Beyond the None Zone

Fully a quarter of Americans, in recent surveys, identified with no formal religious affiliation at all. Instead, given the choice, they selected the option “none”. This led to interpretation of the data for its political implications, famously in the book “Religion and Public Life in the Pacific Northwest: The None Zone”, Patricia O'Connell Killen and Mark Silk, editors (AltaMira Press, 2004). Nowadays we may not say that religion does not matter in public life or politics. Indeed, people are religious, it’s human nature; what changes is how and whether they express their beliefs in eternal verities. We may no longer or may never have expressed our deepest values and most profound convictions in conventional denominational or communal terms. We do however find ways to show, to reveal, and to act upon what truths we hold most sacred, in our public life and private expressions. The challenge is how to match them up, and to expose them to scrutiny. Lent is a good time to do this. So is the daily practice of examining how our lives show our values. We might ask: Where does God show up in my life today? Where is God in this moment, this interaction, this experience? What have I done to provoke myself into holiness? Holiness, I take it, is the goal beyond which we dare not go, even dare to aspire to: but in small moments of daily life, it can come upon us unawares. Perhaps not in ourselves, perhaps not in others, but in the shape of the clouds lofting across the face of the mountains, the sun on the peaks, the dew on the grass, the coo of the doves. The kindness of neighbors, and strangers. Maybe this is where we need to look, for God, for the spiritual, to show presence in our lives.

Believing, Behaving, Belonging

We cannot be again the church (or the society) we were or thought we were, but we can become the church (and the society) that we are called to become.

Recently I listened to a series of presentations by church historian and sociologist of religion Diana Butler Bass, who described three B’s that are often used in “Religion 101” courses (she taught at UC Santa Barbara) to categorize religions, and religious people. They are: Belonging, Behaving, and Believing. 

Traditionally – back in the good old days (when she and I were young) – these categories were formal and institutional in the lives of many Americans. Belonging traditionally included membership, even card-carrying membership, in various organizations and institutions. Examples include voluntary associations like the Lions Club or the bowling league, as well as political parties, and — denominations. Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Methodist, Baptist, Congregationalist, Roman Catholic, etc., as well as Jewish organizations. Dr Bass mentioned “the letters” that pastors received back then, as individual parishioners requested formal transfer of their membership from one congregation to another. These are seldom seen any more. 

Behaving, for someone involved in the traditional religious circumstances of the recent past, could require adherence to specific, overt or implicit, rules of behavior, often connected to their church tradition. Do bees and don’t bees, Goofus and Gallant, et al., taught us how to behave and not to behave. There were rules.

Believing, again, was explicit and systematized, institutionalized and organized. The Ten Commandments and the Apostles’ Creed occupied large plaques at the front of many Episcopal churches. The Bible and the Book of Common Prayer were the documents referred to as formally containing the doctrine of the Anglican Communion (of which the Episcopal Church in the United States is a part). Other churches had other specific doctrines or authorities: the priesthood of all believers, the primacy of the Pope, justification through faith, etc. 

More recently Americans have become aware of another way of looking at faith, at believing, behaving, and belonging. In some ways we discover - and uncover - what we believe by what we do, how we behave, and with whom we belong. It is said, for example, that many among younger generations and age cohorts are more inclined to see themselves as belonging to groups of friends, and to family, which maintains its importance. Religious affiliations are more informal and relational as well. “Denominations are kaput” is a dire way to put it, but the institutional structures of the past mean less than they used to. 

What do we believe? What we experience is mediated by our tradition, our relationships, our memories, and our situations in life, and how we understand that experience helps us express what we believe, in what we say and in what we do.

How do we behave? Much as humans always have, and this is something to be celebrated. We show up for each other. The rules and expectations may not be as explicit or institutional but more relational. We care. The challenge is to care about others, and know our tribe, our clan, our family, is larger than the people we know or from whom we derive direct economic benefit. Being part of a denomination means that we can celebrate with total strangers who know the same hymns. Being part of a worldwide denomination means responding to human needs around the world and across the street. But that is part of being neighbors and co-religionists. And that is part of being human, too.

So how do we belong, and to whom? What does it mean to belong? Often through relationships with friends, family, work colleagues; some indeed online or by telephone or correspondence, but still also among the people we see regularly, in our home town or on the road. We show up for each other, as humans have for ever. Just don’t expect the singing to be as good on zoom. 

