In the Wilderness, a Shepherd
© The
Reverend Dr. Byron E. Shafer
(Rutgers, December 5, 1999; 2nd
Sunday of Advent, Year B)
Mark 1:1–8 (NT, p. 35); Isaiah
40:1–11 (OT, pp. 740)
This morning's poem from the Book of the prophet Isaiah
contains
themes of death and comfort, of wilderness and perilous places,
of a shepherd
and the human need for one to lead persons safely through.
This
past week our congregation has been mourning the death of
Elder Rodger Wilson, life-partner of Elder James Nicholson.
It was my privilege to have known Rodger for over 20 years,
and to have benefited personally throughout that time
from his remarkable ministry to our entire denomination,
the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.).
Rodger's
ministry among us was, first, that of a prophet.
He was one of the founders, in 1974, of the organization known as
Presbyterians for Lesbian and Gay Concerns, and he was
continually calling on our denomination to embody God's justice
by welcoming and fully including gays and lesbians.
And
Rodger's ministry was, second, that of a
shepherd.
He was constantly working within the wilderness of our denomination
to tend the weary, the flagging, the aching, the lonely, the lost—
those, particularly in the gay and lesbian community,
who were in need of support, comfort, and direction.
Year after year, at our denomination's national assemblies,
Rodger presided over the hospitality suite of
Presbyterians for Lesbian and Gay Concerns,
counseling hundreds through their crises of coming out
and of coping with the injustice within the denomination.
How
providential it seems that in this week of our congregation's
mourning for Rodger, a prophet and shepherd of the church,
our lectionary leads us to this morning's lessons—the first,
an account of John the Baptist, a prophet in the wilderness,
and the second, a poem of hope by a much earlier prophet,
one who lived in the wilderness of an exile far from home,
a poem that bespeaks precisely the themes that
have most been on our minds and hearts this week—
the themes of death and of tender comforting,
of crying out with a prophetic voice
and of preparing the way for God's justice,
of feeding the flock like a shepherd
and of gathering the lambs to one's bosom.
Now,
from the wilderness that is AIDS,
our prophet Rodger has now been gathered into the arms
of his loving Shepherd and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Yet,
in a week such as this, God calls us to focus on
more than just the promise of life to come, as important as that is.
Yes, in a week like this, God calls us also to remember
that in this wilderness that is our world and our denomination,
people desperately need shepherds—need tending and care
by shepherds like Jesus, and like John the Baptist,
shepherds like Rodger, and like us!
Yes, thru these lessons, God reminds us that we, too,
like Jesus, and John the Baptist, and Rodger—
we, too, are called to serve as shepherds, to tend
to persons experiencing any kind of wilderness.
This
morning's poem from the Book of the prophet Isaiah, with
its themes of death and comfort, of wilderness and perilous places,
of a shepherd
and the human need for one to lead persons safely through—
his morning's poem has put me in mind of a much later one
by the great 19th-century British author Matthew Arnold.
This later poem, which Arnold began writing in Nov., 1857,
is entitled Rugby Chapel, &
it lifts up in its distinctive way
the very same cluster of themes we've found in Isaiah 40.
Rugby
Chapel
reflects on the death + life of Matthew Arnold's father,
the Reverend Dr. Thomas Arnold—
one of the great principals of England's Rugby School
and a renowned educational reformer.
In
life, Dr. Arnold was a man of liberal political and theological views,
who encouraged in his students independence of thought
and the study of contemporary, as well as classical, subjects.
Every week, he preached to his students,
speaking of Christian principles and ideals
and bringing direction to their lives.
Following his sudden death in 1842, of heart failure,
he was buried in Rugby Chapel, hence the title
of his son Matthew's poem of remembrance.
Let
me share with you now this profound poetic eulogy to a person
who was for many a source of strength and comfort and direction,
to one who was for many a shepherd in the wilderness of life.
Matthew
Arnold wrote Rugby Chapel in praise of his father,
and in praise of all others who have worn the shepherd's mantle.
Indeed, it is important for you to note in advance that,
although the first parts of the poem are addressed to his father,
the final + climactic section of the poem is addressed not to him
but to the whole company of other heroic shepherds
who have tended humans in need.
So
Arnold would rejoice if we today hear in his poem
praise of a contemporary shepherd, our friend Rodger Wilson.
And
Arnold would especially rejoice if we hear in it as well
a clarion call to ourselves take up the shepherd's mantle
that has now been laid down both by Arnold's father + by Rodger.
So listen, please, to this slightly shortened version of:
Rugby
Chapel
by
Matthew Arnold
[brackets
indicate alterations for inclusiveness of language]
Coldly,
sadly descends
The
autumn-evening. The field
Strewn
with its dank yellow drifts
Of
withered leaves, and the elms
Fade
into dimness apace,
(5)
Silent;
hardly a shout
From
a few boys late at their play!
The
lights come out in the street,
In
the school-room windows; but cold,
Solemn,
unlighted, austere,
(10)
Through
the gathering darkness, arise
The
chapel-walls, in whose bound
Thou,
my father! art laid.
There
thou dost lie, in the gloom
Of
the autumn evening. But ah!
(15)
That
word, gloom, to my mind
Brings
thee back, in the light
Of
thy radiant vigour, again;
In
the gloom of November we passed
Days
not dark at thy side;
(20)
Seasons
impaired not the ray
Of
thy buoyant cheerfulness clear.
Such
thou wast! and I stand
In
the autumn evening, and think
Of
bygone autumns with thee.
(25)
O
strong soul, by what shore
(37)
Tarriest
thou now? For that force,
Surely,
has not been left vain!
Somewhere,
surely, afar,
(40)
In
the sounding labour-house vast
Of
being, is practised that strength,
Zealous,
beneficent, firm!
