Author: Sr. Kathryn J Hermes, FSP

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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Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

John 121-11

For 40 days of the sacred season of Lent, we have been renewing and purifying our hearts, practicing self-denial and imitating God in his kindness by sharing with those who are in need, practicing virtue and fasting, overturning what the Preface for the First Sunday of Lent calls, “all the snares of the ancient serpent.”

Today, as we step over the threshold into the holiest of weeks, we encounter Mary of Bethany, her sister Martha, and their brother Lazarus. The Church puts the breaks on our preparation so that we may turn our gaze to Jesus, so that we may learn to serve him, and love him, and console him, and surrender to him.

There is a silence and calm inside this little home of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. Outside the crowds are milling about and the rumbling of trouble is growing louder because of the raising of Lazarus. Around the family table, instead, there is an emotional connection only found among friends. Step into Holy Week by stopping in the house of Bethany.

Martha is quietly providing for Jesus and his band of apostles. Unruffled by the demands placed on her as hostess, and also quietly confident in Jesus as the Resurrection and the Life, she finds a prayerful peace within her loving service of the Friend who has meant so much to her.

Mary breaks a jar of costly nard and anoints the feet of Jesus. She had purchased the perfume with all the resources she had. Drying her Lord’s feet, not with a towel, but with her hair, she gave to him all she was. Nard is a powerful fragrance used in preparation for burial. When applied to the skin or hair, its scent would fill an entire house and the aroma would remain for weeks. In a few days time, Jesus would be arrested, brought before the Sanhedrin, mocked and scourged and crowned with thorns, condemned by Pilate and crucified on Calvary. With every breath Jesus took, the fragrance of Mary’s anointing reminded him of her love for him. When he was alone in prison, when he sat on a mock throne and received the jeering of the guards who robed him in purple as they pressed thorns into his head, as he struggled and stumbled to Calvary, the scent of Mary’s loving gift of pure nard remained with him as a comfort. He knew he was not alone. Even as he died, he knew that she loved him, and that countless souls through history would, like Mary, seek to love and console him.  

Lazarus, called out from the tomb four days after his death, sat beside Jesus. He knew that many were believing in Jesus now because of this miracle, and he realized that others wanted Jesus dead because of him. Perhaps he felt confused about what he should feel. Nevertheless, Lazarus remained at table with Jesus, staying near him, supporting him in any way he could.

So as you begin this Holy Week and you turn your gaze to Jesus, take a moment of peaceful prayer. Are you like Martha with her quiet service? Like Mary with her extravagant love? Like Lazarus, remaining near him? Or is there another way in which you are with Jesus this year as you enter Holy Week?

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Praying with this Passage of Scripture

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