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Homily:
Good Shepherd Sunday – Hearing His Voice
On this 4th
Sunday of Easter, Good Shepherd Sunday, we hear Jesus say:
“My
sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me.”
At the heart
of every vocation—every calling to follow Jesus—is this:
learning to recognize
the voice of the Good Shepherd.
Whether it’s
marriage, being a mother or father, priesthood, religious life, or simply
living as a faithful disciple, we are all learning to recognize His voice among
many competing voices for our attention.
And that
recognition doesn’t happen all at once.
It happens slowly… over time.
You know,
there’s a phrase many people recognize—it was the title of a television show: “How I Met Your
Mother.”
It’s the
kind of story people want to hear, because it tells you where everything
began—how a relationship started, how something meaningful came into your life.
In a certain
sense, my vocation story is like that.
It’s not
just the story of how I became a priest.
It’s really the story of how I came to know the Church—
and
that’s how I met your mother… the Church.
Because the
Church is our mother. And like any good mother, she helps us learn to recognize
the voice of her Son, the Good Shepherd.
But I didn’t
always recognize that voice clearly.
When I was a teenager, I was part of a parish
youth group. One day we went on a trip to an amusement park—Vernon Valley,
Action Park. Some of you might remember it.
We were told to be back at the bus at a
certain time.
But a few of us decided we knew better.
We stayed longer… missed the bus… and found
another way home.
At the time, I knew I was in trouble.
And when we got back, the priest—Father
Tony—spoke to us.
He wasn’t angry. But he was clear.
He told us we had made a bad decision.
He told us there would be consequences.
And he told us because he cared.
At the time, I didn’t fully appreciate it.
I thought, “That’s over. He’ll forget about
it.”
But months later, I was giving a talk on a
retreat, and I mentioned that experience—how I had given in to peer pressure.
Afterward, Father Tony came up to me and said
how much that had stayed with him.
That surprised me.
But that’s
when I began to understand something:
A
priest doesn’t forget his people.
And more importantly,
the Good Shepherd
doesn’t forget His sheep.
That priest
showed me something that day.
I lacked
courage—
I gave in to peer pressure.
But he had
the courage
to speak the truth—
not harshly, but honestly.
He corrected
us…
but he didn’t abandon us.
He stayed
with us.
And without
realizing it at the time,
that moment made a deep impression on me.
Because I
began to see:
this
is what a priest is meant to be
for the parish family.
And maybe…
that was one of the first times
I was hearing the voice of the Shepherd—
even if I didn’t recognize it yet.
As I got
older, there were other voices.
Career.
Relationships.
Plans for the future.
By the time
I was in my early 30s, I had a stable job and what looked like a promising
future.
And that
made the decision harder.
Because I started
asking myself:
“What if I
leave this behind and it doesn’t work out?”
“What if I fail?”
“What if I’m making the wrong decision?”
There were
even moments of irony along the way.
At one
point, I was dating someone who was a faithful Catholic, from a good family—and
her brother was a priest.
And I
remember thinking, I
can’t get away from this.
It was as if
the idea of the priesthood kept coming back into my life—again and
again—sometimes in unexpected ways.
Those are
real experiences of discernment.
But what
finally helped me move forward was this:
I didn’t
need complete certainty.
I just needed the courage to respond.
I came to a
point where I could say:
“Even if
this doesn’t work out… it’s worth trying.”
Because I
believed the Shepherd might be calling me.
And that was
enough.
Another
important part of that process was silence.
I was never
pressured into the priesthood. No one forced me.
But I did
spend time in prayer. I went on retreats. I allowed myself moments of quiet.
And it was
in that silence—not in noise, not in pressure—that I began to recognize God’s
voice more clearly.
Our world is
full of noise and distraction.
But the
voice of the Good Shepherd is usually heard in silence.
A couple of years after I was ordained, I had
an experience that taught me something more about courage—and about following
the Good Shepherd.
I received a call that a family in the parish
had suffered a devastating death in the family.
I was asked to go to their home with another
priest – Father Jim Chern - and be there when they were told.
I was scared. I didn’t feel prepared.
There was no time to get ready.
But I went.
And I followed the lead of the other
priest—watching how he spoke, how he was present, how he stayed with the
family.
And I realized something important:
The Good Shepherd doesn’t call us because we
are ready.
He calls us—and then teaches us how to
follow.
That day, I didn’t have the right words.
But I learned that sometimes vocation is
simply this:
to be present…
to stay…
and to trust that the
Shepherd is leading.
So why did I
become a priest?
Ultimately,
because I wanted to know Jesus Christ—and to follow His voice.
But I didn’t
come to know Him all at once.
I came to
know Him through the life of the Church—through priests, through the
sacraments, through the community of faith… through you.
And looking
back now, I can say it again:
that’s
how I met your mother.
I met Christ
through the Church, who received me, formed me, and taught me how to listen to
His voice.
And that’s
true not just for priests.
It’s true
for all of us.
The Good
Shepherd is still calling.
The question
is:
Are
we listening?
And are we helping others to listen?
As a Church,
we have a responsibility—not to pressure anyone—but to pray for vocations.
To pray that
young people will be open.
To pray that they will recognize the Shepherd’s voice.
To pray that they will have the courage to respond.
So today, I
invite you to do something simple but very important:
Pray
by name.
Think of a
young man in your life—a son, a grandson, a friend, a neighbor—someone with
generosity, with faith, with goodness.
And pray for
him.
Not to force
anything.
Not to decide for him.
But simply
to ask:
“Lord, if
you are calling him, help him to hear your voice.”
Because
Jesus tells us:
“The
harvest is abundant, but the laborers are few.”
So our role
is clear:
Ask
the Lord of the harvest to send laborers.
And to trust
that the Good Shepherd is still calling.
Amen.
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