I met him on the path to prayer,
An elder, wise and gray,
Each time I asked, “What shall I ask
Of God for you today?”
And each time, soft, he’d bow his head
And whisper, calm yet firm,
“Pray our pastor be like Catholic priest,
In patience let him learn.”
For three long years, I’d pass that way,
His answer never changed,
“Pray our pastor be like Catholic priest,
In patience be arranged.”
One day I stopped and asked him why,
His heart seemed full of pain,
“Why pray for patience, day by day,
For our pastor once again?”
He looked at me, with eyes that spoke
Of years of sorrow known,
“Catholic priest is like the face of God,
In patience, he has grown.
He sees the sins his flock commits,
The drink, the smoke, the shame,
Yet never casts a soul aside,
He loves them just the same.”
“Our pastor’s heart is swift to judge,
His words are sharp and cold,
He chases many from the fold
Before their hearts unfold.
But Christ, the Shepherd of our souls,
Calls sinners close to grace,
And in the arms of patience true,
They find their resting place.”
I wept that day, for I had been
The pastor harsh and proud,
I thought my hands were clean of sin,
Yet mercy I had vowed.
And in that elder’s gentle plea,
I heard the voice of God,
“Be patient, child, like Catholic Priest,
Who walks where sinners trod.”
So now I ask, in humble prayer,
As I kneel before His feet,
Am I the priest who waits in love,
Or the pastor too quick to defeat?
May grace like rain fall soft on me,
And patience be my guide,
That I may lead with hands of love,
And never souls divide.
An elder, wise and gray,
Each time I asked, “What shall I ask
Of God for you today?”
And each time, soft, he’d bow his head
And whisper, calm yet firm,
“Pray our pastor be like Catholic priest,
In patience let him learn.”
For three long years, I’d pass that way,
His answer never changed,
“Pray our pastor be like Catholic priest,
In patience be arranged.”
One day I stopped and asked him why,
His heart seemed full of pain,
“Why pray for patience, day by day,
For our pastor once again?”
He looked at me, with eyes that spoke
Of years of sorrow known,
“Catholic priest is like the face of God,
In patience, he has grown.
He sees the sins his flock commits,
The drink, the smoke, the shame,
Yet never casts a soul aside,
He loves them just the same.”
“Our pastor’s heart is swift to judge,
His words are sharp and cold,
He chases many from the fold
Before their hearts unfold.
But Christ, the Shepherd of our souls,
Calls sinners close to grace,
And in the arms of patience true,
They find their resting place.”
I wept that day, for I had been
The pastor harsh and proud,
I thought my hands were clean of sin,
Yet mercy I had vowed.
And in that elder’s gentle plea,
I heard the voice of God,
“Be patient, child, like Catholic Priest,
Who walks where sinners trod.”
So now I ask, in humble prayer,
As I kneel before His feet,
Am I the priest who waits in love,
Or the pastor too quick to defeat?
May grace like rain fall soft on me,
And patience be my guide,
That I may lead with hands of love,
And never souls divide.
