies. If you don’t believe me about the bounty of our table, ask Gloria about the first time she came to my house for Thanksgiving dinner when we were both in high school.

No holiday was complete without some home baking, none of that store-bought stuff for us, unless at Easter it was Sicilian cassata from Savoia’s Bakery. This is where you learned to eat a seven-course meal between noon and seven PM, how to handle hot chestnuts, how to eat carciofi imbottiti (stuffed artichokes), and how to put peach slices in red wine.

The highlight of the week was Sunday! That was the day you’d wake up to the smell of garlic and onions frying in olive oil. As you lay in bed, you could hear the hiss as tomatoes were dropped into a pan. Sunday we always had macaroni and sauce, cooked al dente. We never called it pasta.

Sunday would not be Sunday without going to mass. Of course, you couldn’t eat before mass because you had to fast from twelve midnight to receive communion. But the good part was I knew that when I got home, I’d find hot meatballs frying in a skillet, and nothing tastes better when you’re hungry than newly fried meatballs and crisp, crusty Italian bread dipped in a pot of sauce. Can you tell that I love to eat? It drives my wife crazy!

In Baptism Jesus calls us each by name, a prelude of the invitation to dine at his Eucharistic table. Ours is a God who knows each of us individually and who loves each of us unconditionally – but with this important distinction: when one of us is sick or hurting or lost or confused or in pain or in trouble – God loves that one even more -- just like a good mother.

As the sheep of Christ’s flock, we’re called not only to follow the Shepherd, but to imitate him as well. We do this by shepherding others. This happens in very ordinary ways: parents guide their children, teachers instruct their students, coaches shape their young players, and all of us instruct each other by the faithfulness to the Gospel we show in the particular circumstances of our lives.

Mothers’ have an enormous impact on their children. "The greatest lessons I ever learned," said Abraham Lincoln, "were learned at my mother’s knee." Ralph Waldo Emerson put it even stronger: "People are what their mothers make them." So mothers out there still raising children – no pressure!

A mother’s love for her children, quite simply, mirrors God’s love for us. That’s how my mother loved us five kids -- my sister, three brothers, and me, the youngest. I was her change of life baby, a hoped for second daughter to be named ‘Antoinette.’ She got an Anthony instead, but if she was disappointed, she didn’t let on. I never heard her use the term "unconditional love," but with every fiber of her being, she demonstrated that concept to us. She didn’t have to say she loved us, she showed us. And there was nothing bad that we could do that my mom couldn’t forgive. Selfless to a fault, she always put our needs ahead of her own – much like a good shepherd.

To be a follower of Jesus is not for the faint-hearted or self-centered. To be filled with God, you have to be emptied of self. To love as he loved is to care as he cared, and not just for those within your circle of family and friends. That, after all, should be relatively easy. No, Jesus challenges us to love those outside our circle; not the abstract, amorphous concept called humanity, but every sister and brother who crosses our path. Not simply those you like and who like you, but those you dislike, those who look weird and smell baaaadly, those who live and think differently than you do. In other words, including the black sheep. And that, friends, as you well know, is not easy to do, but is definitely part of the job description.

More than anything else, to love as he loved is to care for the sheep that limp: for the ones who hunger for bread or justice or love; those who have no pillow for their head, no shoulder for their troubled heart; those who are imprisoned behind bars of steel or within their tortured selves

In the final analysis, you’re not really a Christian unless you’re willing to hear and follow the Good Shepherd. To be Christian you have to care deeply for others, you have to be willing to open your arms wide even to those who are unlovable. There’s a plaque, a gift from my oldest brother, which hangs on the waiting room wall of my court chambers. It reads: "Children need love most, when they deserve it least." A sentiment the Good Shepherd modeled perfectly and good mothers understand particularly well.

Happy Good Shepherd Day. Happy Mother’s day.

Anthony J. Sciolino
Fourth Sunday of Easter.
May 11, 2003. (Cycle B).
Acts 4:8-12
John 3:1-2
John 10:11-18.