05/01/2023
How Can We Know God’s Voice?
Fourth Sunday of Easter
(Acts 2:14a, 36-41; 1 Pet 2:20b-25; Jn 10: 1-10)
About 30 years ago, as part of my Jesuit formation, I spent two years working in Kenya. I was there with the Jesuit Refugee Service, helping refugees from all over East Africa who had settled in Nairobi to start small businesses so that they could support themselves. Many of these businesses were handicraft businesses—a group of Ugandan women who made patchwork quilts, two Rwandese women who made batiks, an Ethiopian man who painted icons—which we sold to people who would visit our office.
In time, we opened a shop to market these handicrafts, called the Mikono Centre, after the Swahili word for “hands.” Believe it or not, it’s still in business. When I was working there in the 1990s, it was housed in a small bungalow in a poor neighborhood in Nairobi. The refugees would hang out on the porch, waiting to see us to talk about their businesses or sell us handicrafts for the shop. Outside the shop was a little lawn, on which a Mozambican wood carver would sit, while he made rosewood sculptures.
One day, one of the Kenyan women who worked with us came into my office and said, “Kuna kondoo.” My Swahili was decent, but I thought that I had misheard her. Because it means, “There are sheep.” I followed her to the entrance to the shop and looked out and, sure enough, there was a small flock of sheep grazing on our lawn. Standing watch over them was a Maasai boy wearing his red plaid cloth. In the Maasai culture, the youngest boys tend sheep; then, when they get a little older, they tend goats; then as men, cattle—and you would see this in some places on the outskirts of Nairobi.
The sheep didn’t bother me so I waved to shepherd and he waved back. In any event, I went back to my office and met with some refugees. About an hour later, to stretch my legs, I went to the front door. The sheep were still there, grazing placidly. The shepherd waved to me and few seconds later he called to the sheep: “Kuja!” he said. “Come!”
To my surprise they all looked up at once and instantly started to follow him. I marveled at that. There were plenty of other voices you could hear from passersby in the area, and even some car horns, but they heard him. Suddenly I realized I was seeing today’s Gospel in action: the sheep knew his voice.
Now how did they know his voice? The same way that we are to know our shepherd’s voice. To begin with, they had spent time with him. In our own lives, we can spend time with Jesus in the Gospels, in the sacraments and in service to others, and in these places come to know his voice. Now, what does that mean specifically? Well, in the Gospels we hear Jesus’s words to his disciples--and to us. And he speaks constantly about love, mercy and compassion. In the sacraments, we hear him inviting us to participate in the life of the church. And in service to others, we hear him asking us to help the “least of my brothers and sisters.”
Especially in prayer, God’s voice often has a recognizable quality: peaceful, uplifting, comforting. In our consciences, God’s voice can gently encourage us to do the right thing. "Go on," it says. "You're on the right path." But if we’re being warned against doing something bad, that same voice, our conscience, can be persistent and loud. Here it says, "What are you doing?" And during times of trouble, it is often the voice of calm. Over time, then, you get to know that voice.
But we’re also called to know what God’s voice is not. Just like the sheep were able ignore all the other voices. God’s voice not the voice that makes us fear. Or makes us think we’re mistakes. It’s a voice of love, mercy, compassion and welcome.
Our goal in life is to know God’s voice, be attentive to it and respond to it with as much alacrity as those sheep did to their shepherd, 30 years ago.
(This is the Sunday Gospel reflection from Outreach. If you'd like to receive these, gratis, just sign up here: https://outreach.faith/weekly-reflections/)
