Love Me? Feed My Sheep.

3rd Sunday of Easter:
Do you love me? Do you Love me? Do you LOVE me? Then feed my sheep.
My grandmother brought flowers from the altar to the homebound. I was around seven years old and she brought me with her one dismal winter morning. We entered the apartment of an elderly woman bedridden with some illness which incapacitated her. The room had a dusty sheer curtain over one large window. In the middle of the room was a bed and table. The bedside table was littered with unwashed dishes and other litter which the woman was unable, because of her weakness, to remove. A sink was on the other side of the room filled to capacity with dishes. The floor was bare. With no space on the table for the flowers, my grandmother, proceeded to clear the table, found a container, placed the altar flowers on the table and then went to the sink and washed the dishes. I can’t remember what I was doing. Probably observing in stunned silence as I watched my tiny grandmother roll up her sleeves and go to work. After she finished she came back to the bed, sat there and held the woman’s hand.
An enduring model for ministry: Bring flowers, wash the dishes, and hold a dying woman’s hand. While you’re at it, fix a meal.

Margaret Mead, the renowned anthropologist, observed Christians behaving badly in New Guinea.
The various denominations came into the island and began competing with each other for the souls of the people. The natives of the Island observed that there was nothing attractive about the Jesus the churches claimed to follow.
When Roman Catholic nuns arrived, they established a hospital and a school to teach the people. It seems to me the Sisters had the right idea.
“Do you love me? Feed my lambs.” Jesus