Fourth Sunday of Easter
April 13, 2008

Do you remember hearing about God’s promise of “a land flowing with milk and honey”? In the Hebrew scripture, God tells the Israelites, “I will send an angel before you to the land flowing with milk and honey” (Exod. 33:3). That scene follows the greatest crisis during the Exodus. At the foot of Mt. Sinai, people had rebelled and coerced Aaron to build a golden calf. God was not pleased with their idolatry. During 40 years of wandering in the desert, people time-and-again second-guessed God’s covenant. They grumbled at the desert’s hard life. Some wanted to return to Egypt’s crushing slavery. They doubted God’s love; they had decided that slavery and building Pharaoh’s pyramids sounded better than trusting in some yet unseen “promised land.”

Everything suddenly changes when God’s speaks compassionately of leading them to “a land flowing with milk and honey.” To understand John’s gospel of the Good Shepherd, we must decipher the bible’s “shorthand” code. I confess that I didn’t fathom its meaning until I lived and studied on a 4-month sabbatical in the Holy Land a few years back. Imagine that motley crew of Jewish nomads, wandering through the desert. They wilted under oppressive heat, hungry and thirsty for an oasis about which Bedouins had spread rumors. During bone-wearying years, the “promise” suddenly became palpable with the imagery of “a land flowing with milk and honey.” What were they hearing? What were they being told? How did it generate hope?

In the ancient Near East, when someone mentioned milk, it meant that this “promised land” was a place where there would be herds—herds of sheep, goats, and even cattle. It would be a land with rich green pastures where those herds could graze. And healthy herds of sheep, goats, and even cattle (for those who prospered) would give abundant milk for a healthy diet. It was a dream-come-true! The prospect of a shepherd’s peaceful, tranquil life caught everyone’s attention—it was ideal! Sheep produced milk, wool, meat; their skins became the vellum for writing texts and remembering their story