In the words that Jesus speaks during the water ritual, he responds to this hope: He is the new Moses. He himself is the life-giving rock. Just as in the bread discourse he reveals himself as the true bread that comes from heaven, he shows himself here-just as he had done with the Samaritan woman-as the living water that is the goal of man's deeper thirst, the thirst for life, for "life in abundance" (Jn 10:10): This life is no longer conditioned by need that must constantly be satisfied, but it springs up from within, from deep inside itself. Jesus also answers the questions as to how one drinks this living water, how one gets to the well and draws from it, by saying, "He who believes in me..." Faith in Jesus is the way we drink the living water, the way we drink life that is no longer threatened by death.

But now we must listen more carefully to the text. It continues: "As the Scripture has said, 'Out of his body shall flow rivers of living water'" (Jn 7:38). Out of whose body? Since the earliest times there have been two different answers to this question. The tradition started by Origen, which is a.s.sociated with Alexandria, though the great Latin Fathers Jerome and Augustine also subscribe to it, reads the text thus: "He who believes...out of his body..." The believer himself becomes a spring, an oasis out of which bubbles up fresh, uncontaminated water, the life-giving power of the Creator Spirit. Alongside this tradition there is another, albeit much less widespread, from Asia Minor, which is closer to John in its origins. It is doc.u.mented by Justin (d. 165), Irenaeus, Hippolytus, Cyprian, and Ephraim of Syria. It punctuates the text differently: "He who thirsts, let him come to me, and let him who believes in me drink it. As the Scripture says: out of his body rivers will flow." "His body" is now applied to Christ: He is the source, the living rock, from which the new water comes.

From the purely linguistic point of view, the first interpretation is more convincing. It has accordingly been adopted by the majority of modern exegetes-along with the great Church Fathers. In terms of the content, though, there is more to be said for the second, "Asia Minor" interpretation, to which Schnackenburg, for example, subscribes, though it need not be considered to exclude the "Alexandrian" reading. An important key to the interpretation of this pa.s.sage lies in the phrase "as the Scripture says." Jesus attaches great importance to being in continuity with the Scripture, in continuity with G.o.d's history with men. The whole Gospel of John, as well as the Synoptic Gospels and the entirety of the New Testament writings, justify faith in Jesus by showing that all the currents of Scripture come together in him, that he is the focal point in terms of which the overall coherence of Scripture comes to light-everything is waiting for him, everything is moving toward him.

But where does Scripture speak of this living spring? John is obviously not thinking of any one particular pa.s.sage, but precisely of "the Scripture," of a vision that runs through its texts. We have just come across one of the princ.i.p.al clues: The story of the water issuing from the rock, a story that became an image of hope in Israel. Ezekiel 47:112 furnishes us with the second major clue, the vision of the new Temple: "And behold, water was issuing from below the threshold of the Temple toward the east" (Ezek 47:1). A good fifty years later Zechariah returned to this image: "On that day there shall be a fountain opened for the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem to cleanse them from sin and uncleanness" (Zech 13:1), "On that day living waters shall flow out from Jerusalem" (Zech 14:8). The final chapter of the Bible reinterprets these images and at the same time manifests their full greatness for the first time: "Then he showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of G.o.d and of the Lamb" (Rev 22:1).

Our brief consideration of the cleansing of the Temple has already shown us that John sees the risen Lord, his body, as the new Temple, which is awaited not just by the Old Testament, but by all peoples (cf. Jn 2:21). We thus have good reason to hear a reference to the new Temple echoing through Jesus' words about the streams of living waters: Yes, this Temple exists. The promised river of life that decontaminates the briny soil and allows the fullness of life to ripen and bear fruit really does exist. It is He who, in "loving to the end," endured the Cross and now lives with a life that can never again be threatened by death. It is the living Christ. Accordingly, Jesus' words during the Feast of Tabernacles not only point forward to the new Jerusalem where G.o.d himself lives and is the fountain of life, but also point immediately ahead to the body of the Crucified, out of which blood and water flow (cf. Jn 19:34). It shows the body of Jesus to be the real Temple, built not of stone nor by human hands; hence-because it signifies the living indwelling of G.o.d in the world-it is, and will remain, the source of life for all ages.

If one looks at history with a keen eye, one can see this river flowing through the ages from Golgotha, from Jesus crucified and risen. One can see that, wherever this river reaches, the earth is decontaminated and fruit-bearing trees grow up; one can see that life, real life, flows from this spring of love that has given itself and continues to give itself.

The application of this pa.s.sage primarily to Christ-as we saw earlier-does not have to exclude a secondary interpretation referring to the believer. A saying from the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas (108) points in a direction compatible with John's Gospel: "Whoever drinks from my mouth shall become as I am" (Barrett, Gospel, Gospel, p. 328). The believer becomes one with Christ and partic.i.p.ates in his fruitfulness. The man who believes and loves with Christ becomes a well that gives life. That, too, is something that is wonderfully ill.u.s.trated in history: The saints are oases around which life sprouts up and something of the lost paradise returns. And ultimately, Christ himself is always the well-spring who pours himself forth in such abundance. p. 328). The believer becomes one with Christ and partic.i.p.ates in his fruitfulness. The man who believes and loves with Christ becomes a well that gives life. That, too, is something that is wonderfully ill.u.s.trated in history: The saints are oases around which life sprouts up and something of the lost paradise returns. And ultimately, Christ himself is always the well-spring who pours himself forth in such abundance.

Vine and Wine Whereas water is a basic element of life for all creatures on earth, wheat bread, wine, and olive oil are gifts typical of Mediterranean culture. The creation Psalm 104 first of all mentions the gra.s.s that G.o.d has appointed for the cattle and then goes on to speak of the gifts G.o.d gives to men through the earth: the bread that man produces from the earth, the wine that gladdens his heart, and finally the oil that makes his face shine. It then returns to speak of the bread that strengthens man's heart (cf. Ps 104:14f.). Along with water, the three great gifts of the earth subsequently became the basic elements of the Church's sacraments, in which the fruits of creation are transformed into bearers of G.o.d's historical action, into "signs," in which he bestows upon us his special closeness.

Each of the three gifts has a special character that sets it apart from the others, so that each one functions as a sign in its own way. Bread, in its simplest form prepared from water and ground wheat-though the element of fire and human work clearly have a part to play-is the basic foodstuff. It belongs to the poor and the rich alike, but especially to the poor. It represents the goodness of creation and of the Creator, even as it stands for the humble simplicity of daily life. Wine, on the other hand, represents feasting. It gives man a taste of the glory of creation. In this sense, it forms part of the rituals of the Sabbath, of Pa.s.sover, of marriage feasts. And it allows us to glimpse something of the definitive feast G.o.d will celebrate with man, the goal of all Israel's expectations: "On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of fat things, a feast of wine on the lees, of fat things full of marrow, of wine on the lees well refined" (Is 25:6). Finally, oil gives man strength and beauty; it has the power to heal and nourish. It signifies a higher calling in the anointing of prophets, kings, and priests. of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of fat things, a feast of wine on the lees, of fat things full of marrow, of wine on the lees well refined" (Is 25:6). Finally, oil gives man strength and beauty; it has the power to heal and nourish. It signifies a higher calling in the anointing of prophets, kings, and priests.

