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The Saintly Shepherd
- By Anne Van Tilburg
- Published 03/9/2009
- General Short Stories
- Unrated
In the South of France, in what they call Provence, there is a village named Cucugnan. Here the people live in such happiness and harmony in their love of God, that the traveler stopping off for a little lunch at Monsieur Andre's inn, or to ask for directions, usually inquires why the people appear to be so much better than the other people nearby. It is then that Monsieur Andre tells the old legend of the priest from Cucugnan.
Father Martain was the parish priest of Cucugnan, he was as good as newly baked bread, as honest as true gold and loved his Cucugnanes like a father and his Cucugnanes loved him, almost as much. But, for Father Martain, Cucugnan would have been Paradise on earth if only his Cucugnanes had given him a little more satisfaction. He knew his sheep were not really black but they were so lax, that it made the old priest's heart bleed. And every day he asked God the grace not to die until he had led back to the fold his scattered flock. You are going to see that God heard him.
One Sunday after the Gospel, Father Martain walked slowly up to the pulpit. His face was lined with worry and it made his flock wonder to see him so sad. "My children" he pleaded as he drew the attention of Jacques, Pierre and Francoise who were making their way out: "Come back here please. I have something very important to say to you. My children, my heart is heavy this morning and with good reason. I know you love me, but you are making me very sad, and God too. Neither of us likes to be sad. Please, I ask you, make us happy again."
"Now you may believe me if you wish, but last night I found myself, yes me, poor miserable sinner that I am, at the very gate of heaven. I knocked, and Saint Peter, dressed with a flowing robe, all embroidered with gold, opened it." "Well, well, well, what good wind brought you, Father Martain, up here?"
Hesitatingly and filled with wonder and awe he dared to ask: "How many Cucugnanes are there in Paradise?" "We shall look into this matter together,"said
St. Peter very dubiously, yet encouragingly. "Ah, here is my book of souls. I think I can give you all the information you need. Cu...cu..Cucu...what did you say? asked St. Peter; "Cucugnan spelt Fr. Martain. Then shuffling through the pages of his book of souls he turned to Fr. Matain and much to his dismay said: "Why? there aren't any Cucugnanes here than there are fish bones in a turkey...the page is completely blank!"
Fr. Martain was very depressed. He pleaded: "Look, look please a little closer". "I said there is no one!" said St. Peter sounding a little irritated. Fr. Martain was so shocked that after all his teaching there was no one in heaven. He even lamented that he had wasted his life. "You mustn't be upset Fr. Martain" said St. Peter. "After all that is not your fault and besides they will soon be in heaven for your people must surely be in Purgatory". This lightened Fr. Martain's heart just a wee bit. Then he said to St. Peter: "I wonder, out of the kindness of your kind heart, kind St. Peter, would you have the kindness to, at least, let me see them and console them?" St. Peter consented and gave him a pair of really tough sandals and some directions. "Now you walk straight in front of you. Over yonder, at the fork of the road, watch that you turn, for if you don't...."Fr. Martain interrupted in great fear and eagerness. He was going to see his Cucugnanes. "Then on your left you will find a gate all studded with ebony crosses. You just knock and someone will open it." So saying St. Peter bade him goodbye.
He continued his sermon: "My children, I walked and I walked. What a trip! It makes my feet ache, just thinking about it. This narrow path full of brambles and shining stones led me straight to the gate of silver with the ebony crosses." He knocked and from within he heard a serious question: "Who is knocking?" Fr. Martain identified himself as the parish priest from Cucugnan and then went in. "I went in," continued Fr. Martain and saw a large and very beautiful angel with wings as black as the night with a robe as resplendent as the day, with a diamond key hung about his waist. He was writing in a large book, much larger, I must confess, than St. Peter's." He pleaded that he would like to see his flock, the people of Cucugnan, "I am their pastor." The angel, sounded rather tired and yet he shuffled the pages of his large book, and after some time came up regretfully: "Fr. Martain, we have no one from Cucugnan in Purgatory." This really shocked Fr. Martain's little soul. "Where are they then?" he asked. "What do you mean, good priest, if they are not here then they must be in heaven." But Fr. Martain had just come for there. "So" said the angel, "if they are not in heaven, and not in Purgatory, there is no other alternative they are...."Fr. Partain interrupted: "No, no, Son of David! Is it possible?" The angel was sorry to see Fr. Martain's consternation. "But, good angel, if I may be so bold, that the Cucugnanes were not saints I know, but they were not so bad that they deserved the eternal torment, theirs were just little faults." "Surely you should know better, Fr. Martain, from the seed grows the tree and the little fault unrepented will gradually but surely grow into the great sin."
