Robert Barron - The Voice in the Depths of Your Soul
Peace be with you, friends. On this fourth Sunday of Easter, we have this marvelous, short yet very punchy reading from the Gospel of John, with Jesus referring to Himself as the Good Shepherd. Now listen: «My sheep hear My voice; I know them, and they follow Me.» This trope of the shepherd might be alien to many of us today, but man, is it powerful and consistent in the Bible, both Old Testament and New. The shepherd who calls out to the sheep, even though they are kind of dumb animals, is able to discern the voice of the shepherd, and the shepherd knows which sheep belong to him.
It serves as a very apt metaphor for the manner in which God, in Christ, reaches out to us, knows us personally, and how we—and this is the part I find really interesting and mysterious—are able, even though we’re kind of dumb animals too, to discern amidst all the competing voices His voice; that’s the one we are to follow. I say mysterious because, you know, why do we end up following Christ, those of us who do? What is it? You might say, «Oh, it’s your family; it’s your background.» Yeah, sure, all that contributes, but at some point, we found that voice compelling. At some level, we said, «Hmm, a lot of voices abound, but that’s the one I’m going to follow,» and that’s the Christian life.
Now, the claim of the New Testament is that everybody is meant to follow that voice. Jesus is not just one interesting figure among many, like, «Oh, that’s nice, he has a few million followers,» while lots of other spiritual gurus have their followers. No, no: «I am the Good Shepherd,» Jesus says. The will of God is that everyone hears His voice; everyone follows Him. Now look at the first couple of readings for this Sunday. The first one is from the Acts of the Apostles. That’s the whole point of the Acts of the Apostles: the apostles—they have been sent out by Christ under the power of the Holy Spirit to gather in the nations. I know in the beginning they were a very small band of people making their way around the eastern end of the Mediterranean, yet they knew that was their purpose.
The prime example, of course, is Paul, who, as a student under Gamaliel, would have known all the great Old Testament texts about the nations streaming toward Jerusalem; that the purpose of Israel ultimately was to gather in the nations. Now you understand his mission, having seen the risen Christ and discerned, «Yes indeed, that’s the Shepherd.» Having heard His voice, Paul says, «I want that voice to go out to the ends of the world.» That’s why when Paul says, «I want to go to Rome,» he means he wants to go even further—to Spain. For him, that meant as far as you could go. He wanted to go to the ends of the world so that everybody might hear the voice. That’s exactly what he’s doing here; he’s going outside of a Jewish ambit into the Gentile world. Well, look, we are all descendants of this move of Paul, as Gentiles began to hear the voice, and so we’ve heard the voice.
Then from the Book of Revelation, we have this marvelous vision. Listen: «I, John, had a vision of a great multitude which no one could count, from every nation, race, people, and tongue. They stood before the throne and before the Lamb.» Well, what is that but an image of heaven ultimately? Yet it’s an image of the Church—from every nation, from every people, hearing the voice of the Shepherd. They came. They came. That’s the Church; that’s evangelization. That’s the whole point of the operation: to bring people to the voice of the Shepherd.
Now, here’s the question for us today. You might say, «Okay, I get all that, but how do you hear the voice of the Shepherd?» I understand there are sheep and there’s the Shepherd literally speaking His voice. I understand even the followers of Jesus heard Him, but what about us? How do we hear that voice? Well, there are a lot of ways; you know, through the teaching of the Church—that’s true. Through the witness of the saints? Yes, sure. Through the sacraments, the Eucharist? Yes. Through good, compelling preaching? Those are all ways that the Shepherd speaks. He uses secondary causes, right? We hear His voice echoing there. But I wonder if the clearest way that we hear the voice of the Shepherd is not through the conscience. The conscience. It was John Henry Newman, one of my great theological heroes, who referred to the conscience as, in his remarkable language, the aboriginal vicar of Christ in the soul.
Now Newman knew that once he became a Catholic, he understood well that the Pope, yes indeed, is the Vicar of Christ. The Pope is someone who represents and stands in for Christ, and yes indeed, in the authoritative teaching of the Pope we can hear an echo of the Shepherd’s voice. But isn’t it interesting that Newman felt the more fundamental, more primordial Vicar of Christ is the conscience? In the voice of the conscience, we hear the voice of the Shepherd. Now what’s the conscience calling us to? Well, to moral virtue, to do the right thing, to walk the right path.
In Thomas Aquinas’s language, to do good and to avoid evil, and the conscience is the voice that directs us. Okay, there are a lot of skeptics around today. Try talking, by the way, in the public forum about morality, and you’re going to hear every one of these skeptical voices. A lot of skeptics today will say, «Come on, morality is just a matter of private opinion.» Yes, I think this is wrong, but you don’t. You think it’s right, and I believe doing this thing is the right thing to do, and you say, «No, no, that’s the wrong thing to do.» And you know what? Live and let live. We live in a diverse, inclusive world, so I tolerate you, and you should tolerate me; morality is just kind of a matter of private opinion. But can this be right? Scratch the surface of anyone’s consciousness here, ask just a few probing questions, and you’ll find that kind of subjectivism and relativism—no one really takes seriously.
