Lord's Day Reflection: Belonging before belief

By Abbot Marion Nguyen

“You do not believe because you do not belong to my sheep” (Jn 10:26). These piercing words from Jesus, immediately preceding this Sunday’s Gospel, strike at the heart of our assumptions about faith. We often think belief leads to belonging. We imagine that once we intellectually accept who Jesus is, then we can claim a place among his followers. But here Jesus reverses that logic. In his divine order, belonging comes first. Only those who belong to his flock—who dwell in relationship with him—can truly hear his voice and believe: “My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me” (Jn 10:27).

This profound truth is not only biblical; it is deeply rooted in the teaching of the Church Fathers. St. Augustine, reflecting on the mystery of the Church as the Body of Christ, reminds us, "We come to love the things we know, but we come to know the things we love" (On the Psalms, Ps. 118). The heart opens the door to understanding. Likewise, St. Irenaeus teaches that faith is handed down not simply as a set of propositions but as life within the Church: “Where the Church is, there is the Spirit of God; and where the Spirit of God is, there is the Church and all grace” (Against Heresies, III.24.1). Faith, then, is not born primarily in the intellect, but in relationship. If we find ourselves unable to fully understand God’s love, it is not necessarily a failure of reason—it may be an invitation to step closer, to take Jesus at his word: “Come and see” (Jn 1:39). This is how the first disciples came to believe. They didn’t begin with a creed; they began with curiosity, with presence, with experience. They followed him, ate with him, listened to him, and in time their hearts were awakened to faith.

This principle is echoed in the ancient Christian axiom: lex orandi, lex credendi—"the law of prayer is the law of belief." We do not first believe and then pray. Rather, our praying shapes our believing. In the rhythms of the liturgy, in the quiet of adoration, in the repetition of the Psalms, our souls are tuned to the Shepherd’s voice. The liturgy is not merely a backdrop for belief; it is the womb where belief is born.

Even our secular institutions recognize this experiential path to truth. In the American justice system, the highest form of judgment is not reserved for Ivy League-trained lawyers or philosophical elites, but entrusted to a jury of ordinary citizens. Why? Because the truth is best discerned not only by abstract thought, but by listening, watching, weighing—through relationship and experience. So too in the life of faith. Understanding follows experience.

Jesus tells us his sheep hear his voice—not because they’ve mastered theology, but because they know him. There is a stability, a repetition, a familiarity that forms this knowing. Just like in love or friendship, we cannot reduce faith to a single act of understanding. Faith grows through time spent together, through listening again and again to the Shepherd’s call.

And how often we forget this. We chase certainty, clarity, proofs—yet in daily life, we know the opposite to be true. When was the last time knowing the right thing automatically made us do the right thing? Far more often, it is experience that transforms us. The heart leads, and the mind follows. Let us be reminded that the way to deeper belief is not always through thinking harder, but through coming closer. Closer to the Shepherd. Closer to his flock. Closer to his voice in prayer and sacrament.