Fr. Martain wept bitterly, "How will I ever get to heaven, if my poor Cucugnanes are not there. I have failed them and I have failed myself." "Do you wish to see with your own eyes what happens to those who are not good, but not really bad? Then take this road and run along its course and soon you will find on your left..." Fr. Martain, eager and zealous pastor that he was, took to his heels following the angel's directions and behold! Heaving a sigh that came from his heart, Fr. Martain said: "My Children, may none of you travel that road. It was long and steep and seemed to be paved with red hot embers and from every crack great bursts of steam rose. I was covered with sweat. Every pore on my body had it's own drop. I panted from thirst, but thanks to the sandals good St. Peter lent me, I did not burn my feet. Finally I came to an opening, an enormous opening, yawning wide like the door of a huge oven. There, nobody asked my name, nobody recognized me. Then I heard a dreadful clamour, groaning, shrieking, shouting. A stern voice shouted: "Who are you? Are you coming in or not?" Fr. Martain was afraid and said: "Oh, no, no, I am a friend of God." There was a cynical laugh and he was asked what he wanted: "I came a great distance to ask you if by some strange chance you might have here someone from Cucugnan...(and he began to spell out the name)."
There was another laugh more sarcastic than before. "Fool! Spelling it for me! Did you not know that all of Cucugnan is here? Look, 'Black Crow', look, you'll see how we've arranged them, your famous Cucugnanes." Feebly Fr. Martain tried to plead with Lucifer "....for their 'little' sins." "See what their 'little' sins became." Then began the parade: There was Armand, who loved his wine more than his soul, he became a perpetual drunkard. "Catherine" said Fr. Martain sorrowfully, "that little rascal so proud with her nose in the air." Then there was Pascal, as sly as ever, adulterating even the olive oil he sold to the villagers. Over the years this cheating amounted to a great amount of olives. Louis, so irreverent and Jacques and Pierre...Lucifer teased Fr. Martain: "How I love your Cucugnanes and their 'little' sins. Then concluded Fr. Martain with a heart as heavy as lead: "Yes, not one of you in heaven, not one even in Purgatory. You were all there, my children. Can you imagine my horror, my shame. Oh, it is a frightful thing that has happened to me."
"Now my children, my little sheep. You understand now, that this cannot go on. You say thay are just little sins and no one will care, but you see that God in heaven cares. I implore you to be sorry for those 'little' sins, because you see how dangerous they can become. The bright Angel in Purgatory told me: "The little fault un-repented will gradually but surely lead you to commit the great sin." "So let us tell God we are sorry and with his help we shall try to do better. We shall try to give him a little more satisfaction and the devil a little less." "You see, my little sheep," he continued, "When the wheat is ripe it must be cut, and when the grapes are full they should be pressed. And when it is a question of dirty linen it must be washed and washed well. May God bless you. Amen."
And it was done as he said, they put their linen to soak. Since that memorable Sunday, from miles around, one can breathe the perfume of sanctity and the good pastor, happy and full of joy dreamed the other night, that followed by his whole flock, he climbed in a resplendent procession, in the midst of lighted candles, in a cloud of incense, with the little children of the choir singing the "Te Deum". He dreamed that he climbed the brilliant road to the city of God.
Source: Fr. Ian Doulton, SDB.
Father Martain was the parish priest of Cucugnan, he was as good as newly baked bread, as honest as true gold and loved his Cucugnanes like a father and his Cucugnanes loved him, almost as much. But, for Father Martain, Cucugnan would have been Paradise on earth if only his Cucugnanes had given him a little more satisfaction. He knew his sheep were not really black but they were so lax, that it made the old priest's heart bleed. And every day he asked God the grace not to die until he had led back to the fold his scattered flock. You are going to see that God heard him.
One Sunday after the Gospel, Father Martain walked slowly up to the pulpit. His face was lined with worry and it made his flock wonder to see him so sad. "My children" he pleaded as he drew the attention of Jacques, Pierre and Francoise who were making their way out: "Come back here please. I have something very important to say to you. My children, my heart is heavy this morning and with good reason. I know you love me, but you are making me very sad, and God too. Neither of us likes to be sad. Please, I ask you, make us happy again."
"Now you may believe me if you wish, but last night I found myself, yes me, poor miserable sinner that I am, at the very gate of heaven. I knocked, and Saint Peter, dressed with a flowing robe, all embroidered with gold, opened it." "Well, well, well, what good wind brought you, Father Martain, up here?"
Hesitatingly and filled with wonder and awe he dared to ask: "How many Cucugnanes are there in Paradise?" "We shall look into this matter together,"said
St. Peter very dubiously, yet encouragingly. "Ah, here is my book of souls. I think I can give you all the information you need. Cu...cu..Cucu...what did you say? asked St. Peter; "Cucugnan spelt Fr. Martain. Then shuffling through the pages of his book of souls he turned to Fr. Matain and much to his dismay said: "Why? there aren't any Cucugnanes here than there are fish bones in a turkey...the page is completely blank!"
Fr. Martain was very depressed. He pleaded: "Look, look please a little closer". "I said there is no one!" said St. Peter sounding a little irritated. Fr. Martain was so shocked that after all his teaching there was no one in heaven. He even lamented that he had wasted his life. "You mustn't be upset Fr. Martain" said St. Peter. "After all that is not your fault and besides they will soon be in heaven for your people must surely be in Purgatory". This lightened Fr. Martain's heart just a wee bit. Then he said to St. Peter: "I wonder, out of the kindness of your kind heart, kind St. Peter, would you have the kindness to, at least, let me see them and console them?" St. Peter consented and gave him a pair of really tough sandals and some directions. "Now you walk straight in front of you. Over yonder, at the fork of the road, watch that you turn, for if you don't...."Fr. Martain interrupted in great fear and eagerness. He was going to see his Cucugnanes. "Then on your left you will find a gate all studded with ebony crosses. You just knock and someone will open it." So saying St. Peter bade him goodbye.