As far as I can see, olive oil does not figure in John's Gospel. The precious "oil of nard" that Mary of Bethany uses to anoint the Lord before he enters upon his Pa.s.sion (cf. Jn 12:3) was thought to be of Oriental origin. In this scene, it appears, first, as a sign of the sacred extravagance of love and, second, as a reference to death and Resurrection. We come across bread in the scene of the multiplication of the loaves, which the Synoptics also doc.u.ment in great detail, and immediately after that in the great eucharistic discourse in John's Gospel. The gift of new wine occupies a central place in the wedding at Cana (cf. Jn 2:112), while in his Farewell Discourses Jesus presents himself to us as the true vine (cf. Jn 15:110).

Let us focus on these two texts. The miracle of Cana seems at first sight to be out of step with the other signs that Jesus performs. What are we supposed to make of the fact that Jesus produces a huge surplus of wine-about 520 liters-for a private party? We need to look more closely to realize that this is not at all about a private luxury, but about something much greater. The first important detail is the timing. "On the third day there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee" (Jn 2:1). It is not quite clear what previous date this "third day" is related to-which shows all the more plainly that what matters to the Evangelist is precisely the symbolic time reference, which he gives us as a key to understanding the event.

In the Old Testament, the third day is the time for theophany, as, for example, in the central account of the meeting between G.o.d and Israel on Sinai: "On the morning of the third day there were thunders and lightnings.... The LORD descended upon it in fire"(Ex 19:1618). At the same time what we have here is a prefiguring of history's final and decisive theophany: the Resurrection of Christ on the third day, when G.o.d's former encounters with man become his definitive irruption upon earth, when the earth is torn open once and for all and drawn into G.o.d's own life. What John is hinting at here, then, is that at Cana G.o.d first reveals himself in a way that carries forward the events of the Old Testament, all of which have the character of a promise and are now straining toward their definitive fulfillment. The exegetes have reckoned up the number of the preceding days in John's Gospel that are taken up with the calling of the disciples (e.g., Barrett, descended upon it in fire"(Ex 19:1618). At the same time what we have here is a prefiguring of history's final and decisive theophany: the Resurrection of Christ on the third day, when G.o.d's former encounters with man become his definitive irruption upon earth, when the earth is torn open once and for all and drawn into G.o.d's own life. What John is hinting at here, then, is that at Cana G.o.d first reveals himself in a way that carries forward the events of the Old Testament, all of which have the character of a promise and are now straining toward their definitive fulfillment. The exegetes have reckoned up the number of the preceding days in John's Gospel that are taken up with the calling of the disciples (e.g., Barrett, Gospel, Gospel, p. 190). The conclusion is that this "third day" would be the sixth or seventh day since Jesus began calling the disciples. If it were the seventh day, then it would be, so to speak, the day of G.o.d's feast for humanity, an antic.i.p.ation of the definitive Sabbath as described, for example, in the prophecy of Isaiah cited above. p. 190). The conclusion is that this "third day" would be the sixth or seventh day since Jesus began calling the disciples. If it were the seventh day, then it would be, so to speak, the day of G.o.d's feast for humanity, an antic.i.p.ation of the definitive Sabbath as described, for example, in the prophecy of Isaiah cited above.

There is another basic element of the narrative linked to this timing. Jesus says to Mary that his hour has not yet come. On an immediate level, this means that he does not simply act and decide by his own lights, but always in harmony with the Father's will and always in terms of the Father's plan. More particularly, the "hour" designates his "glorification," which brings together his Cross, his Resurrection, and his presence throughout the world in word and sacrament. Jesus' hour, the hour of his "glory," begins at the moment of the Cross, and its historical setting is the moment when the Pa.s.sover lambs are slaughtered-it is just then that Jesus, the true lamb, pours out his blood. His hour comes from G.o.d, but it is solidly situated in a precise historical context tied to a liturgical date-and just so it is the beginning of the new liturgy in "spirit and truth." When at this juncture Jesus speaks to Mary of his hour, he is connecting the present moment with the mystery of the Cross interpreted as his glorification. This hour is not yet come; that was the first thing that had to be said. And yet Jesus has the power to antic.i.p.ate this "hour" in a mysterious sign. This stamps the miracle of Cana as an antic.i.p.ation of the hour, tying the two together intrinsically.

How could we forget that this thrilling mystery of the antic.i.p.ated hour continues to occur again and again? Just as at his mother's request Jesus gives a sign that antic.i.p.ates his hour, and at the same time directs our gaze toward it, so too he does the same thing ever anew in the Eucharist. Here, in response to the Church's prayer, the Lord antic.i.p.ates his return; he comes already now; he celebrates the marriage feast with us here and now. In so doing, he lifts us out of our own time toward the coming "hour."

We thus begin to understand the event of Cana. The sign of G.o.d is overflowing generosity. We see it in the multiplication of the loaves; we see it again and again-most of all, though, at the center of salvation history, in the fact that he lavishly spends himself for the lowly creature, man. This abundant giving is his "glory." The superabundance of Cana is therefore a sign that G.o.d's feast with humanity, his self-giving for men, has begun. The framework of the event, the wedding, thus becomes an image that points beyond itself to the messianic hour: The hour of G.o.d's marriage feast with his people has begun in the coming of Jesus. The promise of the last days enters into the Now.

This links the story of Cana with Saint Mark's account of the question posed to Jesus by the disciples of John the Baptist and the Pharisees: Why don't your disciples fast? Jesus answers: "Can the wedding guests fast so long as the bridegroom is among them?" (Mk 2:18f.). Jesus identifies himself here as the "bridegroom" of G.o.d's promised marriage with his people and, by doing so, he mysteriously places his own existence, himself, within the mystery of G.o.d. In him, in an unexpected way, G.o.d and man become one, become a "marriage," though this marriage-as Jesus subsequently points out-pa.s.ses through the Cross, through the "taking away" of the bridegroom.

There remain two aspects of the Cana story for us to ponder if we wish in some sense to explore its Christological depth-the self-revelation of Jesus and his "glory" that we encounter in the narrative. Water, set aside for the purpose of ritual purification, is turned into wine, into a sign and a gift of nuptial joy. This brings to light something of the fulfillment of the Law that is accomplished in Jesus' being and doing.

