My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one.”

John 10:27-30

“My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.”

I have to admit for many years I had a certain idea of what Jesus’ voice sounded like. My assumptions came from the first verse of this Gospel. Sheep are pretty dumb animals and need a shepherd to protect them, make sure they are fed and healthy, and lead them to safe pasture. When I “heard” Jesus’ voice in my heart, it was always gentle, meek, caring, a “what can I do for you” type of voice.

When I made my thirty-day Ignatian retreat I heard another type of voice when Jesus spoke to my heart: it was clear, firm, and understanding. It was the voice of authority that wanted the very best, and only the best for me. Sometimes that meant I had to confront areas of my life that needed repentance and healing. Other times I needed to know that I was loved even in my poverty and weakness. Still other times Jesus needed me to realize that he was the one who does things, not me. It was the voice of the One who died that I might live forever in communion with God. It was a voice of urgency and patience.

Jesus’ voice in the Gospels has many of these characteristics. Think of his words to Mary Magdalen in the garden of the resurrection. Once I would have expected him to reach out to her, tell her that everything was going to be okay, express his sympathy with what she had suffered. Instead, he calls her by name, tells her not to cling to him, and to go and tell his brothers that he had risen. Clear, strong, real, amazing, urgent, the voice of authority, the voice of love.

Think of Zacchaeus, the Sermon on the Mount, his words to Peter at various times during the three years of the public ministry. Remember how Jesus spoke to the Syrian Phoenician Gentile woman, words that almost scandalize us as we read them today. His commanding words to the spirit that possessed the boy who was deaf and mute. What about the 5000 people scattered across the fields listening to Jesus’ preaching. “You feed them yourselves,” he said to his disciples. And his words to his apostles at the Last Supper, “This is my body. This is my blood.” And in his appearance to his apostles after the resurrection, “Peace be with you.”

There are a thousand different variations of tone and intent and desire and command and mercy in the voice of the Good Shepherd.

We, the sheep, still hear Jesus’ voice today. “I absolve you from your sins.” “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.” We hear his voice as we read the Scriptures. Our soul may be illumined by a gesture that moves us deeply or by an unexpected kindness.

I remember on my Ignatian retreat being early one day for my meeting with my director. I walked over and started to look at the display of the writings and effects of Thérèse Couderc. I had been so engrossed in what I was learning about this sister’s life that I didn’t notice my director coming up behind me. She began to share experiences of suffering that Sister Couderc had endured throughout her religious life, experiences that she knew to a certain extent matched my own. As I listened to her, a fire was lit within my heart, a fire of meaning and hope and love for Jesus, a fire that transformed the depressing weight that had burdened my heart into a burst of generosity. How little it takes for Jesus to manifest himself with attractiveness and joy! How sweet and strong and true is the voice of the Shepherd!

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Praying with this Passage of Scripture

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