He continued his sermon: "My children, I walked and I walked. What a trip! It makes my feet ache, just thinking about it. This narrow path full of brambles and shining stones led me straight to the gate of silver with the ebony crosses." He knocked and from within he heard a serious question: "Who is knocking?" Fr. Martain identified himself as the parish priest from Cucugnan and then went in. "I went in," continued Fr. Martain and saw a large and very beautiful angel with wings as black as the night with a robe as resplendent as the day, with a diamond key hung about his waist. He was writing in a large book, much larger, I must confess, than St. Peter's." He pleaded that he would like to see his flock, the people of Cucugnan, "I am their pastor." The angel, sounded rather tired and yet he shuffled the pages of his large book, and after some time came up regretfully: "Fr. Martain, we have no one from Cucugnan in Purgatory." This really shocked Fr. Martain's little soul. "Where are they then?" he asked. "What do you mean, good priest, if they are not here then they must be in heaven." But Fr. Martain had just come for there. "So" said the angel, "if they are not in heaven, and not in Purgatory, there is no other alternative they are...."Fr. Partain interrupted: "No, no, Son of David! Is it possible?" The angel was sorry to see Fr. Martain's consternation. "But, good angel, if I may be so bold, that the Cucugnanes were not saints I know, but they were not so bad that they deserved the eternal torment, theirs were just little faults." "Surely you should know better, Fr. Martain, from the seed grows the tree and the little fault unrepented will gradually but surely grow into the great sin."
Fr. Martain wept bitterly, "How will I ever get to heaven, if my poor Cucugnanes are not there. I have failed them and I have failed myself." "Do you wish to see with your own eyes what happens to those who are not good, but not really bad? Then take this road and run along its course and soon you will find on your left..." Fr. Martain, eager and zealous pastor that he was, took to his heels following the angel's directions and behold! Heaving a sigh that came from his heart, Fr. Martain said: "My Children, may none of you travel that road. It was long and steep and seemed to be paved with red hot embers and from every crack great bursts of steam rose. I was covered with sweat. Every pore on my body had it's own drop. I panted from thirst, but thanks to the sandals good St. Peter lent me, I did not burn my feet. Finally I came to an opening, an enormous opening, yawning wide like the door of a huge oven. There, nobody asked my name, nobody recognized me. Then I heard a dreadful clamour, groaning, shrieking, shouting. A stern voice shouted: "Who are you? Are you coming in or not?" Fr. Martain was afraid and said: "Oh, no, no, I am a friend of God." There was a cynical laugh and he was asked what he wanted: "I came a great distance to ask you if by some strange chance you might have here someone from Cucugnan...(and he began to spell out the name)."
There was another laugh more sarcastic than before. "Fool! Spelling it for me! Did you not know that all of Cucugnan is here? Look, 'Black Crow', look, you'll see how we've arranged them, your famous Cucugnanes." Feebly Fr. Martain tried to plead with Lucifer "....for their 'little' sins." "See what their 'little' sins became." Then began the parade: There was Armand, who loved his wine more than his soul, he became a perpetual drunkard. "Catherine" said Fr. Martain sorrowfully, "that little rascal so proud with her nose in the air." Then there was Pascal, as sly as ever, adulterating even the olive oil he sold to the villagers. Over the years this cheating amounted to a great amount of olives. Louis, so irreverent and Jacques and Pierre...Lucifer teased Fr. Martain: "How I love your Cucugnanes and their 'little' sins. Then concluded Fr. Martain with a heart as heavy as lead: "Yes, not one of you in heaven, not one even in Purgatory. You were all there, my children. Can you imagine my horror, my shame. Oh, it is a frightful thing that has happened to me."
"Now my children, my little sheep. You understand now, that this cannot go on. You say thay are just little sins and no one will care, but you see that God in heaven cares. I implore you to be sorry for those 'little' sins, because you see how dangerous they can become. The bright Angel in Purgatory told me: "The little fault un-repented will gradually but surely lead you to commit the great sin." "So let us tell God we are sorry and with his help we shall try to do better. We shall try to give him a little more satisfaction and the devil a little less." "You see, my little sheep," he continued, "When the wheat is ripe it must be cut, and when the grapes are full they should be pressed. And when it is a question of dirty linen it must be washed and washed well. May God bless you. Amen."
And it was done as he said, they put their linen to soak. Since that memorable Sunday, from miles around, one can breathe the perfume of sanctity and the good pastor, happy and full of joy dreamed the other night, that followed by his whole flock, he climbed in a resplendent procession, in the midst of lighted candles, in a cloud of incense, with the little children of the choir singing the "Te Deum". He dreamed that he climbed the brilliant road to the city of God.
Source: Fr. Ian Doulton, SDB.