I’ve been a little off lately. Zoned out, overwhelmed, more compulsive (than usual), and as I unloaded on my husband just yesterday, “on the brink of insanity.”
My mom blames it on the time change. It’s a tribute to our reigning bureaucracy that in a country whose agrarian prime peaked a century ago, we still celebrate the equivalent of a biannual electric shock in observance of daylight savings.
|No, seriously, the minor side effects of electric shock describe exactly how daylight savings time makes me feel.|
But yesterday, I noticed a change, shortly before Rome, and then the world, started echoing with “Habemus Papam!”
I don’t know what sheep do without a shepherd. I can only imagine it’s something like how my dog acts when I’m gone for too long: she’s unsettled, can’t sleep, paces from room to room, little disturbances make her startle, her world isn’t right.
And that’s just how I’ve been feeling lately.
Yes, we have our ultimate Good Shepherd, as declared by David in The 23rd Psalm. But before returning to heaven, Jesus chose to give us a physical shepherd, here on earth, to care for, feed, and nourish the church on earth. He asks the fallible, impulsive Peter, followed by 266 others over the past 2000 years.
Without the vicar of Christ on earth, the prowling lion just feels more threatening.
Welcome Pope Francis!