The Rev. Dr. John Leech is a priest associate at the Episcopal Church of Saint Matthew in Tucson, and a frequent guest preacher at other churches throughout Southern Arizona.

An edited version of this meditation appears on page E3 of the Arizona Daily Star, Sunday February 11th 2024, on the Keeping the Faith page of the Home + Life section.

call and response

Come and see...

Forty-three years ago on January 15th it was snowing in Washington, D.C. It was a light snow, falling gently through a gray sky. A co-worker and I were walking across the National Mall at lunchtime. Just past the Washington Monument we came upon a small gathering – small by National Mall standards.

There were thirty or forty thousand people standing in the snow, listening to Elihu Harris and other representatives from Congress, to celebrate the birthday of Martin Luther King, Jr., and to remind us what he meant to our nation and the world.

Stevie Wonder was there too and he sang a new song to Martin, written for the occasion: “Happy Birthday.” We can still sing the song – and now we have a holiday – Martin Luther King Day.

But why talk about Martin on a winter Sunday in Tucson, Arizona, forty-three years later?

The gospel reading for  the second Sunday after the Epiphany, John 1:43-51, is about the calling of Jesus’ first disciples … and that is exactly why! On this Sunday we hear how Jesus met Philip and Nathanael, and invited them into his ministry.

“Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, ‘Follow me’ … Philip found Nathanael and said to him, ‘We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.’ Nathanael said to him, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?" Philip said to him, ‘Come and see.’” (John 1: 43, 45-46)

Nathanael was from then on the quietly faithful one – we only hear his name again in the accounts of the Resurrection. Philip is the one who broke the news of the Messiah to the nations, by teaching the Ethiopian eunuch, vizier to the queen of the Ethiopians, all about Jesus, and baptizing him then and there. For all we know that the Ethiopian, who went on his way rejoicing, was the first to bring the gospel to Africa. Well done, Philip. Good and faithful, Nathanael.

What does this have to do with Martin – and you and me?

Well, in 1955 Martin was a fairly successful preacher, who had recently taken a pretty good job at a nice church in Montgomery, Alabama. Maybe the disciples Philip and Nathanael had pretty good lives too. But they seemed to be searching for something – or someone – more. So, as Philip told Nathanael – “we have found the one – the one we have been searching for.”

I suspect Martin was searching for something too. And it found him!

Rosa Parks in 1955 was a faithful, church-going lady, who rode the bus to work in the morning, and rode it home again at the end of the day. If you have ever been sitting on a crowded bus late in the evening, ready to go home, when one of these ladies comes down the aisle looking for a place to rest her feet, you know what tired looks like.

But back then, in Montgomery, Alabama, you had to move to the rear of the bus unless you were white. And if you weren’t white, and a white person wanted your seat, you had to get up and give it to them.

But this time, in December 1955, something happened.

Mrs. Parks sat down. She sat down in the front part of the bus. Even though she was black.

The driver told her to move. A white person wanted her seat. She did not get up.

Soon it was all over town.

“Everybody can sit anywhere on the bus – or we won’t be on it at all.”

This caused some consternation – throughout the community.

And Martin Luther King, as a respected local pastor, was asked to speak – to say why. Why justice needs to roll down like a river just as much as buses need to roll down the street.

Since that day things began to change – for Martin, who was called to something more than Sunday-morning piety, more than success, to preach good news to the poor and justice to the mistreated.

And things began to change – for the people of Alabama – and for us, too.

What had happened? Martin had stood in his pulpit in front of the church facing his congregation. But now he and his church were facing outward – toward the world, where they were needed, where their witness was needed: their hearts, their hands, their faith, their prayers, their walk with the Lord hand in hand with the people of their city.

Like Philip and Nathanael, we seek something more, we are called to something more, than simply to be “Israelites” of no guile.

Like Martin we are called to something greater than our own success.

Even – like Rosa we are called to put aside our own quiet life – and join something larger. We call it the Kingdom of God. So the calling and the challenge come to us in our time:

What is the Kingdom of God to look like here and now? How will we seek it?

JRL+ Come and see…. 

• 1 Samuel 3:1-10(11-20)
• 1 Corinthians 6:12-20
• John 1:43-51
• Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17

calling

Samuel. 

