"Autobiographies of great nations are written in three manuscripts – a book of deeds, a book of words, and a book of art. Of the three, I would choose the latter as truest testimony." - Sir Kenneth Smith, Great Civilisations

"I must write each day without fail, not so much for the success of the work, as in order not to get out of my routine." - Leo Tolstoy

I have never believed that one should wait until one is inspired because I think the pleasures of not writing are so great that if you ever start indulging them you will never write again. - John Updike

"The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it." - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations." - Lawrence Ferlinghetti


[Note - If any article requires updating or correction please notate this in the comment section. Thank you. - res]


Saturday, May 16, 2020

Francis Thompson - The Hound of Heaven


The Hound of Heaven By Francis Thompson - YouTube

The Hound of Heaven
Poem Link
By Francis Thompson  (1859–1907)

I FLED Him, down the nights and down the days;
  I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
    Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.        5
      Up vistaed hopes I sped;
      And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,
  From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
      But with unhurrying chase,       10
      And unperturbèd pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
      They beat—and a Voice beat
      More instant than the Feet—
‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’       15

          I pleaded, outlaw-wise,
By many a hearted casement, curtained red,
  Trellised with intertwining charities;
(For, though I knew His love Who followèd,
        Yet was I sore adread       20
Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside).
But, if one little casement parted wide,
  The gust of His approach would clash it to.
  Fear wist not to evade, as Love wist to pursue.
Across the margent of the world I fled,       25
  And troubled the gold gateways of the stars,
  Smiting for shelter on their clangèd bars;
        Fretted to dulcet jars
And silvern chatter the pale ports o’ the moon.
I said to Dawn: Be sudden—to Eve: Be soon;       30
  With thy young skiey blossoms heap me over
        From this tremendous Lover—
Float thy vague veil about me, lest He see!
  I tempted all His servitors, but to find
My own betrayal in their constancy,       35
In faith to Him their fickleness to me,
  Their traitorous trueness, and their loyal deceit.
To all swift things for swiftness did I sue;
  Clung to the whistling mane of every wind.
      But whether they swept, smoothly fleet,       40
    The long savannahs of the blue;
        Or whether, Thunder-driven,
    They clanged his chariot ’thwart a heaven,
Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o’ their feet:—
  Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue.       45
      Still with unhurrying chase,
      And unperturbèd pace,
    Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
      Came on the following Feet,
      And a Voice above their beat—       50
    ‘Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me.’

I sought no more that after which I strayed
  In face of man or maid;
But still within the little children’s eyes
  Seems something, something that replies,       55
They at least are for me, surely for me!
I turned me to them very wistfully;
But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair
  With dawning answers there,
Their angel plucked them from me by the hair.       60
‘Come then, ye other children, Nature’s—share
With me’ (said I) ‘your delicate fellowship;
  Let me greet you lip to lip,
  Let me twine with you caresses,
    Wantoning       65
  With our Lady-Mother’s vagrant tresses,
    Banqueting
  With her in her wind-walled palace,
  Underneath her azured daïs,
  Quaffing, as your taintless way is,       70
    From a chalice
Lucent-weeping out of the dayspring.’
    So it was done:
I in their delicate fellowship was one—
Drew the bolt of Nature’s secrecies.       75
  I knew all the swift importings
  On the wilful face of skies;
  I knew how the clouds arise
  Spumèd of the wild sea-snortings;
    All that’s born or dies       80
  Rose and drooped with; made them shapers
Of mine own moods, or wailful or divine;
  With them joyed and was bereaven.
  I was heavy with the even,
  When she lit her glimmering tapers       85
  Round the day’s dead sanctities.
  I laughed in the morning’s eyes.
I triumphed and I saddened with all weather,
  Heaven and I wept together,
And its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine;       90
Against the red throb of its sunset-heart
    I laid my own to beat,
    And share commingling heat;
But not by that, by that, was eased my human smart.
In vain my tears were wet on Heaven’s grey cheek.       95
For ah! we know not what each other says,
  These things and I; in sound I speak—
Their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences.
Nature, poor stepdame, cannot slake my drouth;
  Let her, if she would owe me,      100
Drop yon blue bosom-veil of sky, and show me
  The breasts o’ her tenderness:
Never did any milk of hers once bless
    My thirsting mouth.
    Nigh and nigh draws the chase,      105
    With unperturbèd pace,
  Deliberate speed, majestic instancy;
    And past those noisèd Feet
    A voice comes yet more fleet—
  ‘Lo! naught contents thee, who content’st not Me!’      110
Naked I wait Thy love’s uplifted stroke!
My harness piece by piece Thou hast hewn from me,
    And smitten me to my knee;
  I am defenceless utterly.
  I slept, methinks, and woke,      115
And, slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep.
In the rash lustihead of my young powers,
  I shook the pillaring hours
And pulled my life upon me; grimed with smears,
I stand amid the dust o’ the mounded years—      120
My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap.
My days have crackled and gone up in smoke,
Have puffed and burst as sun-starts on a stream.
  Yea, faileth now even dream
The dreamer, and the lute the lutanist;      125
Even the linked fantasies, in whose blossomy twist
I swung the earth a trinket at my wrist,
Are yielding; cords of all too weak account
For earth with heavy griefs so overplussed.
  Ah! is Thy love indeed      130
A weed, albeit an amaranthine weed,
Suffering no flowers except its own to mount?
  Ah! must—
  Designer infinite!—
Ah! must Thou char the wood ere Thou canst limn with it?      135
My freshness spent its wavering shower i’ the dust;
And now my heart is as a broken fount,
Wherein tear-drippings stagnate, spilt down ever
  From the dank thoughts that shiver
Upon the sighful branches of my mind.      140
  Such is; what is to be?
The pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind?
I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds;
Yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds
From the hid battlements of Eternity;      145
Those shaken mists a space unsettle, then
Round the half-glimpsèd turrets slowly wash again.
  But not ere him who summoneth
  I first have seen, enwound
With glooming robes purpureal, cypress-crowned;      150
His name I know, and what his trumpet saith.
Whether man’s heart or life it be which yields
  Thee harvest, must Thy harvest-fields
  Be dunged with rotten death?

