There’s something hauntingly beautiful about being recognized by someone without needing to explain yourself. Jesus doesn’t say, “I observe my sheep.” He says: “I know them.” That’s different. To be known is to be seen past the surface. To be held without being trapped. To be called not by label, but by name. “My sheep hear my voice,” He says. But how does one learn to hear that voice in a world of algorithms, breaking news, and constant buzz? The voice of Christ is not louder — it’s truer. It speaks not to the ears but to the heart. And the heart, when quiet, always knows when it is being addressed by love.

I think of Rainer Maria Rilke, who once wrote: “The only journey is the one within.” And perhaps the path of the sheep is precisely that: an inward journey toward the voice that already lives inside us. Jesus promises something almost reckless in its generosity: eternal life. Not as a distant reward, but as a present intimacy. To live in His hand is to live already beyond the reach of despair. The luminous painting at the beginning is by Kiko Argüello; it depicts the Good Shepherd, in which Christ gently embraces a lamb. His expression is tender yet alert — not passive, but protective. The background is calm, almost suspended in time. It’s not just an image of safety; it’s an image of belonging. Christ is not leading a crowd. He is holding one. And one is enough. And in the background of this Gospel, I hear the Largo from Dvořák’s New World Symphony. There’s something in that melody — almost like homesickness for heaven. A longing both aching and serene. It doesn’t speak. It listens. Just like the sheep. In the end, it’s not about proving we belong to Christ. It’s about letting ourselves be held — really held — in hands that will never let go. His voice calls. His hand steadies. His heart remembers. And nothing, nothing, can take us away from Him • AE

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St. Joseph Catholic Church (Dilley, TX) • Weekend Schedule

Fr. Agustin E. (Parish Administrator)

Saturday, May 10, 2025.

5.00 p.m. Sacramento de la Confesión

6.00 p.m. Santa Misa.

Sunday, May 11 (Mother´s Day 2025)

8.00 a.m. Sacrament of Reconciliation

8.30 a.m. Holy Mass.

10.30 p.m. Sacrament of Reconciliation.

11.00 a.m. Holy Mass.

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IV Domingo de Pascua (Domingo del Buen Pastor. Ciclo C)

Artista anónimo, El Buen Pastor con ovejas y palomas con ramas de olivo (segunda mitad del s. III), celda “Velatio” de las catacumbas de Priscila (Roma)

Hay voces que confunden, que gritan, que se imponen. Pero hay una que llama. Una voz que no hiere, que no empuja, que no domina. Es la voz del Pastor. Y el alma que ha aprendido a escucharla… ya no se deja engañar. Jesús dice: “Mis ovejas escuchan mi voz, yo las conozco y ellas me siguen.” Esta frase, tan breve, contiene una intimidad infinita. No dice que Jesús conozca sobre nosotros. Dice que nos conoce. Como solo se conoce en el amor. Observa la imagen que acompaña este texto: es la primera imagen del Buen Pastor de la que se tiene noticia. No es un rey armado, ni un juez distante. Es un joven sereno que carga una oveja sobre los hombros. No por fuerza sino lleno de ternura. Ese eres tú: la oveja cansada, herida, amada. Y Él te dice: “Nadie te arrebatará de mi mano.” Ese “nadie” incluye tus miedos, tus pecados, tus caídas, tus enemigos. Nadie es nadie.

En El Gran Inquisidor, de Dostoievski, Jesús vuelve a la tierra. No habla, no discute, no se defiende. Solo escucha, y cuando al fin se acerca al anciano inquisidor que lo ha acusado… le besa. Porque el Buen Pastor no pelea con espadas, sino con misericordia. Y su voz no se imponen, sino que convence desde dentro. La libertad que ofrece es tan radical, tan solida, que descoloca, pero al mismo tiempo trae una paz profunda, como el aria de Bach, Sheep may safely graze, que suena como pradera abierta al mediodía. Al final, todo se reduce a esto: Jesús me conoce. Jesús me habla. Jesús me cuida. Y Jesús me salva. Y si Él me tiene en su mano, que tiemble el mundo si quiere: yo no me suelto. Porque no hay voz más verdadera, ni amor más firme, ni camino más seguro que el suyo. Todo lo demás —el ruido, el miedo, la oscuridad— pasará. Su voz, no. Su mano, no. Su promesa, jamás • AE

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¿qUé aNDAs lEYendO?

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