Here I am.

Samuel.

Imagine.

A boy. Alone. 

In a cold room.

Not alone. Not dark. Not really.

There is a dim lamp, still just burning. It hasn’t gone out yet.

So you can see, a glimpse, of what else is in the room. What else is in that room, but not in any other.

The Ark of the Covenant. 

Alone. But not alone. 

There is a voice.

It is not the voice of the old man. After all.

He heard the voice three times. Three times the old man said, I did not call you, go back to sleep. He tried. But the voice persisted. 

Samuel.

And the old man finally understood.

This old strange room where nothing unexpected happened, not for a long time. Where the routine had gone on for a long time, as if it would matter. Routine duties performed routinely.

The boy had learned the routine. He had routine duties, chores. Later that day, when it was day, he would open the door. Perhaps he swept the place out. Found oil for the lamp. Cleaned up after the sacrifices. But nothing happened. Nothing unexpected. Nothing unwanted. It was not as if the LORD were really there. Was it?

Samuel.

And the old man understood.

It was the LORD. The LORD was calling the boy.

It was not calling the old man, the high priest, or his wayward sons, his heirs to the post. No, his family was done.

This was something new, and very old.

Take off your shoes for this is holy ground. 

Here in this dark room in the middle of the night, where you might most expect it, and expected it the least.

It had been a long time since anyone had heard from God, and God had heard from anyone.

But now, 

Samuel.

And so the old man said, say something back. Say, here I am, LORD, your servant is listening. And the boy did.

And so it began. The LORD had something to tell him that day. A message for him to pass on. Something not so pleasant, but something true. And the boy said it. 

And it came to pass. And the boy grew up, and continued to say, and do, the things the LORD commanded, pleasant or no.

Among other things he anointed a king.  He found a young man, the youngest of eight brothers, and brought him out from among the flock he had been tending, and – from now on you will be shepherding people.

Centuries later it was just a story. A good story, but nevertheless. Shepherding people. Where was that shepherd king now? Now that we needed him. But what we had was an occupier. A terrifying overwhelming military force. There was no king, but Caesar. 

Was there? 

“We have found him.”

We have found the anointed one, the one to take the place of that ancient story. We have, and you should come see.

There were people by the side of a lake, mending nets. And to them came the man. From now on you will be fishing for people.

That ancient story was not so ancient anymore. The boy who had been tending sheep was pulled away to be king. The people who had been mending nets were pulled away to serve a king.

Not a king like any other, of course. Not one you could quickly see, as king. He was an ordinary man, maybe good looking (as that young shepherd had been), probably sweaty from hard days working as a carpenter’s son. Calloused hands. Dirty feet. 

Compelling voice. 

Not “Samuel” this time. But names came nevertheless. 

“Philip.” “Nathanael.” And “James” and “John” and “Andrew” and “Peter” and all the rest that followed.

Follow me, he said. Follow me, and the world will change. 

Follow me, and your life will change. 

And from that, all else will follow.

***

Come and see.

And from that all else would follow.

Those simple fishermen, as the song says, were the first. 

The first of many, from that small group of people, men and women and children in small villages by a small sea, and in the hills around, the message would spread. 

And become dangerous. And change things.

We should not be afraid, should we, if one small boy who slept in the dark cold strange sanctuary of the forgotten God, was not afraid, not afraid enough not to answer. 

We should not be afraid, should we, if a couple of guys hanging out by the beach a man approaches and says, I know what you were doing, I saw you, and now I call you.

We should not be afraid, should we, if the sanctuary lamp is nearly out, but not yet, if the occupation troops are nearby, if the Messiah has been expected for two thousand years, to come back, to us, in the silence of the midnight temple, in the glare of the lakeside beaches, in the simple moments of ordinary lives, made extraordinary, by that calm voice calling once more, should we?

Should we then be afraid if like old Eli we do not hear the voice, if like others we do not see the man, or hear his call, or have him come to us along the lakeshore as of old? 

We should not be afraid, should we, if we simply have the message, the news, the need, to be the ones to follow? 

Our task, our calling, our charge, is not so simple, or so scary, as the calling of Samuel in the Temple, David in the fields, or the disciples at the lakeshore. Perhaps. We are not often called to leave everything, at once or over time, that we have known, to strike out in a new direction, with new responsibilities and burdens. 

