Sermon based on the RCL readings for July 21, 2024, especially Mark 6:30-56, and inspired by the chapter on “Encircling” in the book The Soul’s Slow Ripening by Christine Valters Painter.
There used to be a quiz show on NPR called “Whad’ya Know?”—it started forever ago, in 1985, and I just learned that the show went off the air in 2016, which also seems like forever ago, a different world. On “What’ya Know?” the players could pick from six categories: Current Events, People, Places, Science, Odds and Ends, and my favorite, “Things You Should Have Learned in School (Had You Been Paying Attention).” Kids, let me tell you: pay attention in school, because seriously, you never know when you’re going to be able to use something you think is totally pointless. Maybe in your job, or maybe on a radio quiz show, or maybe when you get a chance to do pulpit supply.
Because the spiritual practice we are talking about today reminds me of one of the things I actually paid attention to in school. I will never forget one of my English teachers telling us that whenever a writer writes about water or about circles, pay attention, because water and circles are always a symbol of something. You can probably think of several Bible stories about water—God separating the waters at creation. Moses getting water from a rock. Jesus turning water into wine. His baptism in the River Jordan. The water that flowed from his side at the crucifixion. Water is a symbol of life, and of the cycle of life, from birth to death.
It’s a harder to think of biblical examples of circles. I figured I was just being dense about this, so I did a quick online search. Apparently, there are 628 Old and New Testament verses that use the word “water,” and six that use the word “circle.” But we know about the symbolism of circles. Circles represent timelessness or eternity—there is no beginning or end. Circles represent completion or perfection—there is no break. Circles represent wholeness or unity—to be honest, I did not pay great attention in geometry class, but one geometry website I found explained that a circle encompasses every regular polygon shape. Imagine a triangle, then a square, a hexagon, an octagon, any shape with equal sides—you can keep adding sides forever, infinitely, and the circle will still hold it perfectly. If you’re a bulletin doodler like me, you have my permission to test this.
Circles show up often in literature and in life, even if the word does not appear a whole lot in the Bible. We recognize the symbol of a circle in wedding rings, symbol of unity and unending love. We recognize it in hands turning around a clock, symbol of the cycle of time. We recognize it in the face of a compass or in the path of a labyrinth, symbols of a world that is whole, even when it doesn’t feel that way. The biblical mentions of circles include a boundary around an area of land, an army strategically circling the enemy, a family unit, and three about God’s act of creation. Like Job 26:10 that says, “God has described a circle on the face of the waters, at the boundary between light and darkness.”
So you may be wondering why you listened to a very long Scripture reading this morning that did not include a single mention of circles. It would’ve really helped my sermon preparations if Jesus had taught his disciples an object lesson using a wheel or the sun or a round table or a bowl. But in Mark 6, Jesus has other concerns than literary symbolism. Frankly, he’s tired. And his disciples are tired. Just before this, Jesus had been traveling to villages around Nazareth, teaching. He sent his followers out in pairs to minister in his name. Jesus had become so well-known that King Herod had heard of him, and the Gospel of Mark fills us in on a piece of old news, that Herod has killed John the Baptist. Now Herod is afraid that Jesus is John, come back from the dead.
This is where our Scripture today picks up the story. The apostles return from their journey of teaching and healing, and they’re worn out. Mark says, “they had no leisure even to eat.” So Jesus takes them on retreat. They get into a boat to go to a “deserted place by themselves,” but when the boat reaches the other shore, at the place that was supposed to be deserted—surprise!—there’s a huge crowd of people waiting for them. Mark says people from all the towns had “hurried there on foot” and got there ahead of them. I can just imagine the disciples’ reaction, can’t you? Now they’re tired and hungry and probably hangry! But Jesus “had compassion” on the people, “because they were like sheep without a shepherd.” So he starts teaching them, in spite of his own exhaustion, in spite of the fact that the disciples had been too busy to eat. The people are so hungry for his teaching that he keeps going past dinnertime. And then comes a story you’ve likely heard before: Jesus performs a miracle and turns five loaves of bread and two fish into a meal for five thousand people, and at the end there are 12 baskets of leftovers—that’s enough that each of the hungry disciples can have a whole basket of food. Finally.
Then, when dinner’s over, Jesus sends the crowds home and sends the disciples back out on the boat, and he retreats alone to pray. But from a distance he sees the disciples struggling to row their boat in rough wind, so he walks out on the water to meet them. The disciples are terrified when they think they see a ghost coming toward them on the water! But immediately, Jesus speaks. He says, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid,” then he climbs in the boat and the wind calms down. Remember what my old English teacher said about the two things to pay attention to—I’ll let you ponder the symbolism of water in this story—
At last, Jesus and the disciples reach shore again and again there are people coming from all over to meet them, bringing sick people for healing. In all this, it’d have been really nice if there was just one good mention of a circle. Still, maybe we can recognize God’s faithful encircling of the disciples and the people.