The Law is not denied, it is not thrust aside. Rather, its inner expectation is brought to fulfillment. Ritual purification in the end is just ritual, a gesture of hope. It remains "water," just as everything man does on his own remains "water" before G.o.d. Ritual purification is in the end never sufficient to make man capable of G.o.d, to make him really "pure" for G.o.d. Water becomes wine. Man's own efforts now encounter the gift of G.o.d, who gives himself and thereby creates the feast of joy that can only be inst.i.tuted by the presence of G.o.d and his gift.

The historical study of comparative religion likes to claim the myth of Dionysus as a pre-Christian parallel to the story of Cana. Dionysus was the G.o.d who was supposed to have discovered the vine and also to have changed water into wine-a mythical event that was also celebrated liturgically. The great Jewish theologian Philo of Alexandria (ca. 13 B.C.A.D B.C.A.D. 45/50) gave this story a demythologizing reinterpretation: The true giver of wine, Philo says, is the divine Logos; he is the one who gives us the joy, the sweetness, and the cheerfulness of true wine. Philo then goes on to anchor his Logos theology onto a figure from salvation history, onto Melchisedek, who offered bread and wine. In Melchisedek it is the Logos who is acting and giving us the gifts that are essential for human living. By the same token, the Logos appears as the priest of a cosmic liturgy (Barrett, Gospel, Gospel, p. 188). p. 188).

Whether John had such a background in mind is doubtful, to say the least. But since Jesus himself in interpreting his mission referred to Psalm 110, which features the priesthood of Melchisedek (cf. Mk 12:3537); since the Letter to the Hebrews, which is theologically akin to the Gospel of John, explicitly develops a theology of Melchisedek; since John presents Jesus as the Logos of G.o.d and as G.o.d himself; since, finally, the Lord gave bread and wine as the bearers of the New Covenant, it is certainly not forbidden to think in terms of such connections and so to see shining through the Cana story the mystery of the Logos and of his cosmic liturgy, which fundamentally transforms the myth of Dionysus, and yet also brings it to its hidden truth.

While the Cana story deals with the fruit fruit of the vine and the rich symbolism that goes with it, in chapter 15-in the context of the Farewell Discourses-John takes up once more the ancient traditional image of the vine itself, and brings to fulfillment the vision that is presented there. In order to understand this discourse of Jesus, it is necessary to consider at least of the vine and the rich symbolism that goes with it, in chapter 15-in the context of the Farewell Discourses-John takes up once more the ancient traditional image of the vine itself, and brings to fulfillment the vision that is presented there. In order to understand this discourse of Jesus, it is necessary to consider at least one one foundational Old Testament text based on the vine motif and to ponder briefly a related parable in the Synoptics that takes up and refashions the Old Testament text. foundational Old Testament text based on the vine motif and to ponder briefly a related parable in the Synoptics that takes up and refashions the Old Testament text.

Isaiah 5:17 presents us with a song about a vineyard. The Prophet probably sang it in the context of the Feast of Tabernacles, in the context of the cheerful atmosphere characteristic of this eight-day feast (cf. Deut 16:14). It is easy to imagine many different sorts of performances going on in the areas between the booths built of leaves and branches, and the Prophet himself mingling with the celebrating people and announcing a love song about his friend and his vineyard.

Everyone knew that "vineyard" was an image for a bride (cf. Song 2:15, 7:12f.), so they were expecting some entertainment suited to the festive atmosphere. And the song does start off on a good note: The friend had a vineyard on rich soil, planted choice grapes on it, and did everything he could to make them flourish. But then the mood suddenly changes: The vineyard is a disappointment, and instead of choice fruit, it produces nothing but inedible sour grapes, small and hard. The audience understands what that means: The bride was unfaithful, disappointing the trust and hope, disappointing the love that the friend had expected. How will the story continue? The friend hands over his vineyard to be plundered-he repudiates the bride, leaving her in the dishonor for which she has no one but herself to blame.

It suddenly becomes clear that the vineyard, the bride, is Israel-it is the very people who are present. G.o.d gave them the way of justice in the Torah, he loved them, he did everything for them, and they have answered him with unjust action and a regime of injustice. The love song has become a threat of judgment. It finishes with a gloomy prospect-that of G.o.d's abandonment of Israel, with no sign at this stage of any further promise. Isaiah points to the situation that the Psalmist later describes in a lament before G.o.d in deep anguish at its having come to pa.s.s: "Thou didst bring a vine out of Egypt; thou didst drive out the nations and plant it. Thou didst clear the ground for it.... Why then hast thou broken down its walls, so that all who pa.s.s along the way plunder its fruit?" (Ps 80:913). In the Psalm, lament leads into pet.i.tion: "Have regard for this vine, the stock which thy right hand planted.... Restore us, O LORD G.o.d of hosts! let thy face shine, that we may be saved!" (Ps 80:1620). G.o.d of hosts! let thy face shine, that we may be saved!" (Ps 80:1620).

Despite everything that had happened to Israel since the Exile, it found itself again in essentially the same situation at the time when Jesus lived and spoke to the heart of his people. In a late parable, told on the eve of his Pa.s.sion, he takes up the song of Isaiah in a modified form (cf. Mk 12:112). His discourse no longer uses the vine as the image of Israel, however. Rather, Israel is now represented by the tenants of a vineyard whose owner has gone on a journey and from a far country demands the fruits owed him. The history of G.o.d's constantly renewed struggle for and with Israel is depicted in a succession of "servants" who come at the owner's behest to collect the rent, the agreed-on portion of the fruits, from the tenants. The history of the Prophets, their sufferings, and the futility of their efforts appear through the narrative, which tells that the servants are manhandled, even killed.

Finally, the owner makes a last-ditch effort: He sends his "beloved son," who, being the heir, can also enforce the owner's claim to the rent in court and for that reason is ent.i.tled to hope for respect. Just the opposite happens. The tenants kill the son, precisely because he is the heir; his death, they think, will pave the way for them to take possession of the vineyard once and for all. Jesus continues the parable thus: "What will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and destroy the tenants, and give the vineyard to others" (Mk 12:9).

At this point, as in Isaiah's song, the parable that seemed to be just a story about the past crosses over into the situation of the audience. History suddenly enters the present. The audience knows he is saying to them: Just as the Prophets were abused and killed, so now you want to kill me: I'm talking about you you and about and about me me (cf. verse 12). (cf. verse 12).

The modern interpretation ends at this point. It thus relegates the parable to the past again; the parable, it seems, speaks only of what happened back then, of the rejection of Jesus' message by his contemporaries, of his death on the Cross. But the Lord always speaks in the present and with an eye to the future. He is also speaking with us and about us. If we open our eyes, isn't what is said in the parable actually a description of our present world? Isn't this precisely the logic of the modern age, of our age? Let us declare that G.o.d is dead, then we ourselves will be G.o.d. At last we no longer belong to anyone else; rather, we are simply the owners of ourselves and of the world. At last we can do what we please. We get rid of G.o.d; there is no measuring rod above us; we ourselves are our only measure. The "vineyard" belongs to us. What happens to man and the world next? We are already beginning to see it....