Sometimes a new calling would be a relief. Leave those nets un-mended, leave those sheep untended. Let that lamp go out. Drop everything and just – go. Light out for the territories. Pump the gas, fill the tires, wipe the windshield, and throw away the map. 

But it does not always work that way, does it? Perhaps not even for those disciples, those followers, that prophet, that king.

Samuel still had to sweep the temple, open the door, tend the lamp. But now he also had to tell the truth, the uncommon truth, uncomfortable truth, that he had to tell.

David could leave the sheep on the hill, but now he had to put up with Saul, with the onerous scut work duties of an apprentice king who could not call himself king or reveal himself king – if he knew himself that was his calling.

Philip, Nathanael, Andrew, Peter, James, John – they had a task to learn, a duty to fulfill, one no one had done before. Nobody had been in this situation before. The Messiah had not come before. (Keep it quiet!) 

Nobody has been in our situation before either. 

The lamp kept trimmed and burning, or sputtering out. The people demanding a king who get a shepherd boy.

The fishermen who expect nothing good out of Nazareth.

Would not we like they like things to be the way they were before? Before the pandemic, before the lost job, before the fall, before the call? But we too are called, perhaps not so simply or dramatically, perhaps not all at once, perhaps not so painfully, but we are called, too, to follow, as the first disciples were, to tell the truth, as the prophet was, to look after people, as the shepherd was. 

All of those, all of their duties and callings, are in us too, as the people of God. Together we have all those duties, those callings, and more: we have the tasks before us for our day.

How will we tend his sheep, fish for people, tell the truth? 

That is our challenge, to find out, and follow, today.

JRL+

Epiphany

STAR OF WONDER

We watched the skies. We looked for signs, for wonders; we looked for something in the heavens that was telling us, here on earth, that things were going to change. (We knew they had to.) At the Center for Portentous Phenomena, somewhere east of Jerusalem, we all saw something in the sky - and we came to an agreement: it must mean something of great significance.

The royal planet Jupiter and the planet we associated with the Hebrew People, Saturn, were in alignment three times in the year now known as 7 B.C.E. Three times: Hello! Hello! Hello! “We get the message,” we said, and we set out: for the royal city of the Jews.

We had been following that star for a very long way and we thought we knew what it meant. Across mountain passes filled with untimely snow, across grasslands and along river valleys and into the high desert, across and along the river Jordan and finally up the hill to the summit of the holy mountain - to the city of Zion, the city of (we thought) the kings of the Jews.

That was as far as we got but now we were in the dark.

Politely we inquired of the man in charge: where shall we find him? Where shall we find the one born king of the Jews? For we have been following - his star. (Not yours, pal.)

Oh, he said so politely, is it now? Well tell you what, when you find it, you let me know. I'll be right there - with bells on.

That smelled like dead fish.

But they had clued us in: this may be the royal city, now, but it is not always so: for as the prophet Micah has told us, Bethlehem is not least among the cities of Judah, for from her shall come the greatest of kings: Bethlehem - the city of the shepherd who was king, the city of David.

And so we went.

And then there it was again: that star. We had seen its rising; we are seeing it still. The sign, at last! There was a showing forth of the glorious grace of God: he has sent his king.

And we went into the town of Bethlehem, and inquired at all the right places. And then we were tired, and our camels needed rest.

So we turned their heads toward the caravansary, the place where all the long-distance travelers kept their animals and themselves, to find a place for ourselves in a wayfarers' inn, and, in the stables, a trough at which our animals could feed.

We had looked in all the right places, hadn't we? Among the great we had been courteous, and we had been inquiring minds following the clue of the prophets. And yet - here we were, at the end of our journey, and nothing in the world to show for it.

But there.

There, where we led the camels and the horses to water and food, there we found him. It was a baby, lying in the manger.

An ordinary baby. Of course! We had been looking for the love of God in extraordinary places - well, in this place here it was, in an ordinary looking family in an extraordinary situation. The love was there.

We must have been quite a sight! An eyeful for the caravan men, the stable hands, and the drovers: for you see, we had brought the gifts with us. And we, when we realized what we beheld, had run back and put on our best robes, to present the gifts and ourselves, to give him the honor that was his due - for this baby was the king we sought.