      Now of that long pursuit      155
    Comes on at hand the bruit;
  That Voice is round me like a bursting sea:
    ‘And is thy earth so marred,
    Shattered in shard on shard?
  Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me!      160
  Strange, piteous, futile thing!
Wherefore should any set thee love apart?
Seeing none but I makes much of naught’ (He said),
‘And human love needs human meriting:
  How hast thou merited—      165
Of all man’s clotted clay the dingiest clot?
  Alack, thou knowest not
How little worthy of any love thou art!
Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee,
  Save Me, save only Me?      170
All which I took from thee I did but take,
  Not for thy harms,
But just that thou might’st seek it in My arms.
  All which thy child’s mistake
Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home:      175
  Rise, clasp My hand, and come!’
  Halts by me that footfall:
  Is my gloom, after all,
Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?
  ‘Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,      180
  I am He Whom thou seekest!
Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.’



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The Hound of Heaven: The Story of Francis Thompson is a compelling documentary that tells the human story behind the poem. This biography follows the journey of a young man who plummeted from the heights of a comfortable life to the depths of drug addiction in London’s seedy alleys…and then found redemption. In the midst of this painful experience, he wrote what many consider to be one of the greatest poems in Christendom. G. K. Chesterton and J. R. R. Tolkien were among those who wrote of his poetic talent, as well as his influence on their own writing.

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The Hound of Heaven A Modern Adaptation
Oxvision Films |  Apr 15, 2014

This is a modern adaptation of the poem The Hound of Heaven written by Francis Thompson produced by Emblem Media LLC. The book was written by Brian and Sally Oxley, Sonja Oxley Peterson with Dr. Devin Brown. Illustrations by Tim Ladwig.

This film is based on an illustrated book, The Hound of Heaven:  A Modern Adaptation, it is available on Amazon: http://goo.gl/n2XAVn


The Hound of Heaven By Francis Thompson
DrAndrewC | Jan 15, 2015

The background to the classic English poem by the tragic poet, Francis Thompson, The Hounds of Heaven.


The Hound of Heaven

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"The Hound of Heaven" is a 182-line poem written by English poet Francis Thompson (1859–1907). The poem became famous and was the source of much of Thompson's posthumous reputation. The poem was first published in Thompson's first volume of poems in 1893.[1] It was included in the Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse (1917). Thompson's work was praised by G. K. Chesterton, and it was also an influence on J. R. R. Tolkien, who presented a paper on Thompson in 1914.[2]
This Christian poem has been described as follows:
"The name is strange. It startles one at first. It is so bold, so new, so fearless. It does not attract, rather the reverse. But when one reads the poem this strangeness disappears. The meaning is understood. As the hound follows the hare, never ceasing in its running, ever drawing nearer in the chase, with unhurrying and imperturbed pace, so does God follow the fleeing soul by His Divine grace. And though in sin or in human love, away from God it seeks to hide itself, Divine grace follows after, unwearyingly follows ever after, till the soul feels its pressure forcing it to turn to Him alone in that never ending pursuit." J.F.X. O'Conor, S.J.[3]


