Acts 9:36-43; Psalm 23; Revelation 7:9-17; John 10:22-30
The Rev. Candice B. Frazer
Superman was the first superhero movie I ever saw. I still remember that opening scene where a young Clark Kent outruns a speeding train and then gets in trouble for it as his parents warn him not to show off. But my favorite moment was when he soared through the New York sky carrying Lois Lane in his arms—there was tenderness and intimacy in that scene, something that tugged at the heartstrings. It set us up for the deep pain and grief he would later face when she dies. That pain drove Superman to confront his demons—his own darkness. And while he does come through it, saves the day, and rescues Lois Lane, we’ve walked with him through his grief.
Needless to say, shepherds are not superheroes. They don’t have extraordinary powers or superhuman strength. They can’t fly. A shepherd is responsible for his flock—humble, often alone in the fields, guiding and protecting his sheep. The image of the shepherd is deeply rooted in Jewish tradition. Kings like David, who cared for the people, were often called the shepherds of Israel. The good shepherd is a symbol of humility, care, and concern—someone who knows the sheep intimately and they know him. And he is always there for them.
This is the essence of what we hear in our psalm:
The Lord is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
He maketh me lie down in green pastures
and leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his Name’s sake
Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil;
for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me
So, Superman or shepherd—who do we truly want in our times of trouble?
To answer that, it might help us to understand how we see and interpret the world today. For a long time, we believed we were living in a post–Cold War era. But that has changed. Today, we live in what scholars call a Multipolar Era, where multiple global powers—like America, China, and Russia—share influence. In the post–Cold War years, the world was described as volatile, uncertain, complex, and ambiguous—what we called VUCA.
Now, anthropologists and futurists describe this new era as BANI: brittle, anxious, nonlinear, and incomprehensible—a term coined by Jamais Cascio.
BANI has become a kind of reality check. It exposes how brittle our systems truly are—think of the pandemic and the sudden collapse of supply chains. We tend to see our world as strong and stable, but events like these reveal how fragile things really are. The anxiety of our time—fueled by stress, fear, and the endless churn of news and social media—exposes the illusion of control we try to maintain.
Nonlinearity reminds us that life doesn’t follow a straight path. It twists, it turns. Small events can have enormous consequences—what we call the “butterfly effect.” These things have always been true, but we’re now more aware of them, and they challenge our belief in predictability.
And then there’s incomprehensibility—our inability to fully grasp what’s happening in the world around us. This challenges the illusion that we know what’s going on or that we can easily make sense of it all.
BANI challenges four illusions we’ve long clung to: strength, control, predictability, and knowledge. And if we can begin to see how these illusions shape our perception of the world, we might also begin to ask: What kind of savior do we really want? One from above—or one who is with us?
Superman is a savior from above. He’s the all-powerful protector, always victorious, seemingly untouchable. He swoops in at the last moment—“Here I come to save the day!” But as Pope Benedict XVI once warned and Leo XIV reminded us, the “Superman Jesus” is a kind of practical atheism—even for Christians. It turns Jesus into just another mythic figure, like Thor or Loki. We keep him on a shelf until we’re desperate, hoping he might show up just in time to fix everything.
We like the idea of a Superman-type Jesus—political, powerful, and unbeatable. But Superman is distant. He solves problems for us, not with us. Then he disappears until the next crisis. Maybe that’s part of the appeal—he takes responsibility, and we don’t have to. He fixes things, and we go back to life as usual.
But Jesus doesn’t want to be just our emergency contact. He wants to be our daily companion.
The shepherd is different. The shepherd stays. He is present, attentive, and gentle. He knows us, and we know him. He’s patient. He lays down his life for the flock. He doesn’t just swoop in to fix things—he walks with us through them. He doesn’t fight our battles for us; he carries us through the battle.
Jesus is about presence, not just power.
And in this world of BANI—this brittle, anxious, nonlinear, and incomprehensible world—Jesus remains close, present, and intimately personal. He is not a distant savior we call upon in emergencies, but a shepherd who abides with us every day. He is not just rescue—he is relationship.
Superman may save the day, but Jesus saves souls, hearts, and moments. He saves us—and he stays with us.
When Superman saved Lois Lane by flying backward through time, he held her for a moment, then set her down safely and flew away—leaving her alone and, perhaps, a little disappointed. Jesus is powerful enough to save us—and gentle enough to stay with us.
And I believe that’s what we truly need right now: not just a superhero from above, but a shepherd beside us, with us—walking through this BANI world together.
Amen