Let us return to the text of the parable. When Isaiah arrived at this point, there was no promise in sight; in the Psalm, just as the threat was being fulfilled, suffering turned to prayer. This, again and again, is the situation of Israel, of the Church, and of humanity. Again and again we find ourselves in the darkness of trial and have no recourse but to call upon G.o.d: Raise us up again! But Jesus' words contain a promise-the beginning of an answer to the prayer: "take care of this vineyard." The Kingdom is handed over to other servants-this statement is both a threat of judgment and a promise. It means that the Lord stands by his vineyard, without being bound to its present servants. This threat-promise applies not only to the ruling cla.s.ses, about whom and with whom Jesus is speaking. It continues to apply among the new People of G.o.d as well-not, of course, to the whole Church, but repeatedly to the particular churches, as the Risen Lord's words to the Church at Ephesus show: "Repent and do the works you did at first. If not, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place" (Rev 2:5).

The threat and promise that the vineyard will be handed over to other servants is followed, though, by a promise of a much more fundamental nature. The Lord cites Psalm 118:22f: "The stone which the builders rejected has become the cornerstone." The death of the son is not the last word. He is killed, but he does not remain in death, he does not remain "rejected." He becomes a new beginning. Jesus gives his audience to understand that he himself will be the Son who is killed; he foretells his Cross and Resurrection and prophesies that upon him, when he has been killed and has risen, G.o.d will erect a new building, a new Temple in the world.

The image of the vine is abandoned and replaced by the image of G.o.d's living building. The Cross is not an end, but a new beginning. The song of the vineyard does not end with the killing of the son. It opens the prospect that G.o.d will do something new. The affinity with John 2, which speaks of the destruction of the Temple and its reconstruction, is impossible to overlook. G.o.d does not fail; we may be unfaithful, but he is always faithful (cf. 2 Tim 2:13). He finds new and greater ways for his love. The indirect Christology of the early parables is transcended here into a fully open Christological statement.

The parable of the vine in Jesus' Farewell Discourses continues the whole history of biblical thought and language on the subject of the vine and discloses its ultimate depth. "I am the true vine," the Lord says (Jn 15:1). The word true true is the first important thing to notice about this saying. Barrett makes the excellent observation that "fragments of meaning, obscurely hinted at by other vines, are gathered up and made explicit by him. He is the is the first important thing to notice about this saying. Barrett makes the excellent observation that "fragments of meaning, obscurely hinted at by other vines, are gathered up and made explicit by him. He is the true true vine" ( vine" (Gospel, p. 473). But the really important thing about this saying is the opening: "I am." The Son identifies himself with the vine; he himself has become the vine. He has let himself be planted in the earth. He has entered into the vine: The mystery of the Incarnation, which John spoke of in the prologue to his Gospel, is taken up again here in a surprising new way. The vine is no longer merely a creature that G.o.d looks upon with love, but that he can still uproot and reject. In the Son, he himself has become the vine; he has forever identified himself, his very being, with the vine. p. 473). But the really important thing about this saying is the opening: "I am." The Son identifies himself with the vine; he himself has become the vine. He has let himself be planted in the earth. He has entered into the vine: The mystery of the Incarnation, which John spoke of in the prologue to his Gospel, is taken up again here in a surprising new way. The vine is no longer merely a creature that G.o.d looks upon with love, but that he can still uproot and reject. In the Son, he himself has become the vine; he has forever identified himself, his very being, with the vine.

This vine can never again be uprooted or handed over to be plundered. It belongs once and for all to G.o.d; through the Son G.o.d himself lives in it. The promise has become irrevocable, the unity indestructible. G.o.d has taken this great new step within history, and this const.i.tutes the deepest content of the parable. Incarnation, death, and Resurrection come to be seen in their full breadth: "For the Son of G.o.d, Jesus Christ, whom we preached among you...was not Yes and No; but in him it is always Yes. For all the promises of G.o.d find their Yes in him" (2 Cor 1:19f.), as Saint Paul puts it.

The idea that through Christ the vine has become the Son himself is a new one, and yet the ground for it has been prepared in biblical tradition. Psalm 80:18 closely a.s.sociates the "Son of Man" with the vine. Conversely: Although the Son has now himself become the vine, this is precisely his method for remaining one with his own, with all the scattered children of G.o.d whom he has come to gather (cf. Jn 11:52). The vine is a Christological t.i.tle that as such embodies a whole ecclesiology. The vine signifies Jesus' inseparable oneness with his own, who through him and with him are all "vine," and whose calling is to "remain" in the vine. John does not make use of the Pauline image of the "Body of Christ." But the parable of the vine expresses substantially the same idea: the fact that Jesus is inseparable from his own, and that they are one with him and in him. In this sense, the discourse about the vine indicates the irrevocability of the gift G.o.d has given, never to take it back again. In becoming incarnate, G.o.d has bound himself. At the same time, though, the discourse speaks of the demands that this gift places upon us in ever new ways.

The vine, we said, can no longer be uprooted or handed over to be plundered. It does, however, constantly need purification. Purification, fruit, remaining, commandment, love, unity-these are the key words for this drama of being in and with the Son in the vine that the Lord's words place before our soul. Purification-the Church and the individual need constant purification. Processes of purification, which are as necessary as they are painful, run through the whole of history, the whole life of those who have dedicated themselves to Christ. The mystery of death and resurrection is ever present in these purifications. When man and his inst.i.tutions climb too high, they need to be cut back; what has become too big must be brought back to the simplicity and poverty of the Lord himself. It is only by undergoing such processes of dying away that fruitfulness endures and renews itself.

The goal of purification is fruit, the Lord tells us. What sort of fruit is it that he expects? Let us begin by looking at the fruit that he himself has borne by dying and rising. Isaiah and the whole prophetic tradition spoke of how G.o.d expected grapes, and thus choice wine, from his vine. This was an image of the righteousness, the rect.i.tude that consists in living within the Word and will of G.o.d. The same tradition says that what G.o.d finds instead are useless, small, sour grapes that he can only throw away. This was an image of life lived away from G.o.d's righteousness amid injustice, corruption, and violence. The vine is meant to bear choice grapes that through the process of picking, pressing, and fermentation will produce excellent wine.

