Rest a while

Winnie the Pooh is a fictional teddy bear created by English author A.A. Milne.

The main character — sometimes called simply Pooh or Edward Bear — is a good-natured, yellow-furred, honey-loving bear who lives in the forest surrounding the Hundred Acre Wood.

His companions are Eeyore, a gloomy gray donkey; Piglet, a timid pig; Owl, a pontificating bird; the meddlesome Rabbit; and Kanga, an energetic kangaroo whose inquisitive baby, Roo, lives in her pouch.

Pooh, a self-described “Bear of Very Little Brain,” gets himself into all kinds of sticky situations.

At one point Piglet inquires of Pooh, “How do you spell love?” Pooh responds, “You don’t spell it, you feel it.”

And might I add, “You do it,” which is what we are celebrating these weeks of Easter — love as a verb.

American author Frederick Buechner writes: “If by some magic you could eliminate the pain you are caused by the pain of someone you love, I for one cannot imagine working such magic because the pain is so much a part of the love that the love would be vastly diminished, unrecognizable, without it.”

“To suffer in love for another’s suffering is to live life not only at its fullest but at its holiest.”

• The passage was originally published in “Now and Then,” published by HarperCollins in 1991.

John B Keane was an Irish playwright who lived in Listowel, Co. Kerry. He wrote some very hard-hitting plays and was a man of deep faith.

Towards the end of his life, John contracted terminal cancer.

Around that time, he was asked on a TV show if he believed in life after death. By way of an answer, he told the following story.

He had a friend, Jack, who lived in Co. Donegal. The trouble was they hadn’t seen each other in years.

One day, John phoned Jack. They arranged to meet in Galway at noon on a particular day, Galway being about halfway between Co. Kerry in the south and Donegal in the north.

As John was about to leave home, his wife said to him, “But you haven’t seen Jack in years. How can you be sure he will show up?”

John responded, “Jack is a reliable man. If he says he’ll be there, he’ll be there.”

Then, turning to the interviewer, he said, “As for your question — I firmly believe that Jesus is a reliable person. He has told us that he has gone to prepare a place for us. He will be there. And so will our loved ones.”

The sculpture of John B Keane stands in the Listowel town square. It was created by father-and-son sculptor team Seamus and James Connolly.

I live in a country where there are 4.5 sheep to every person. Therefore, gospel talk about sheep, shepherds, and sheep gates needs to be taken with a grain of salt.

Today is known as ‘Good Shepherd Sunday’, and each year the gospel reading focuses on some aspect of Jesus as the Good Shepherd.

This year (Year A) it is “I am the gate of the sheepfold” (Jn 10:1–10). Year B: “The good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep” (Jn 10:11–18). Year C: “My sheep hear my voice … I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish” (Jn 10:27–30).

Today Jesus describes himself as a “gate” – try putting that on your CV when applying for a job!

Wikipedia informs us that “gates” may prevent or control the entry or exit of individuals, or they may be merely decorative.

In first-century Palestine, sheep depended completely on their shepherds to care for their needs and lead them to safe pastures. At night, they slept in sheepfolds.

Often the shepherds and their flocks slept out in the countryside, where the sheep pens were made of loosely stacked rocks. These pens had no gate, only a small opening through which the shepherd guided the sheep.

The shepherd then lay down and slept in this opening. Any thief or predator would have to climb over him to gain entrance. In this way, the shepherd became the gate for the sheep – offering both access and protection.

The shepherds literally became the gate to the sheep pen.

I invite you to look closely at today’s image. It is called a “sheep gate”. No matter how fast the car is, nor how much it cost to buy, sheep can bring it to a halt.

No matter how big or sophisticated we consider ourselves to be, nor how much money we hold in our bank account, wander into the presence of Jesus and we will be caught. And, like our Lamborghini, we will be forced to wait and wait …

You did notice that a “sheep gate” can corral a Lamb-orghini as well!

The Curse of Oak Island is a television series following a group of people endeavouring to locate some presumed ancient treasure, supposedly hidden by the Aztecs.

To date, the group has bored holes many feet into the earth and drained a swamp. A metallurgist has walked the island with a metal detector, searching for any material that may give the group a sense of where best to concentrate their efforts.

On a recent programme, one of the team, at the end of a fruitless day, exclaimed, “The journey is the treasure.”

Our Gospel for this Sunday is the familiar story from Luke, commonly known as “The Walk to Emmaus” — Emmaus being a village some seven miles from Jerusalem (Lk 24:13–35).

On a trip to the Holy Land, you can visit all kinds of places. You can visit the Church of the Nativity, the site of Christ’s birth in Bethlehem. You can pray in the Garden of Gethsemane in Jerusalem and attend Mass on Mount Calvary in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

You can pray at the site of the Lord’s Ascension or kneel in Nazareth at the place of the Annunciation. All in all, pilgrims can pray at the sites of all the mysteries of the rosary — save the Coronation.

One place you may not visit, however, is the town of Emmaus.

Search as you might, the location of the village in today’s Gospel has been lost to history. Several sites over many years have been suggested.

While our Gospel tells us the town was seven miles from Jerusalem, the writer does not tell us in which direction to start walking — north, south, east, or west.

Maybe that is the whole point of the story: the walk, not the arrival.

“Are we there yet?” Don’t be in such a hurry — the journey is just as important.

Then we might well notice our hearts burning within us. The recognition will happen not at the end, but while on the journey.

We will not have to wait until we are sitting at table. The recognition has come through a shared walk and a shared storytelling.

The painting is by the Italian Lelio Orsi (1511–1587). Titled “The Walk to Emmaus,” it is part of the collection of the National Gallery, London.