The Shepherd of the Salt and Soil
by Rev. Robert John Kennedy)
The miter rests. The silver crosier stands
Against the granite of a nascent wall;
The Master Builder leaves to higher lands,
Beyond the reach of any earthly call.
From Loyola’s gates, I watch the evening star
Hang low o’er Kanyakumari’s surging foam,
And trace the path of him who traveled far
To lead a wandering, coastal people home.
He was the Son of Bosco—marked by joy,
The "Preventive" heart that shielded every lad,
Who saw the hidden saint in every boy
In the green silences of Thalavadi.
He knew that grace, like any Roman verse,
Needs structure first to let the spirit sing;
He took a young diocese, as if to nurse
A fledgling bird and teach its soul to wing.
No ivory tower held his quiet mind,
Though Latin rolled like thunder from his tongue;
His was a wisdom of a different kind—
Of nets cast wide and parish hymns well-sung.
And when the "Liturgy of Silence" came,
When Parkinson’s became his heavy cross,
He whispered still the One Essential Name,
Turning to gold the leaden weight of loss.
The "Fiat" spoken at the dawn of light,
The Shepherd’s scent upon his weary fleece;
He walked through shadows, looking for the height,
And found at last the Annunciation’s peace.
Sleep now, Jerome, where salt and incense meet,
Beside the waves that murmur on the shore;
Lay down your sandals at the Master’s feet—
The Architect has passed the Final Door.
No comments:
Post a Comment