Let us recall that the parable of the vine occurs in the context of Jesus' Last Supper. After the multiplication of the loaves he had spoken of the true bread from heaven that he would give, and thus he left us with a profound interpretation of the eucharistic bread that was to come. It is hard to believe that in his discourse on the vine he is not tacitly alluding to the new wine that had already been prefigured at Cana and which he now gives to us-the wine that would flow from his Pa.s.sion, from his "love to the end" (Jn 13:1). In this sense, the parable of the vine has a thoroughly eucharistic background. It refers to the fruit that Jesus brings forth: his love, which pours itself out for us on the Cross and which is the choice new wine destined for G.o.d's marriage feast with man. Thus we come to understand the full depth and grandeur of the Eucharist, even though it is not explicitly mentioned here. The Eucharist points us toward the fruit that we, as branches of the vine, can and must bear with Christ and by virtue of Christ. The fruit the Lord expects of us is love-a love that accepts with him the mystery of the Cross, and becomes a partic.i.p.ation in his self-giving-and hence the true justice that prepares the world for the Kingdom of G.o.d.

Purification and fruit belong together; only by undergoing G.o.d's purifications can we bear the fruit that flows into the eucharistic mystery and so leads to the marriage feast that is the goal toward which G.o.d directs history. Fruit and love belong together: The true fruit is the love that has pa.s.sed through the Cross, through G.o.d's purifications. "Remaining" is an essential part of all this. In verses 110 the word remain remain (in Greek (in Greek menein menein) occurs ten times. What the Church Fathers call perseverantia perseverantia-patient steadfastness in communion with the Lord amid all the vicissitudes of life-is placed center stage here. Initial enthusiasm is easy. Afterward, though, it is time to stand firm, even along the monotonous desert paths that we are called upon to traverse in this life-with the patience it takes to tread evenly, a patience in which the romanticism of the initial awakening subsides, so that only the deep, pure Yes of faith remains. This is the way to produce good wine. After the brilliant illuminations of the initial moment of his conversion, Augustine had a profound experience of this toilsome patience, and that is how he learned to love the Lord and to rejoice deeply at having found him.

If the fruit we are to bear is love, its prerequisite is this "remaining," which is profoundly connected with the kind of faith that holds on to the Lord and does not let go. Verse 7 speaks of prayer as an essential element of this remaining: Those who pray are promised that they will surely be heard. Of course, to pray in the name of Jesus is not to make an ordinary pet.i.tion, but to ask for the essential gift that Jesus characterizes as "joy" in the Farewell Discourses, while Luke calls it the Holy Spirit (cf. Lk 11:13)-the two being ultimately the same. Jesus' words about remaining in his love already point ahead to the last verse of his high-priestly prayer (cf. Jn 17:26) and thus connect the vine discourse with the great theme of unity, for which the Lord prays to the Father at the Last Supper.

Bread We have already dealt extensively with the bread motif in connection with Jesus' temptations. We have seen that the temptation to turn the desert rocks into bread raises the whole question of the Messiah's mission, and that through the devil's distortion of this mission Jesus' positive answer can already be glimpsed; this answer then becomes explicit once and for all in the gift of his body as bread for the life of the world on the eve of his Pa.s.sion. We have also encountered the bread motif in our exposition of the fourth pet.i.tion of the Our Father, where we tried to survey the different dimensions of this pet.i.tion, and thus to explore the full range of the bread theme. At the end of Jesus' activity in Galilee, he performs the multiplication of the loaves; on one hand, it is an unmistakable sign of Jesus' messianic mission, while on the other, it is also the crossroads of his public ministry, which from this point leads clearly to the Cross. All three Synoptic Gospels tell of a miraculous feeding of five thousand men (cf. Mt 14:1321; Mk 6:3244; Lk 9:10b17); Matthew and Mark tell of an additional feeding of four thousand (cf. Mt 15:3238; Mk 8:19).

The two stories have a rich theological content that we cannot enter into here. I will restrict myself to John's story of the multiplication of the loaves (cf. Jn 6:115), not in order to study it in depth, but rather to focus upon the interpretation that Jesus gives of this event in his great bread of life discourse the following day in the synagogue on the other side of the lake. One more qualification is in order: We cannot consider the details of this discourse, which the exegetes have discussed at length and a.n.a.lyzed thoroughly. I would merely like to draw out its princ.i.p.al message and, above all, to situate it in the context of the whole tradition to which it belongs and in terms of which it has to be understood.

The fundamental context in which the entire chapter belongs is centered upon the contrast between Moses and Jesus. Jesus is the definitive, greater Moses-the "prophet" whom Moses foretold in his discourse at the border of the Holy Land and concerning whom G.o.d said, "I will put my words in his mouth, and he shall speak to them all that I command him" (Deut 18:18). It is no accident, then, that the following statement occurs between the multiplication of the loaves and the attempt to make Jesus king: "This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world!" (Jn 6:14). In a very similar vein, after the saying about the water of life on the Feast of Tabernacles, the people say: "This is really the prophet" (Jn 7:40). The Mosaic background provides the context for the claim that Jesus makes. Moses struck the rock in the desert and out flowed water; Jesus promises the water of life, as we have seen. The great gift, though, which stood out in the people's memory, was the manna. Moses gave bread from heaven; G.o.d himself fed the wandering people of Israel with heavenly bread. For a people who often went hungry and struggled to earn their daily bread, this was the promise of promises, which somehow said everything there was to say: relief of every want-a gift that satisfied hunger for all and forever.

Before we take up this idea, which is the key to understanding chapter 6 of John's Gospel, we must first complete the picture of Moses, because this is the only way to focus upon John's picture of Jesus. The central point from which we started in this book, and to which we keep returning, is that Moses spoke face-to-face with G.o.d, "as a man speaks to his friend" (Ex 33:11; cf. Deut 34:10). It was only because he spoke with G.o.d himself that Moses could bring G.o.d's word to men. But, although this immediate relationship with G.o.d is the heart and inner foundation of Moses' mission, a shadow lies over it. For when Moses says, "I pray thee, show me thy glory," at the very moment when the text affirms that he is G.o.d's friend who has direct access to him, he receives this answer: "While my glory pa.s.ses by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have pa.s.sed by; then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back; but my face shall not be seen" (Ex 33:18, 22f.). Even Moses sees only G.o.d's back-his face "shall not be seen." The limits to which even Moses is subject now become clear.

The saying at the end of the prologue is the decisive key to the image of Jesus in John's Gospel: "No one has ever seen G.o.d; it is the only Son, who is nearest to the Father's heart, who has made him known" (Jn 1:18). Only the one who is G.o.d sees G.o.d-Jesus. He truly speaks from his vision of the Father, from unceasing dialogue with the Father, a dialogue that is his life. If Moses only showed us, and could only show us, G.o.d's back, Jesus, by contrast, is the Word that comes from G.o.d, from a living vision of him, from unity with him. Connected with this are two further gifts to Moses that attain their final form in Christ. First, G.o.d communicated his name to Moses, thereby making possible a relationship between himself and human beings; by handing on the name revealed to him, Moses acts as mediator of a real relationship between men and the living G.o.d. We have already reflected on this point in our consideration of the first pet.i.tion of the Our Father. Now, in his high-priestly prayer Jesus stresses that he has revealed G.o.d's name, that he has brought to completion this aspect too of the work begun by Moses. When we consider the high-priestly prayer, we will have to investigate this claim more closely: In what sense has Jesus gone beyond Moses in revealing G.o.d's "name"?

