No nativity scene is complete without sheep and shepherds. As a farm boy, I longed to be part of their company. After all, the lambs on my grandmother’s farm were always happy and helping her feed them was my favorite chore.

           Cattle far outnumbered sheep in our part of Ohio, so I never encountered a true-to-life shepherd. Years later, however, when riding the Continental Divide with friends on horseback, we did happen upon large flocks of sheep grazing beneath snowcapped peaks. Usually, a covered wagon could be cited nearby. We were told that the brightly painted wagons—red, blue, yellow—belonged to shepherds.

           What a life that would be and, in case you are wondering, I do prefer the designation “pastor” over “priest.” Here’s one reason.

           While serving in Amarillo, I brought Communion to an elderly parishioner named Pedro on a monthly basis. Pedro was homebound and blind. But when he was young, his livelihood was shearing sheep. 

           I always looked forward to our visits. Pedro loved sharing stories about traveling from ranch to ranch across New Mexico, into the Rockies and on to Montana. He and his crew wrestled sheep during the day and camped beneath the stars at night.

           Pedro knew the disposition of different breeds, told of surviving fierce storms and demonstrated how to coax mules along narrow, mountainside paths. Throughout each story, his face radiated a luminous smile and his sightless eyes danced with delight.  

           One of his favorite memories was singing Mi Virgen Ranchera with his men before retiring at night. This Mexican folk song—Our Lady of the Ranch in English—refers to Mother Mary planting roses on the earth, then scattering stars across the sky. Pedro once hummed a few bars. I instantly imagined a circle of rustic men belting out the wondrous words, the festive melody floating amid branches of aspen trees and forest pines.

           Yes, Pedro loved his life. But he loved God more. Each time he prepared himself to receive the Holy Eucharist, he bowed his head in prayer. Then, after a period of silence, he would lift his eyes and stare in the direction of the Host.   I do not know what he inwardly saw but, whatever was revealed to him, brought tears to his eyes. 

           Tears of faith. Tears of devotion. Tears of genuine love.