Today’s readings are like echoes from heaven—calling me back from the noise of my life into the tender, unmistakable voice of the Shepherd who never gives up on His sheep. As I reflect on the Scriptures—Acts 13:14, 43–52, Revelation 7:9, 14b–17, and John 10:27–30—I find my spirit stirred with longing, questions, and peace.
There is something in me, and perhaps in all of us, that aches to be understood—to be seen, heard, and known. And in this Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus does not just acknowledge that desire; He satisfies it. He says, “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.” These words are not poetry; they are a promise. They pierce the soul because they remind us that we are not orphans, not accidents wandering through time. We are chosen. We are known. We are His.
But then I ask myself, do I truly hear His voice? In a world where so many voices compete for attention—social media, fear, ambition, insecurity, sin—can I honestly say I still recognize the voice of the Shepherd? Or have I grown used to echoes instead of truth? I think about the days I wake up with my phone in hand before my heart even whispers a word to God. I think about the times I say “Amen” with my lips but don’t mean it with my life. Yet Jesus does not abandon me for these things. He simply calls again… and again… and again. His voice is persistent, gentle, unwavering.
The First Reading from Acts shows Paul and Barnabas rejected by their own people. The pain of rejection is one of the deepest a soul can feel—especially when it comes from those we expect to understand us. Yet they don’t retaliate; they turn to others who are hungry. That is a challenge to me. When I am rejected—by friends, by colleagues, even by those I try to help—do I sulk? Or do I stay obedient and faithful to God’s assignment for my life? I see that being faithful to God's call doesn’t guarantee applause. But it guarantees His presence.
The Second Reading from Revelation is a glimpse of what awaits those who endure. It’s not a fairy tale; it’s a reward soaked in blood, perseverance, and trust. Those wearing white robes did not arrive at joy without tears. “They have washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb.” This line strikes me deeply. It tells me that suffering is not meaningless. Every scar, every lonely night, every unanswered question has a purpose in God’s hands. And someday, all of it will be transformed into worship. God Himself will wipe away every tear. Not an angel, not a prophet—God Himself. What love is this?
In this moment, I’m drawn to imagine myself standing among that multitude in white. Am I one of them? Have I surrendered enough? Do I believe deeply enough that nothing—absolutely nothing—can snatch me from God’s hand?
Jesus seals today’s reflection with one of the most comforting declarations in Scripture: “I give them eternal life… no one can take them out of my hand.” What a promise! Not just protection from danger, but assurance of destiny. Not just comfort in this world, but security for eternity.
There’s a kind of healing in these words that no therapist, no lover, no job promotion could ever bring. Jesus is not offering religion—He’s offering relationship. He is not presenting rules—He is offering rest.
So I sit here today, reflecting, confessing, yearning. I am a sheep that sometimes wanders, but He always finds me. I am a voice that sometimes falls silent, but He always listens. I am a soul that sometimes forgets, but He always remembers.
And so I ask myself:
Have I been too busy to hear His voice?
Too distracted to follow?
Too afraid to trust?
Too wounded to try again?
And I hear His answer—not in thunder, not in fire, but in the stillness of my heart: “You are mine. Come back. I’ve never stopped calling.”
Lord Jesus, help me hear You again.
Help me follow.
Help me trust that Your hand is strong enough for my weakness.
Let me walk among the multitude in white—not because I was perfect, but because I was Yours.
Amen.
Great week ahead...
-MacDonald Ebere, PhD, KSJI
Catechist, Imo State Government House Chapel
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