The other gift to Moses-which is closely connected with the vision of G.o.d and the communication of his name, as well as with the manna-is the gift that gives Israel its ident.i.ty as G.o.d's people in the first place: the Torah, the word of G.o.d that points out the way and leads to life. Israel realized with increasing clarity that this was Moses' fundamental and enduring gift, that what really set Israel apart was this knowledge of G.o.d's will and so of the right path of life. The great Psalm 119 is a single outburst of joy and grat.i.tude for this gift. A one-sided view of the Law, arising from a one-sided interpretation of Pauline theology, prevents us from seeing this joy of Israel: the joy of knowing G.o.d's will, and so of being privileged to live in accordance with G.o.d's will.

This observation brings us back to the bread of life discourse, surprising as that may seem. For as Jewish thought developed inwardly, it became increasingly plain that the real bread from heaven that fed and feeds Israel is precisely the Law-the word of G.o.d. The Wisdom Literature presents the wisdom that is substantially accessible and present in the Law as "bread" (Prov 9:5); the rabbinic literature went on to develop this idea further (Barrett, Gospel, Gospel, p. 290). This is the perspective from which we need to understand Jesus' dispute with the Jews a.s.sembled in the synagogue at Capernaum. Jesus begins by pointing out that they have failed to understand the multiplication of the loaves as a "sign," which is its true meaning. Rather, what interested them was eating and having their fill (cf. Jn 6:26). They have been looking at salvation in purely material terms, as a matter of universal well-being, and they have therefore reduced man, leaving G.o.d out altogether. But if they see the manna only as a means of satisfying their hunger, they need to realize that even the manna was not heavenly bread, but only earthly bread. Even though it came from "heaven," it was earthly food-or rather a food subst.i.tute that would necessarily cease when Israel emerged from the desert back into inhabited country. p. 290). This is the perspective from which we need to understand Jesus' dispute with the Jews a.s.sembled in the synagogue at Capernaum. Jesus begins by pointing out that they have failed to understand the multiplication of the loaves as a "sign," which is its true meaning. Rather, what interested them was eating and having their fill (cf. Jn 6:26). They have been looking at salvation in purely material terms, as a matter of universal well-being, and they have therefore reduced man, leaving G.o.d out altogether. But if they see the manna only as a means of satisfying their hunger, they need to realize that even the manna was not heavenly bread, but only earthly bread. Even though it came from "heaven," it was earthly food-or rather a food subst.i.tute that would necessarily cease when Israel emerged from the desert back into inhabited country.

But man hungers for more. He needs more. The gift that feeds man as man must be greater, must be on a wholly different level. Is the Torah this other food? It is in some sense true that in and through the Torah, man can make G.o.d's will his food (cf. Jn 4:34). So the Torah is "bread" from G.o.d, then. And yet it shows us only G.o.d's back, so to speak. It is a "shadow." "For the bread of G.o.d is that which comes down from heaven, and gives life to the world" (Jn 6:33). As the audience still does not understand, Jesus repeats himself even more unambiguously: "I am the bread of life; he who comes to me shall not hunger, and he who believes in me shall never thirst" (Jn 6:35).

The Law has become a person. person. When we encounter Jesus, we feed on the living G.o.d himself, so to speak; we truly eat "bread from heaven." By the same token, Jesus has already made it clear that the only work G.o.d demands is the work of believing in him. Jesus' audience had asked him: "What must we do, to be doing the works of G.o.d?" (Jn 6:28). The text uses here the Greek word When we encounter Jesus, we feed on the living G.o.d himself, so to speak; we truly eat "bread from heaven." By the same token, Jesus has already made it clear that the only work G.o.d demands is the work of believing in him. Jesus' audience had asked him: "What must we do, to be doing the works of G.o.d?" (Jn 6:28). The text uses here the Greek word ergazesthai, ergazesthai, which means "to perform a work" (Barrett, which means "to perform a work" (Barrett, Gospel, Gospel, p. 287). Jesus' listeners are ready to work, to do something, to perform "works," in order to receive this bread. But it cannot be "earned" by human work, by one's own achievement. It can only come to us as a gift from G.o.d, as p. 287). Jesus' listeners are ready to work, to do something, to perform "works," in order to receive this bread. But it cannot be "earned" by human work, by one's own achievement. It can only come to us as a gift from G.o.d, as G.o.d's work G.o.d's work. The whole of Pauline theology is present in this dialogue. The highest things, the things that really matter, we cannot achieve on our own; we have to accept them as gifts and enter into the dynamic of the gift, so to speak. This happens in the context of faith in Jesus, who is dialogue-a living relationship with the Father-and who wants to become Word and love in us as well.

But the question as to how we can "feed" on G.o.d, live on G.o.d, in such a way that he himself becomes our bread-this question is not yet fully answered by what has just been said. G.o.d becomes "bread" for us first of all in the Incarnation of the Logos: The Word takes on flesh. The Logos becomes one of us and so comes down to our level, comes into the sphere of what is accessible to us. Yet a further step is still needed beyond even the Incarnation of the Word. Jesus names this step in the concluding words of his discourse: His flesh is life "for" the world (Jn 6:51). Beyond the act of the Incarnation, this points to its intrinsic goal and ultimate realization: Jesus' act of giving himself up to death and the mystery of the Cross.

This is made even clearer in verse 53, where the Lord adds that he will give us his blood to "drink." These words are not only a manifest allusion to the Eucharist. Above all they point to what underlies the Eucharist: the sacrifice of Jesus, who sheds his blood for us, and in so doing steps out of himself, so to speak, pours himself out, and gives himself to us.

In this chapter, then, the theology of the Incarnation and the theology of the Cross come together; the two cannot be separated. There are thus no grounds for setting up an opposition between the Easter theology of the Synoptics and Saint Paul, on one hand, and Saint John's supposedly purely incarnational theology, on the other. For the goal of the Word's becoming-flesh spoken of by the prologue is precisely the offering of his body on the Cross, which the sacrament makes accessible to us. John is following here the same line of thinking that the Letter to the Hebrews develops on the basis of Psalm 40:68: "Sacrifices and offerings you did refuse-you have prepared a body for me" (Heb 10:5). Jesus becomes man in order to give himself and to take the place of the animal sacrifices, which could only be a gesture of longing, but not an answer.