Yes,
in some far-shining sphere,
Conscious
or not of the past,
(45)
Still
thou performest the word
Of
the Spirit in whom thou dost live—
Prompt,
unwearied, as here!
Still
thou upraisest with zeal
The
humble good from the ground,
(50)
Sternly
repressest the bad!
Still,
like a trumpet, dost rouse
Those
who with half-open eyes
Tread
the border-land dim
'Twixt
vice and virtue; reviv'st,
(55)
Succourest!—this
was thy work,
This
was thy life upon earth.
What
is the course of the life
Of
mortal[s ] on the earth?
Most
[people] eddy about
(60)
Here
and there—eat and drink,
Chatter
and love and hate,
Gather
and squander, are raised
Aloft,
are hurled in the dust,
Striving
blindly, achieving
(65)
Nothing;
and then they die—
Perish;
and no one asks
Who
or what they have been,
(any)
More than [one] asks what waves,
In
the moonlit solitudes mild
(70)
Of
the midmost Ocean, have swelled,
Foamed
for a moment, and gone.
And
there are some, whom a thirst
Ardent,
unquenchable, fires,
Not
with the crowd to be spent,
(75)
Not
without aim to go round
In
an eddy of purposeless dust,
Effort
unmeaning and vain.
Ah
yes! some of us strive
Not
without action to die
(80)
Fruitless,
We,
we have chosen our path—
(84)
Path
to a clear-purposed goal,
Path
of advance!—but it leads
A
long, steep journey, through sunk
Gorges,
o'er mountains in snow.
Cheerful,
with friends, we set forth—
Then,
on the height, comes the storm.
(90)
Havoc
is made in our train!
(101)
Friends,
who set forth at our side,
Falter,
are lost in the storm.
We,
we
strain
on,
(106)
On—and
at nightfall at last
Come
to the end of our way,
To
the lonely inn 'mid the rocks;
Where
the gaunt and taciturn host
(110)
Stands
on the threshold, the wind,
Shaking
his thin white hairs—
Holds
his lantern to scan
Our
storm-beat figures, and asks:
Whom
in our party we bring?
(115)
Whom
we have left in the snow?
Sadly
we answer: We bring
Only
ourselves! we lost
Sight
of the rest in the storm.
(119)
But
thou would'st not alone
(124)
Be
saved, my father! alone
Conquer
and come to thy goal,
Leaving
the rest in the wild.
We
were weary, and we
Fearful,
and we in our march
Fain
to drop down and to die.
(130)
Still
thou turnedst, and still
Beckonedst
the trembler, and still
Gavest
the weary thy hand.
If,
in the paths of the world,
Stones
might have wounded thy feet,
(135)
Toil
or dejection have tried
Thy
spirit, of that we saw
Nothing—to
us thou wast still
Cheerful,
and helpful, and firm!
Therefore
to thee it was given
(140)
Many
to save with thyself;
And,
at the end of thy day,
O
faithful shepherd! to come,
Bringing
thy sheep in thy hand.
And
through thee I believe
(145)
In
the noble and great who are gone;
Yes!
I believe that there lived
(153)
Others
like thee in the past,
Not
like the [ones] of the crowd
Who
all round me to-day
Bluster
or cringe, and make life
Hideous,
and arid, and vile;
But
souls tempered with fire,
Fervent,
heroic, and good,
(160)
Helpers
and friends of [hum'n]kind.
Servants
of God!—or sons
Shall
I not call you? Because
Not
as servants ye knew
Your
Father's innermost mind,
(165)
His,
who unwillingly sees
One
of his little ones lost—
Yours
is the praise, if [hum'n]kind
Hath
not as yet in its march
Fainted,
and fallen, and died!
(170)
See!
In the rocks of the world
Marches
the host of [hum'n]kind,
A
feeble, wavering line.
Where
are they tending?—A God
Marshalled
them, gave them their goal.
(175)
Ah,
but the way is so long!
Sore
thirst plagues them, the rocks,
Rising
all round, overawe;
Factions
divide them, their host
(180)
Threatens
to break, to dissolve.
—Ah,
keep, keep them combined!
Else,
Sole
they shall stray; in the rocks
(185)
Stagger
for ever in vain,
Die
one by one in the waste.
Then,
in such hour of need
Of
your fainting, dispirited race,
Ye,
like angels, appear,
(190)
Radiant
with ardour divine!
Beacons
of hope, ye appear!
Languor
is not in your heart,
Weakness
is not in your word,
Weariness
not on your brow.
(195)
(A)t
your voice,
Panic,
despair, flee away.
Ye
move through the ranks, recall
The
stragglers, refresh the outworn,
Praise,
re-inspire the brave!
(200)
Order,
courage, return.
Eyes
rekindling, and prayers,
Follow
your steps as ye go.
Ye
fill up the gaps in our files,
Strengthen
the wavering line,
(205)
Stablish,
continue our march,
On,
to the bound of the waste,
On,
to the City of God.
(208)
Rodger,
our friend and shepherd,
"If,
in the paths of the world,
Stones
might have wounded thy feet,
(135)
Toil
or dejection have tried
Thy
spirit, of that we saw
Nothing—to
us thou wast still
Cheerful,
and helpful, and firm!
Therefore
to thee it was given
(140)
Many
to save with thyself;
And,
at the end of thy day,
O
faithful shepherd! to come,
Bringing
thy sheep in thy hand."
Rest
in peace, Rodger,
and may we in turn take up your shepherd's mantle
and wear it well!
Let
us pray:
O God, grant that we may not present ourselves
at the inn of Your heavenly gate alone.
Grant
that tending to others and extending to the weary our hand may be the work of
our lives.
Grant
that by the end of our days
we shall have brought many sheep to Your fold.
In
the name of Christ, we pray. Amen.
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