Good Shepherd

Jesus said:
“I am the good shepherd.
A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.
A hired man, who is not a shepherd
and whose sheep are not his own,
sees a wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away,
and the wolf catches and scatters them.
This is because he works for pay and has no concern for the sheep.
I am the good shepherd,
and I know mine and mine know me,
just as the Father knows me and I know the Father;
and I will lay down my life for the sheep.”
—John 10:11-18

O loving shepherd of the flock,
the storm is rising high
and predators who stalk the dark
are circling nearby.

Your voice still sounds, a constant pulse
that rings out low and clear
amid the howling of the wolves
so swiftly drawing near.

O, let us hear you through the storm
and panic-stricken night,
and keep us safely in your fold
'til morning rises bright.

But if we're scattered to the winds,
still you would find us there.
If we are driven by our sins,
we have not left your care.

For you have climbed the farthest hills
and combed the valleys deep,
that even from the darkest vales
you will bring back your sheep.

Not one is lost forever, then,
though we have left the fold;
not one will slip out of your hand,
but you will bring us home.

James Tissot, The Good Shepherd.

Pietà

Did Eve hold Abel thus,
ev'n as she ached for Cain?
Was it for this she came of dust,
for this bore them of pain?

So Mary holds her son,
a swordpoint in her heart.
All prophecies are clanging gongs,
and silent stone cries out!

Yet even to this end,
our second-oldest tale,
even to this does God descend,
where weeping mothers wail.

So shall he fill the first,
our coming from the dust.
So shall he raise us from the dirt
who has lain there with us.

And tears shall turn to floods
that make the deserts bloom.
There will be no more Niles of blood,
when death has been entombed.

But, oh, how long, how long
shall Eve for Abel weep,
shall Mary hold her lifeless son,
and God his silence keep?

Michelangelo Buonarroti’s La Madonna della Pietà in Saint Peter’s Basilica, 1498–1499. Pontifically crowned by Pope Urban VIII in 1637. By Stanislav Traykov – Edited version of (cloned object out of background) Image:Michelangelo’s Pieta 5450 cropncleaned.jpg), CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3653602

The Bruised

Here is my servant whom I uphold,
my chosen one with whom I am pleased.
Upon him I have put my spirit;
he shall bring forth justice to the nations.
He will not cry out, nor shout,
nor make his voice heard in the street.
A bruised reed he will not break,
and a dimly burning wick he will not quench.
He will faithfully bring forth justice.
He will not grow dim or be bruised
until he establishes justice on the earth;
the coastlands will wait for his teaching.
Isaiah 42:1-4

The bruised shall not be broken;
the light shall not go dim
until his word is spoken.
The coastlands wait for him
who comes as but as whisper
and shows but as a spark,
yet all the world shall listen
and seek him in the dark.

To all who thirst for justice
he is the living stream,
who hunger for the judgment
he is the boundless feast.
He shall not strike in temper
nor raise an angered voice,
yet Christ, the gentle shepherd,
will call us to rejoice.

For he, the reed once broken,
our brokenness shall heal,
and he, the word once spoken,
no secret shall conceal.
Now mercy's ancient brilliance
shall fill our nights and days,
for he, the light unkindled,
will never fade away.