Jesus' bread discourse, on one hand, points the main movement of the Incarnation and of the Paschal journey toward the sacrament, in which Incarnation and Easter are permanently present, but conversely, this has the effect of integrating the sacrament, the Holy Eucharist, into the larger context of G.o.d's descent to us and for us. On one hand, then, the Eucharist emphatically moves right to the center of Christian existence; here G.o.d does indeed give us the manna that humanity is waiting for, the true "bread of heaven"-the nourishment we can most deeply live upon as human beings. At the same time, however, the Eucharist is revealed as man's unceasing great encounter with G.o.d, in which the Lord gives himself as "flesh," so that in him, and by partic.i.p.ating in his way, we may become "spirit." Just as he was transformed through the Cross into a new manner of bodiliness and of being-human pervaded by G.o.d's own being, so too for us this food must become an opening out of our existence, a pa.s.sing through the Cross, and an antic.i.p.ation of the new life in G.o.d and with G.o.d.

This is why at the conclusion of the discourse, which places such emphasis on Jesus' becoming flesh and our eating and drinking the "flesh and blood of the Lord," Jesus says: "it is the spirit that gives life, the flesh is of no avail" (Jn 6:63). This may remind us of Saint Paul's words: "The first man Adam became a living being; the last Adam became a life-giving spirit" (1 Cor 15:45). This in no way diminishes the realism of "becoming-flesh." Yet the Paschal perspective of the sacrament is underlined: Only through the Cross and through the transformation that it effects does this flesh become accessible to us, drawing us up into the process of transformation. Eucharistic piety needs to be constantly learning from this great Christological-indeed, cosmic-dynamism.

In order to understand the full depth of Jesus' bread discourse, we must finally take a brief look at one of the key sayings of John's Gospel. Jesus p.r.o.nounces it on Palm Sunday as he looks ahead to the universal Church that will embrace Jews and Greeks-all the peoples of the world: "Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit" (Jn 12:24). What we call "bread" contains the mystery of the Pa.s.sion. Before there can be bread, the seed-the grain of wheat-first has to be placed in the earth, it has to "die," and then the new ear can grow out of this death. Earthly bread can become the bearer of Christ's presence because it contains in itself the mystery of the Pa.s.sion, because it unites in itself death and resurrection. This is why the world's religions used bread as the basis for myths of death and resurrection of the G.o.dhead, in which man expressed his hope for life out of death.

In this connection, Cardinal Christoph Schonborn reminds us of the conversion of the great British writer C. S. Lewis; Lewis, having read a twelve-volume work about these myths, came to the conclusion that this Jesus who took bread in his hands and said, "This is my body," was just "another corn divinity, a corn king who lays down his life for the life of the world." One day, however, he overheard a firm atheist remarking to a colleague that the evidence for the historicity of the Gospels was actually surprisingly good. The atheist then paused thoughtfully and said: "About the dying G.o.d. Rum thing. It almost looks as if it really happened once" (Schonborn, Weihnacht Weihnacht, pp. 23f.).

Yes, it really did happen. Jesus is no myth. He is a man of flesh and blood and he stands as a fully real part of history. We can go to the very places where he himself went. We can hear his words through his witnesses. He died and he is risen. It is as if the mysterious Pa.s.sion contained in bread had waited for him, had stretched out its arms toward him; it is as if the myths had waited for him, because in him what they long for came to pa.s.s. The same is true of wine. It too contains the Pa.s.sion in itself, for the grape had to be pressed in order to become wine. The Fathers gave this hidden language of the eucharistic gifts an even deeper interpretation. I would like to add just one example here. In the early Christian text called the Teaching of the Twelve Apostles, also known as the Didache Didache (probably composed around the year 100), the following prayer is recited over the bread intended for the Eucharist: "As the bread was scattered on the mountains and brought into unity, so may the Church be gathered from the ends of the earth into your Kingdom" (IX, 4). (probably composed around the year 100), the following prayer is recited over the bread intended for the Eucharist: "As the bread was scattered on the mountains and brought into unity, so may the Church be gathered from the ends of the earth into your Kingdom" (IX, 4).

The Shepherd The image of the shepherd, which Jesus uses to explain his mission both in the Synoptics and in the Gospel of John, has a long history behind it. In the ancient Near East, in royal inscriptions from both Sumer and the area of Babylonia and a.s.syria, the king refers to himself as the shepherd inst.i.tuted by G.o.d. "Pasturing sheep" is an image of his task as a ruler. This image implies that caring for the weak is one of the tasks of the just ruler. One could therefore say that, in view of its origins, this image of Christ the Good Shepherd is a Gospel of Christ the King, an image that sheds light upon the kingship of Christ.

Of course, the immediate precedents for Jesus' use of this image are found in the Old Testament, where G.o.d himself appears as the Shepherd of Israel. This image deeply shaped Israel's piety, and it was especially in times of need that Israel found a word of consolation and confidence in it. Probably the most beautiful expression of this trustful devotion is Psalm 23: "The Lord is my shepherd...Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for thou art with me" (Ps 23:1, 4). The image of G.o.d as Shepherd is more fully developed in chapters 3437 of Ezekiel, whose vision is brought into the present and interpreted as a prophecy of Jesus' ministry both in the Synoptic shepherd parables and in the Johannine shepherd discourse. Faced with the self-seeking shepherds of his own day, whom he challenges and accuses, Ezekiel proclaims the promise that G.o.d himself will seek out his sheep and care for them. "And I will bring them out from the peoples, and gather them from the countries, and will bring them into their own land.... I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord G.o.d. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the crippled, and I will strengthen the weak, and the fat and the strong I will watch over" (Ezek 34:13, 1516).

Faced with the murmuring of the Pharisees and scribes over Jesus' table fellowship with sinners, the Lord tells the parable of the ninety-nine sheep who remained in the fold and the one lost sheep. The shepherd goes after the lost sheep, lifts it joyfully upon his shoulders, and brings it home. Jesus puts this parable as a question to his adversaries: Have you not read G.o.d's word in Ezekiel? I am only doing what G.o.d, the true Shepherd, foretold: I wish to seek out the sheep that are lost and bring the strayed back home.

At a late stage in Old Testament prophecy, the portrayal of the shepherd image takes yet another surprising and thought-provoking turn that leads directly to the mystery of Jesus Christ. Matthew recounts to us that on the way to the Mount of Olives after the Last Supper, Jesus tells his disciples that the prophecy foretold in Zechariah 13:7 is about to be fulfilled: "I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered" (Mt 26:31). Zechariah does in fact present in this pa.s.sage the vision of a Shepherd "who by G.o.d's will patiently suffers death and in so doing initiates the final turn of events" (Jeremias, TDNT, TDNT, VI, pp. 500-1). VI, pp. 500-1).