I’ll give you an example. You know what? I think slavery is a terrible thing, but that’s just my private opinion. If you think it’s okay, well, who am I to tell you what to do? There were a lot of responsible people in the mid-19th century in our country who thought slavery was fine, and well, it’s their opinion. I happen to think it’s wrong, but I’m not going to impose my view on you. I think being abusive toward women or children is wrong, but maybe you don’t, and maybe in your culture it’s a different matter, and who am I to judge?
Well, come on, does anyone take that seriously? See, once you probe a little bit, no, most people on the hard left in our culture have very strong views about the objectivity of morality. No, these things aren’t just private opinions; these things are objectively right or wrong. Okay, the second theory you hear a lot is that it’s not just a matter of private opinion, but it’s cultural consensus. So why do we say something is wrong? Well, because there’s kind of a consensus in the culture around a given issue. Let’s say abortion in our country. Well, there’s kind of a consensus; if you did a public opinion poll, you’d find there’s probably a consensus that, you know, maybe some abortions are bad, but a lot of them are permissible, and we should just accept that. I shouldn’t impose my private view, but you know, let the culture kind of come to a consensus.
Well, is that going to work? How about this: I’m a German circa 1935, and I say, «I think we have to deal with this Jewish problem in our country,» and I think, um, Hitler, he’s got it together, because he’s expressing a cultural consensus that indeed Jews are a problem and that they should be rounded up and, I suppose, yeah, put into concentration camps and, at the limit, killed. Was there a common view in Germany in 1935? You bet there was—a clear cultural consensus around that. Or bring it closer to home: let’s say you’re in the deep South of our country in 1950. There’s a very strong cultural consensus that Jim Crow laws are a good idea.
You know, I mean, look, it’s a matter of our culture to say that white people should be here and black people should be there; that segregation is a good thing, and there should be separate drinking fountains, washrooms, and restaurants. And you know, who are you to tell me that our culture has reached a consensus around this? Buy that? Do you find that persuasive? I don’t know anyone who would say that—well, you know, maybe the rounding up of Jews in a concentration camp, well, maybe that’s understandable. No, it’s a moral outrage; it’s objectively wrong in every possible way. I don’t know anybody who would say, «Yeah, the Jim Crow laws in the Deep South in 1950 were okay and represented the cultural view.» Come on, no serious person would hold that. No, there’s an objectivity—what Hitler did was objectively and in every way wrong; Jim Crow laws were objectively and in every way wrong.
Here’s a third point you hear a lot today: you get it in these debates with the new atheists. You know, what we call morality, we think it’s objective. No, no, it’s just a matter of evolution, a byproduct of the evolutionary process. As we’ve evolved, you know, being altruistic and compassionate and caring for others was a better way for the tribe, society, or species to survive, so it’s just sort of an epiphenomenon of the evolutionary process. I mean, even as I say that, I think how stupid it is.
Here’s the basic problem: if you say morality is simply a byproduct of evolution, well, who’s to say it’s not going to evolve in some other direction? You say, «Well, why is slavery wrong?» «Well, because evolution has kind of taught us that.» Well, evolution will go on; evolution will continue, and who’s to say it won’t end up teaching us that slavery is a good thing? Abusing children? Well, I guess, yeah, evolution’s taught us we shouldn’t do that. Well, what if evolution continues and teaches us we should do it? No, people recognize that there’s an objectivity to morality.
Now, here’s the point: the conscience is that voice that directs us toward the objective good and away from the objectively bad. Yes, the aboriginal vicar of Christ in the soul dictates to us, «This is the right path to take; that’s the wrong path,» rewards us when we do the right thing and punishes us when we do the wrong thing. When we’ve done something right, isn’t it true, everybody? We have a very strong sense that we have pleased someone. When we do something wrong, we have this sense that we have offended someone. Where does that come from? Two places: the objectivity of morality and the presence of the conscience.
So can I suggest: hearing the voice of the shepherd? I can hear it many ways, but maybe the most primordial, basic, and infallible way I hear the voice of the shepherd is through the voice of the conscience. Don’t suppress it; don’t wish it away; don’t run from it; don’t cover it up with your addictions. All those are paths that we sinners take. Listen to it! Listen to it again! Listen to the Lord: «My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me.» The Lord Jesus Christ knows you, and His voice echoes in the depths of your soul through the conscience. Listen to Him, follow Him, and God bless you.