Night Prayer

Keep us safe, Lord, while we are awake, and guard us as we sleep

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Jesus said: ‘I tell you most solemnly, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold through the gate, but gets in some other way is a thief and a brigand. The one who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the flock; the gatekeeper lets him in, the sheep hear his voice, one by one he calls his own sheep and leads them out. When he has brought out his flock, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow because they know his voice. They never follow a stranger but run away from him: they do not recognise the voice of strangers.’ Jesus told them this parable but they failed to understand what he meant by telling it to them. So Jesus spoke to them again: ‘I tell you most solemnly, I am the gate of the sheepfold. All others who have come are thieves and brigands; but the sheep took no notice of them. I am the gate. Anyone who enters through me will be safe: he will go freely in and out and be sure of finding pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come so
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The Fourth Shepherd

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There are many characters in the story of the Nativity but one that we rarely hear of is the Fourth Shepherd. When the angels came that night to bring the Good News, they began with the most unlikely. Shepherds were a tough lot, weathered and self-reliant,  who had to survive out on the hills protecting their flock from the weather, the wolves and their own stupidity.  Once the shepherds had gotten over the shock and wonder of the glory of heaven shining all around them, they immediately wanted to go and find the baby; the lights of Bethlehem beckoned as brightly as the stars – ‘Come and see’. The could barely stop to wrap their cloaks around them. They took hold of  their staffs and each caught a light from the fire.  All except one. One young shepherd remained seated, looking into the fire. When the others asked him why he wasn’t ready, he replied that he was; he was ready to stay behind and take care of the flock. The other shepherds shook their heads w
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The servant’s name was Malchus.

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Easter Midrash  An imagined story of Good Friday  "The servant’s name was Malchus." John 18:10 The servant's name is Malchus. I am not dead yet, rather, far from it. I don't know how others felt when they were healed but the inside of a miracle is a place of light and clarity beyond any new dawn. The complex weaving of skin only reflecting the myriad unravelling of thoughts and memories below the surface. Paths of life's story being made straight. My name is Malchus. Named by my mother. Her bedtime tale that I was named after the appearance, in Jerusalem, of regal scholars from the East. Magi seeking a king who had not yet been born. A slave herself, she had stood holding a lamp as the temple priests and scribes argued amongst themselves; no-one wishing to tell Herod that the prophecy was not for his line. When I was born just a few days later, I became her little 'king'. That's what Malchus means. I didn't thank her for it. Growing up
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