This surprising vision of the slain Shepherd, who through his death becomes the Savior, is closely linked to another image from the Book of Zechariah: "And I will pour out on the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem a spirit of compa.s.sion and supplication. And they will look on him whom they have pierced. They shall mourn for him, as one mourns for an only child, and weep bitterly over him, as one weeps over a firstborn.... On that day the mourning in Jerusalem will be as great as the mourning for Hadad-Rimmon in the plain of Megiddo.... On that day there shall be a fountain opened for the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem to cleanse them from sin and uncleanness" (Zech 12:10, 11; 13:1). Hadad-Rimmon was one of the dying and rising vegetation deities whom we encountered earlier when we were explaining that bread presupposes the death and resurrection of the grain. The death of the G.o.d, which is then followed by resurrection, was celebrated with wild ritual laments; these rituals impressed themselves upon those who witnessed them-as the Prophet and his audience evidently did-as the absolute archetype of grief and lamentation. For Zechariah, Hadad-Rimmon is one of the nonexistent divinities that Israel despises and unmasks as mythical dreams. And yet, through the ritual lamentation over him, he mysteriously prefigures someone who really does exist.

An inner connection with the Servant of G.o.d in Deutero-Isaiah is discernible here. In the writings of the later Prophets, we see the figure of the suffering and dying Redeemer, the Shepherd who becomes the lamb, even if some of the details are yet to be filled in. K. Elliger comments apropos of this: "On the other hand, however, his [Zechariah's] gaze penetrates with remarkable accuracy into a new distance and circles around the figure of the one who was pierced on the Cross at Golgotha. Admittedly, he does not clearly discern the figure of Christ, although the allusion to Hadad-Rimmon does come remarkably close to the mystery of the Resurrection, albeit no more than close...and above all without clearly seeing the real connection between the Cross and the fountain that cleanses sin and impurity" ("Das Buch," ATD ATD, 25, p. 172). While in Matthew's Gospel, Jesus himself cites Zechariah 13:7-the image of the slain Shepherd-at the beginning of the Pa.s.sion narrative, John, by contrast, concludes his account of the Lord's Crucifixion with an allusion to Zechariah 12:10: "They shall look on him whom they have pierced" (Jn 19:37). Now it becomes clear: the one who is slain and the Savior is Jesus Christ, the crucified one.

John a.s.sociates this with Zechariah's prophetic vision of the fountain that purifies from sin and impurity: Blood and water flow forth from Jesus' wounded side (cf. Jn 19:34). Jesus himself, the one pierced on the Cross, is the fountain of purification and healing for the whole world. John connects this further with the image of the Paschal Lamb, whose blood has purifying power: "Not a bone of him shall be broken" (Jn 19:36; cf. Ex 12:46). With that, the circle is closed, joining the end to the beginning of the Gospel, where the Baptist-catching sight of Jesus-said: "Behold, the Lamb of G.o.d, who takes away the sin of the world" (Jn 1:29). The image of the lamb, which in a different way plays a decisive role in the Book of Revelation, thus encompa.s.ses the entire Gospel. It also points to the deepest meaning of the shepherd discourse, whose center is precisely Jesus' act of laying down his life.

Surprisingly, the shepherd discourse does not begin with the words: "I am the Good Shepherd" (Jn 10:11), but with another image: "Truly, truly, I say to you, I am the door of the sheep" (Jn 10:7). Jesus has already said: "Truly, truly, I say to you, he who does not enter the sheep-fold by the door but climbs in by another way, that man is a thief and a robber; but he who enters by the door is the shepherd of the sheep" (Jn 10:1f.). This can only really mean that Jesus is establishing the criterion for those who will shepherd his flock after his ascension to the Father. The proof of a true shepherd is that he enters through Jesus as the door. For in this way it is ultimately Jesus who is the Shepherd-the flock "belongs" to him alone.

In practice, the way to enter through Jesus as the door becomes apparent in the appendix to the Gospel in chapter 21-when Peter is entrusted with Jesus' own office as Shepherd. Three times the Lord says to Peter: "Feed my lambs" (or sheep-cf. Jn 21:1517). Peter is very clearly being appointed as the shepherd of Jesus' sheep and established in Jesus' office as shepherd. For this to be possible, however, Peter has to enter through the "door." Jesus speaks of this entry-or, better, this being allowed to enter through the door (cf. Jn 10:3)-when he asks Peter three times: Simon, son of John, do you love me? Notice first the utterly personal aspect of this calling: Simon is called by name-both by his own personal name, Simon, and by a name referring to his ancestry. And he is asked about the love that makes him one with Jesus. This is how he comes to the sheep "through Jesus": He takes them not as his own-Simon Peter's-but as Jesus Jesus' "flock." It is because he comes through the "door," Jesus, it is because he comes to them united with Jesus in love, that the sheep listen to his voice, the voice of Jesus himself-they are following not Simon, but Jesus, from whom and through whom Simon comes to them, so that when he leads them it is Jesus himself who leads.

The whole invest.i.ture scene closes with Jesus saying to Peter, "Follow me" (Jn 21:19). It recalls the scene after Peter's first confession, where Peter tries to dissuade the Lord from the way of Cross, and the Lord says to him, "Get behind me," and then goes on to invite everyone to take up his cross and "follow him" (cf. Mk 8:33ff.). Even the disciple who now goes ahead of the others as shepherd must "follow" Jesus. And as the Lord declares to Peter after conferring upon him the office of shepherd, this includes accepting the cross, being prepared to give his life. This is what it means in practice when Jesus says: "I am the door." This is how Jesus himself remains the shepherd.

Let us return to the shepherd discourse in chapter 10 of John's Gospel. It is only in the second part that Jesus declares: "I am the Good Shepherd" (Jn 10:11). He takes upon himself all the historical a.s.sociations of the shepherd image, which he then purifies, and brings to its full meaning. Four essential points receive particular emphasis. First, the thief "comes only to steal and kill and destroy" (Jn 10:10). He regards the sheep as part of his property, which he owns and exploits for himself. All he cares about is himself; he thinks the world revolves around him. The real Shepherd does just the opposite. He does not take life, but gives it: "I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly" (Jn 10:10).

This is Jesus' great promise: to give life in abundance. Everyone wants life in abundance. But what is it? What does life consist in? Where do we find it? When and how do we have "life in abundance"? When we live like the prodigal son, squandering the whole portion G.o.d has given us? When we live like the thief and the robber, taking everything for ourselves alone? Jesus promises that he will show the sheep where to find "pasture"-something they can live on-and that he will truly lead them to the springs of life. We are right to hear echoes of Psalm 23 in this: "He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.... Thou preparesta table before me in the presence.... Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life" (Ps 23:2, 5f.). There is an even more immediate echo of the shepherd discourse from Ezekiel: "I will feed them with good pasture, and upon the mountain country of Israel shall be their pasture" (Ezek 34:14).

But what does all this mean? We know what sheep live on, but what does man live on? The Fathers saw Ezekiel's reference to the mountain country of Israel and the shady