It happened about a hundred years ago in one of those stately English mansions after a large banquet. A noted actor entertained the guests by reciting Shakespeare, and he was greeted with loud applause. When he got through, as an encore, he offered to accept requests. And a small elderly priest at the end of the table stood up and said, "Would your recite the 23rd Psalm?" And the actor said, "I will recite it on one condition, that is, after I have done it, if you would recite it for us too. The priest was embarrassed, but he agreed.

And the actor began with a powerful delivery of the 23rd Psalm, "My Shepherd is the Lord. There is nothing I shall want. Fresh and green are the pastures...." and on and on and on. When he finished he got a loud round of applause from everyone. And then the old priest stood up, and he quietly began the 23rd Psalm, "My Shepherd is the Lord..." You could hear a pin drop, and some tears began to appear among the guests. And when he finished there was nothing but stunned silence. After a few moments, the actor stood up and said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I hope you realize what just happened here. I knew the Psalm, but this man knows the Shepherd."

This month, we especially remember two leaders from our own parish who knew the Shepherd, definitely. They knew the call of the Good Shepherd; and the Gospel of the Good Shepherd and the values of the Good Shepherd shaped their lives. But, beyond knowing the Shepherd, they also knew us. They knew the sheep. Msgr. Wade knew us very well, and touched so many, until his dying day, connected with us with home visits and communion calls and emergency sick calls and hearing confessions every week and walking our property among us every day.

And Margo Schorno, whose anniversary we remember this weekend, she knew our lives. She knew the pulse of our parish, and, in some strange way, more than many people, she knew something of the future. She knew our lives. It's interesting. When we went to get a picture to put in the bulletin (You'll see in the foldout of the bulletin. We have a photograph there.) We could find very few pictures of her alone. She was always with us, in the midst of our life. She knew people well. She learned their needs and she learned their gifts. And then she put them together with vision and imagination and energy.

She also knew the pulse of our parish. She knew the rhythm and the temperature and the demands of our life. For example, she knew that young parents needed support and needed a break. And so she began the Lifeworks network. She knew that our spirituality needed some quiet time and refreshment. And so she brought the Brothers from Taize in southern France and the Taize Prayer time continues throughout Pleasant Hill and throughout Contra Costa County. She was convinced that our worship had to be traditional with ritual, but needed to be revitalized. So she planned with others always our worship each weekend and she brought resources from all over the country to help us. She began our Hospitality Committee, our Communications Ministry, our Coffee and Donuts after Masses on Sunday. She began the Clown Ministry, the Newcomers Mass. She started our Bereavement Ministry and Liturgy for Children from Halloween to Easter and Christmas. And she wove stories for children through the worship services for our religious education and our parish school youngsters. The day she died, our youngsters spotted a rainbow in the sky. And the last story she had shared with them was the Rainbow Fish. And Thursday, at her graveside, the second grade presented us with a rainbow fish, which we will be using on the Offertory Table at Masses today and on special occasions.

She also knew something of the future. Sister Pat Kozak preached at her vigil service, and she made a strange remark. She described Margo as "a frog." And she said, "No insult intended, but a frog has these large eyes that see not just directly, but all around. And Margo seemed to see everything around and see around corners and see what was coming." She saw the importance of the role of women in ministry. She saw that ministry had to come to a point where it was measured by gifts and by competence, not by office or by title. She was hugely creative. And she found that very frustrating. She always had new suggestions and ideas, and we followed many of them. But, there were many of her ideas that we didn't act on, that the parish, the diocese and the bishop couldn't keep up with.

She was always several steps ahead of us. And she had one major concern that ran through everything. And that was "mutual respect for each individual and an open door and welcome for everyone." I knew that, because if I would be talking to someone and glance at my watch and she saw it, I would get it in the neck. If I was greeting people outside and one was talking to me and I was looking over their shoulder to the next one coming, I would get a lecture. When we gathered for meetings, she always wanted to make sure that the first thing was for everyone to have a chance to share how they were feeling and what was going on, rather than going right to a task. And, if you did a ministry, and did it well even once that was not your private possession because there could be no inner circle, no closed doors. Just because you did something once or well didn't mean it was your turf and you could keep others out, but rather everyone's gift had to be welcomed and had to be experienced.

Today's Gospel passage is strangely familiar and very current. Jesus said, "The time will come when the sun will darken. The moon will not give you light. Your stars will go out. And you will be badly shaken. But you will experience and meet the Lord in your midst, right where you live." It's not a bad description of what we've been through as a parish over the last year or two.

On Msgr. Wade's grave there is an inscription that reads, "Slán Go Foíl, " in Gaelic, "Farewell for now." It bears his faith, his strong faith and his conviction, that our life goes on beyond death. We companion one another beyond death. And we will meet one another beyond death. And Margo's grave bears the inscription, "We will not forget," which witnesses to our promise to remember her lessons and her spirit, her reminder to be a community of participation and of gifts, of mutual respect, unafraid of the future, willing to try new things, and always a community of welcome and of open doors.

The first reading of today's Mass, from the Hebrew scripture, fits us well. It says, "The time will come when you will experience great stress and great distress. But the wise among you will continue to shine brighter than the entire sky. And those who have shared their wisdom with you and taught you virtue will shine like the stars forever." Amen.