If we had been shepherds we might have brought him lambs' wool or goats' milk, or cheese; as we were wise in the ways of the skies we brought what they had told us, what they had led us to expect...

We carried with us the best gifts of our homelands: frankincense and gold, royal gifts - just as Micah had prophesied! - And one more, one we presented with some trepidation to the young family, myrrh. But the mother nodded: she knew.

And we knew.

And yet we all know something more: he is with us. He is still with us.

And still he calls us, draws us onward, to follow his star, to see the light shining in the darkest night, the light that the darkness has not, will not, cannot, overcome: the light of the love of God.

Come on! He leads us. And we follow. Amen. 

JRL+ 

• Isaiah 60:1-6
• Ephesians 3:1-12
• Matthew 2:1-12
• Psalm 72:1-7,10-14

Epiphanytide

Have you ever experienced an epiphany? Epiphanies are showings, revelations, appearances. They are God-sightings, times God shows up and transforms lives among us. 

On the Sundays of the season of Epiphany, which runs from January 6th to just before Lent, the Gospel lessons relate a series of epiphanies. The Gospel tells of times the Holy Spirit revealed that God is present in Christ. 

The season of Epiphany, or Epiphanies if you will, begins with the visit of the Magi - wise people from the East. There are three of them, generally, in pictures we see: and they are visiting three ordinary-looking people, a father, a mother, and a tiny infant.

Around them - at least in manger scenes - may also be shepherds and angels. But the essential image is three beholding three, and finding in that beholding a revelation of the mystery of Christ: that God has come down to us and become one of us, in order to bring us salvation.

The next Sunday we remember and celebrate the Baptism of our Lord. When Jesus came up out of the water a voice from heaven was saying, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I take delight.” (Matthew 3:17) Soon Jesus himself proclaims the words of the prophet, come true: “The people that lived in darkness have seen a great light.” (Cf. Isaiah 9:1-2) It is then that he begins to call disciples to follow him. (Matthew 4:19)

In the first few weeks of Epiphany the focus of the gospel is on Jesus, and discoveries of who he is. In his sermon on the mount, Jesus himself begins to turn the camera around. He shows the people God is at work in the world around them – and, as they begin to live as citizens of the kingdom of heaven, they begin to see Jesus at work in their own lives.

Somehow in the very struggle, the pain, even the persecution, that believers endure in this life, God is present - he is there, he is here, God is with us. In the middle of darkness there is a light shining that it cannot smother; in the middle of despair there is hope; in the middle of doubt, faith; in the middle of sorrow, joy. How can this be - unless God reigns?

In the middle of the Epiphany season there is a special celebration, which recalls our Christmas festivities. It is the feast of the Presentation of our Lord in the Temple (Candlemas or Candelaria). As the Christ Child is dedicated, Anna and Simeon, old and faithful people who have been awaiting this event, look on and praise God for sending salvation to his people.

The season of Epiphany ends with three beholding three again: the Transfiguration. On a mountaintop Peter, John, and James witness the meeting of Moses, Elijah, and Jesus. 

It’s a strange moment. It’s a moment when a man they thought they knew becomes, before his friend’s eyes, a living, visible revelation of God’s glory. Moses saw it; Elijah proclaimed it; Jesus - is it!

The disciples see Jesus’ face shine: he is clothed in white, radiant, transfigured; bathed in the light of the glory of God. A voice proclaims: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I take delight: listen to him.” (Matthew 17:5) These words hearken back to the beginning of his ministry and the purpose of his life – and call us forward to the fulfillment of time.

He is changed – but still their friend, he is awesome and intimate in one. No wonder they are astonished, no wonder they are afraid, no wonder they are for a moment demobilized: but Jesus comes to them, gently calling: “Stand up; do not be afraid.” (Matthew 17:7) And together they descend the mountain, to the world’s ordinary time.

Jesus exhorts us: Be that light; be the presence of God. Be the Good News of Jesus Christ - in your neighborhood, your city, and your school; in the desert or on the mountain; in your solitude and in the community. You cannot hide a city set upon a hill; let your light shine before people. Rejoice and be glad! “You are light for all the world.” (Matthew 5:14)

Let that light shine in all you do – as Jesus shone on the mountain. Don’t be afraid: God will turn fear into courage. All you can do is this: “Put first in your mind God’s kingdom and his justice; the rest will come.” (Matthew 6:33)

So we, showing Jesus in our lives, are sharing in these moments of Epiphany, these God-sightings in troubled times when God is mostly likely to show up, and come to us, gently calling, “do not be afraid”, and helping us get onto our feet again and walk with him.