But first, let’s take a side trip to Ireland. All the practices we’ve been considering this summer have roots in Celtic Christianity, the spirituality of early Christians in lands like Ireland and Wales. The Celtic spiritual practice of encircling prayer has been handed down for more than a thousand years. This is a specific prayer for God’s protection, claiming and naming God’s presence on every side. We prayed one encircling prayer earlier in the service; it’s known as the Breastplate of Saint Patrick. Its link to the fifth-century Saint Patrick himself is iffy, but this prayer has been in use in some form since at least the eighth century—well over a thousand years. If you look back at the words in your worship guide, you can see how this prayer describes the circle of divine presence: Christ behind me, Christ before me, Christ beside me, Christ above me. The ancient Celtic Christians sometimes even acted out encircling prayers physically, stretching one hand toward the ground and slowly turning around, drawing an imaginary circle around themselves as they called upon God’s presence. This encircling prayer is known as a lorica (or loRIca, or in Latin loREEca).
This all sounds pretty mystical, like it belongs shrouded in the mists of ancient Ireland rather than in the pews of a 21st-century midwestern suburban church. And I know it may seem like just short step from mystical practice to magical thinking. But a lorica, an encircling prayer, is not a set of magic words. It’s not asking God to do a trick, to put an impenetrable super-hero kind of bubble around us. A lorica also not a warm-fuzzy feel-better arm-around-the-shoulder kind of prayer. It’s not just a heartfelt wish or a polite request for God to be with us. The Latin word lōrīca is military vocabulary; it means “armor” or “breastplate.” Just as the Apostle Paul used Roman military imagery in Ephesians 6:13-14 when he wrote about putting on “the whole armor of God” and the “breastplate of righteousness,” when we pray a lorica, like the Saint Patrick’s Breastplate, we put on God’s protection. We declare God’s presence not only with us, but all around us and within us. We recognize God here, now, everywhere, encircling us—circling us—completely, perfectly, and eternally. The lorica is a prayer of testimony declaring that we are already in the wholeness of God’s surrounding presence, and it is a prayer of trust that God will fully encircle us now, and always.
When Jesus and the disciples got off the boat, hungry and ready for a time-out from the exhausting work of ministry, there was a crowd waiting for them on the shore, hoping for healing for themselves and the people they loved. They were worried and desperate, scattered mentally and emotionally. Maybe this was their last hope, maybe everything else they’d tried and everyone else they’d turned to had been a failure. And Jesus looks at them in his exhaustion and recognizes that they are “sheep without a shepherd.”
These days we use the word “sheep” as an insult, but in the Bible it is never a bad thing to be a sheep. If there is any problem with being sheep in the Scriptures, it’s not their sheepiness that is the issue, it’s that they have bad shepherds. In Jeremiah 23, about six hundred years before the time of Jesus, the prophet proclaimed: “Woe to the shepherds to destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! says the Lord… It is you who have scattered my flock, and have driven them away, and you have not attended to them… I will raise up shepherds over them who will shepherd them, and they shall not fear any longer, or be dismayed, nor shall any be missing.” (Jer 23:1-6-ish) Jesus doesn’t get annoyed with the people for being sheep. He realizes that they are scattered and afraid and that no one has attended to them for a very long time. So he does what shepherds do, no matter how tired and hungry they are—he does what the Good Shepherd always does—
He gathers the people and meets their needs, satisfies their wants, and restores their bodies and souls. He leads them to a place where they can rest in green pasture, and he takes five loaves and two fish and prepares a table before them. And then—even in the shadowy night and in the not-still waters—his disciples do not need to fear, because he is with them. He comforts them. As soon as Jesus realizes all these sheep need a shepherd, he knows he has work to do, so he brings them together. He guides them. He heals them, and feeds them, and he has compassion on them. He encircles them.
When we pray encircling prayers, this is what we pray for: not for a magical shield or an invisible bubble, but to be lovingly rounded up by the Good Shepherd. To be sought, and found, and gathered into the fold. When we pray the lorica, we pray for Christ our Shepherd to be with us on every side—right and left and ahead and behind and above and within—to bring us back together. To make whole our scattered minds and to unify our broken hearts. And to make whole our scattered communities, and to unify—and finally to perfect—our broken world.
God, in the days and weeks ahead, help us to recognize your presence and to rely on your protection in our own lives, in our families, in our communities, in our nation, and in our world. Repair the places where we are broken and restore us to wholeness. Remind us that we are beloved sheep of the Good Shepherd; remove from us the bad shepherds who seek power for their own sake, and let us recognize Jesus’s voice so we can follow him alone. Encircle us on every side, now and forever. Amen.
Lord, you are our Shepherd.
We trust you to meet our needs, and we ask you to align our wants with yours. Work through us to care for the needs of all your beloved sheep. Then, give us rest when we need it. Guide us out of the world’s chaos and into stillness.
Where our souls are divided, torn between your good and what seems good for us, restore us to your wholeness. When our minds are divided, torn between the righteous path and the popular path, lead us in your way.
We know we will go through painful times. We will feel lost. We will face evil. You do not promise to remove trouble but to be with us even in the darkest valleys. Over and over, you invite us not to be afraid. Help us to know that you are with us wherever we go. Help us feel the comfort and protection of being your flock. Even when we are alone, help us sense that you are always gathering us together.
Thank you, Shepherding God, for nurturing and nourishing us, showing your love and care so that even your enemies may witness your goodness. Thank you for blessing us abundantly, for claiming and reclaiming us in your mercy, and for welcoming us with joy to live with you our whole life long. Amen.
a moving yarn: 