The angels are in the majority,

So many we cannot imagine,

the 99.

And many are left in that one per cent.

 

A shepherd heads out,

Through the narrow safety gate,

Leading to that outer world,

created with love and of great beauty,

to be cared for by us. But now neglected.

Leaving angels (slightly confused) alone in their billions, and

dons the cloak of humanity so sheep may notice him and be unafraid.  

 

 

Here the lost lamb,

Alone and shivering on a desolate mountain top,

Seems to have no idea what had led her there,

waiting for wolves to come in the night

and devour her.

She bleats aloud,

knowing her crying will bring all enemies,

but cries anyway, tears of hope,

Of rescue.

 

Disguised by the cloak, the shepherd

climbs the last rocks, sees the huddled lamb,

and now both crying, lifts her to His shoulders

where she cries no more.

 

 

 

Carried back to the flock—day turns to night;

A mysterious light emits from Him, revealing an isolated but sole, safe path,

and the lamb becomes heavy on his shoulders,

as if wood.

Once home, He enters to jubilation as man returns to glory.

Choirs rejoice, as their beautiful Garden is restored,

Grass is lush, the sun shines,

and all is well once more in paradise. Until a distant cry is heard.  

 

 

Jesus said to his disciples: “I tell you, everyone who acknowledges me before others the Son of Man will acknowledge before the angels of God.”

Gospel of Luke