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the hound of heaven | Tumblr


The Hound of Heaven

A Poem by Francis Thompson (1859-1907)
A Study Guide

Background

Francis Thompson was a devout Roman Catholic who led a tortured life. After abandoning studies to become a priest and later a physician, he drifted and fell into financial hard times. So poverty-stricken was he in London, where he was pursuing a career as a writer, that he sold matches to earn money and borrowed paper on which to write poems. His troubles increased when he developed neuralgia. To relieve the acute pain of this condition, he began taking laudanum, a concoction of opium and ethanol. He became an addict.

In "The Hound of Heaven," the speaker runs from God in order to maintain the pleasures of his dissolute life. One can imagine the speaker's real-life counterpart, Thompson, doing the same as he pursued the groggy pleasures of his opium habit. Meanwhile, he contracted tuberculosis. Though he fought his drug habit, he eventually succumbed to TB, dying a month short of his forty-eighth birthday.

Summary

The speaker is running from God, as do many people caught up in the world. But God pursues him. Although aware of God's love for him, the speaker continues to run, believing that submitting to God means giving up worldly pleasures.

The speaker runs from place to place and even troubles “the gold gateway of the stars” in his effort to escape his pursuer. He pleads with dawn to be brief so that darkness may come to hide him. He asks the evening to cover him. But God still pursues him, saying, “Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me.”

When the speaker sees little children, he thinks they cheer him on. But he finds no haven with them. Instead, he hears the voice of his pursuer:

"Lo! naught contents thee, who content’st not Me!"

His days pass swiftly when he swings “the earth a trinket at my wrist,” but eventually his youth stands “amid the dust o' the mounded years.” The happiness he sought in the things of the world has eluded him.

A trumpet sounds from the battlements of eternity through the confounding mist of time. Then follows a loud voice: “Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me!” It asks the speaker whether he has earned the love of another human, then answers,

Alack, thou knowest not
How little worthy of any love thou art!
Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee,
Save Me, only Me?

God explains that what He took from the speaker—the pleasures that led him in the wrong direction—was not intended to hurt him but to help him find his way to the right path. The happiness that you think you lost, God says, is not lost but “stored for thee at home.”

“Rise, clasp My hand, and come!”

The speaker wonders whether the gloom he feels is nothing more than the shade cast by the hand of God reaching out to him. God tells him that the happiness he sought by running away was following him all the time.



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Francis Thompson
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For others with this name, see Francis Thompson (disambiguation).
Francis Thompson
Francis Thompson at 19.jpg
Thompson in 1877.
Born16 December 1859
Died13 November 1907 (aged 47)
Resting placeSt. Mary's Cemetery
Kensal Green
NationalityEnglish
Known forEthereal poetry
Over 50 poems; essays
Hound of Heaven
Francis Thompson (16 December 1859 – 13 November 1907) was an English poet and Catholic mystic. At the behest of his father, a doctor, he entered medical school at the age of 18, but at 26 left home to pursue his talent as a writer and poet. He spent three years on the streets of London, supporting himself with menial labour, becoming addicted to opium which he took to relieve a nervous problem.
In 1888 a married couple, publishers, read his poetry and took him into their home for a time. They were to publish his first book Poems in 1893. In 1897, he switched to writing prose, drawing inspiration from life in the countryside, Wales and Storrington. His health, always fragile, continued to deteriorate and he died of tuberculosis in 1907. By that time he had published three books of poetry, along with other works and essays.

Early life and study

Thompson was born in Winckley Street, Preston, Lancashire. His father, Charles, was a doctor who had converted to Roman Catholicism, following his brother Edward Healy Thompson, a friend of Cardinal Manning. Edward along with John Costall Thompson, Francis' uncles, were both authors. Francis had a brother who died in infancy, and three younger sisters.[1]
At the age of eleven, Thompson was sent to Ushaw College, a Catholic seminary near Durham. A frail, delicate and extremely shy boy, he was described by his school fellows in 1870 as 'mooney' or abstracted but happy enough. He could be recognised from afar along an 'ambulacrum' or corridor by his habit of sidling sheepishly along the wall with the collar of his coat turned up. