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Shepherds - Reflections
and commentaries of other writers and theologians.

Gertrud Mueller Nelson


Author, Poet, Theologian
2018

Who are the first to listen to angels? Who are the first to be shown our poor saviour? The poorest of workers, the shepherds who smell of their sheep. They are pure enough and simple enough to know that a small baby in straw is, in fact, their saviour. There in a shed at the edge of the hills, his refugee parents have hewn out a corner against the wind. There between animal breath and a pile of manure lies our redeemer as a helpless baby. God chooses to send us God's son, in the lowliest, earthiest place, because there he is closest to each of us. That is the colorful world, the real world the artwork wants to show: a sky-full of stars, and THE star. And a border of rainbows.
 

Carmela Lacayo


President, CEO
National Association for Hispanic Elderly
2018

Always one of my favorite themes, I love your new work!
The colors, the legend, the simplicity of your story, but the message in this work... I love the shepherd narrative because I personally have stayed involved in actual sheep herding, I take my dogs for herding in Camarillo. Shepherding can be called one of the jobs on earth. The Nativity narrative has always touched me because of the mystery- Jesus came to us among the shepherds and their sheep- the poor, those that lived close to the earth- the simple land and the sheep! That's why I love the animals.
 

G.K. Chesterton (1874-1936)
English Writer, Poet, Philosopher

The Spirit of Christmas
Published 1985

Christmas is built upon a beautiful and intentional paradox; that the birth of the homeless should be celebrated in every home. But the other sort of paradox is not intentional and is certainly not beautiful. It is bad enough that we cannot altogether disentangle the tragedy of poverty. It is bad enough that the birth of the homeless, celebrated at hearth and altar, should sometimes synchronise with the death of the homeless in workhouses and slums. But we need not rejoice in this universal restlessness brought upon rich and poor alike; and it seems to me that in this matter we need a reform of the modern Christmas.
 

Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
American Poet, Writer

Leaves of Grass, 1855

And as to me, I know nothing else but miracles.
 

Mawi Asgedom
Ethiopian Refugee, Author

Of Beetles and Angels:
2002

Treat all people--even the most unsightly beetles--as though they were angels sent from heaven.
 

Seamus Heaney (1939-2013)
Irish Poet

The Cure at Troy: A Version of Sophocles' Philoctetes

Human beings suffer,
They torture one another,
They get hurt and get hard.
No poem or play or song
Can fully right a wrong
Inflicted and endured.

The innocent in gaols
Beat on their bars together.
A hunger-striker's father
Stands in the graveyard dumb.
The police widow in veils
Faints at the funeral home.

History says, don't hope
On this side of the grave.
But then, once in a lifetime
The longed-for tidal wave
Of justice can rise up,
And hope and history rhyme.

So hope for a great sea-change
On the far side of revenge.
Believe that further shore
Is reachable from here.
Believe in miracle
And cures and healing wells.

Call miracle self-healing:
The utter, self-revealing
Double-take of feeling.
If there's fire on the mountain
Or lightning and storm
And a god speaks from the sky

That means someone is hearing
The outcry and the birth-cry
Of new life at its term.
 

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997)
American Poet, Philosopher

September on Jessore Road, 1971

An excerpt from the poem, written after visiting Bengladesh, during the Liberation War

How many fathers in woe
How many sons nowhere to go?
How many daughters nothing to eat
How many uncles with swollen sick feet

Millions of babies in pain
Millions of mothers in rain
Millions of brothers in woe
Millions of children nowhere to go
 

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