Christ extends his hands to us as he did to those frightened men - and bids us rise. Let us, then, come to know and share God’s love with all people.

JRL+ 

Epiphany, Presentation, Transfiguration 2024

Christmas

One Christmas I got something unexpected in the mail – a shoebox, for women’s pumps, black, size 7-1/2 B.

Inside the box were three half-pound packages of coffee from Old Bisbee Roasters.

There was also a Christmas card. The outside had a cartoon of a little boy, presumably in a Christmas pageant, with a blanket on his head. It was captioned “What Christmas is really about.” Linus, Charlie Brown’s little brother, was reciting from the 2nd chapter of the Gospel of Luke:

“And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them… And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.”

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us." So they went with haste…

The shepherds are not passive viewers; they take an active part in the story. And this is their action moment, when they speak, “Let us go down to Bethlehem…” and move toward the promised Child.

What did they go into the City of David to see?

Was the Child a nascent hero, like Hercules? Children’s books say that when Hercules was a baby he was already a superhero. He strangled snakes in his cradle. And who knows what he got up to when he began to walk – but:

The Christ Child was not Superbaby—he was a real baby. He was vulnerable and soft. His surroundings, warm and fragrant from the animals, were none of his choosing. He was dependent on those around him. Joseph and Mary looked after him. But as we know from the story of the shepherds, he was already drawing toward him those who sought the peace of God.

There in the City of David the Shepherd-king of old, not in a wayfarer’s inn but in a stable, there the King of all shepherds in a manger lay, offering himself as manna, bread of heaven, bread in the wilderness, bread of life – offering himself in obedience and offering that obedience as savior of all; and offering that obedience, to all, as the way that salvation led.

He was the promised Child, the shepherd-king of Isaiah 40:

“Comfort, oh comfort My people, Says your God….

“Like a shepherd He pastures His flock: He gathers the lambs in His arms

And carries them in His bosom; Gently He drives the mother sheep.”

(Isaiah 40:1,11 JPS)

Long ago and far, far away another shepherd abiding in the fields was keeping watch over the flocks by night: Cuthbert, a young man of 9th century Northumbria in northern England. He used to sing the psalms to the sheep at night.

And then one night, at the age of eighteen, he had a vision, or perhaps a dream, and the next morning he went over the hills to Melrose Abbey, where he became a monk. The story goes that that was the very night when Aidan, founder of Lindisfarne Priory on Holy Island, had died.

After some years as a monk, Cuthbert was sent to take Aidan’s place. And so he traveled, on what pilgrims now call Cuthbert’s Way, over the hills again, to Holy Island. There he found behind the priory a beach and across a small inlet of the North Sea a very small rocky islet. At night when the tide was low he would wade out to it, gaze back across the water to the priory where the monks were sleeping, and as they slept he would sing the psalms. “Like a shepherd he pastures his flock…”

The call to Melrose Abbey and the call to the priory on Lindisfarne were moments of decision for Cuthbert. He took action, and got involved in the story. He became a shepherd of men. In doing so, he recalled to mind the Lord that he served – that we serve: Jesus, the Good Shepherd.

The same Lord calls each of us – from field or from home – to come witness the coming of the Christ Child, to adore him, to receive him into our hearts, to share in his life – the fulfillment of the promise of ages – and to bring to the world hope and peace, joy and love, justice and mercy.

The shepherds of Bethlehem went over the hills and into town to see if Jesus really was the Messiah they’d been waiting for. And they found him:

The Shepherd King,

Who calls each of us by name,

Who watches over his flock,

And sings to them of Paradise.

JRL+ 

"Being called to action," an edited version of this meditation, was printed in the Arizona Daily Star, in the Keeping the Faith feature of the Home + Life section, on Sunday 31 December 2023, page E3... and posted on their website under the heading, "Being called to action by the Lord" (https://tucson.com/life-entertainment/local/faith-values/being-called-to-action-by-the-lord/article_fc6a6ec8-a413-11ee-84b2-033d49e48be7.html).