At a certain point in seminary training you have to learn how to give a homily, and how to interpret the scriptures to give that homily. And so, the professor assigned us to preach on a parable of the Lord Jesus, because they’re fairly easy to preach on. One enterprising young man got up and said to all of us gathered to listen, “What Jesus was trying to say, here in this parable…” And the whole classroom burst into laughter. Except the professor, he didn’t think it was so funny. And the young man didn’t realize what was funny about it. “What Jesus was trying to say,” as though Jesus doesn’t say it very well, and needs an interpreter.

And that’s the case with today’s gospel. The extended metaphor of the vine and the branches is so plain, so easy to understand, that it does not bear commentary by any of us mere mortals. I’ll say just three things. Within the parable, there are words of comfort, words of encouragement, and words of warning.

Although this is Good Shepherd Sunday, I was drawn to the opening line of today’s second reading, because it’s one of my favorites. “See what love the Father has bestowed on us, that we may be called the children of God, yet so we are.”

I wanted to put a picture on the front of this week’s bulletin that reflected that line in scripture, and thereby hangs the tale. This is the cover I came up with. It shows people of every ethnicity. I didn’t want to use photographs, because photographs are too particular. I wanted an artist’s rendering. And I didn’t want all little children; I wanted people of various ages that represented pretty much the world as we know it today.

“And now, the end is near, and so I face the final curtain. My friend, I’ll say it clear. I’ll state my case of which I’m certain. I lived a life that’s full. I traveled each and every highway. And more, much more than this, I did it my way.” So this song is a journey song. “Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention. I did what I had to do. I saw it through, without exemption. I planned a charted course, each careful step along the byway. And more, much more than this, I did it my way.”

Frank Sinatra was not what most people considered an exemplary Catholic. Just like the other big crooner of his generation, Bing Crosby, Frank played a priest in at least two movies. In one of them, he was your friendly neighborhood pastor, and in the other one he was a troubled man on mission in a place about to be destroyed. But he divorced his first wife, married at least two more times. He was a known associate of criminals. And he appeared, at times, to have a violent streak. What most people may not know about him is that, later on in his life, he reconciled with the church, very quietly, was able to get a decree of nullity, married his last wife. His charitable giving, which had been extravagant, but hit and miss, became much more consistent, much more generous. And he died a respected public figure and a loyal son of the church.

“Ring around the rosie, pockets full of posies, ashes, ashes, all fall down.” When we were little kids, we used to play that game. I don’t think it’s much fun after you get past the age of six. But I can remember, still, a bunch of us holding hands and circling like crazy around one person in the middle until we got dizzy and then we all fell down. And then it was someone else’s turn to be in the middle, we did it again, until we’d exhausted ourselves. I don’t know if children play that game anymore, but we never knew, when we played the game, what a grim origin that little poem had.

It’s really “Ring around a rosey” is what begins it. It refers to the bubonic plague that decimated London in the sixteenth century. It begins as red blotches all over your skin. That’s the rosey. Now a little ring appears around it and it begins to fester, and smells terrible. That’s why the “pocket full of posies” - people put flowers in every pocket they had to try to offset the stench, until it became unbearable. And then, they “all fell down” - they were dead. And because so many were dying at the same time, all the public officials could do was put the bodies dreadful in big heaps and burn them, to try to stop the infection.

Very often, stories change from their original meaning to another meaning. In this case it went from a grim reality to a funny little kids’ game. Sometimes it switches and goes the other way.

This has been a difficult year for all of us. For some more than others. I’d like you to just sit back. Let your body relax. Take a deep breath or two. If you want to, close your eyes. If not, there are beautiful things here in the sanctuary that you can look at as I speak.

Jesus lies on a slab of stone inside Nicodemus’ tomb. He is wrapped loosely in a burial shroud - loosely because it was too late on Friday to complete the binding of mummification. A piece of cloth covers His face. The air inside is cold and damp. It is pitch black.

There is the sound of stone grating on stone. Slowly, the dim light of early morning begins to filter into the corners of the tomb. Jesus stirs. First He smells the scent of His own breath. “Why,” He wonders, “does it feel so close?” Then He feels the soft, textured linen covering His face. It itches slightly. Instinctively, He shakes His head to free himself.  The covering falls to the floor beside Him. He blinks His eyes, trying to focus in the dark. “Where am I,” He wonders.

Which famous novel do you think has been put on film more than any other? Would you believe it’s “Dracula” by Bram Stoker? There are sixty-two film versions of the story.

When a popular book is made into a movie, there are several choices that the producer and director have. They can cling to the storyline fiercely. They can keep all the main characters and some of the main events, and alter the others. They can just take the names out of the book and create their own fantasy about the characters. There are all sorts of things that they can do.

I tell you that because it’s important to understand that kind of literary license if you’re going to understand the gospels. There are only four of them. But they were the leading edge of media in the first century. Many, many people could not read, and many more could not write. Writing was rare. It was expensive. It was time consuming. You dare not make a mistake, because then you would have to destroy a whole scroll and start over. And yet, between the latter part of the sixties and the year one hundred, there were many gospels produced - probably eight or nine of them - four of which we call the canonical gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.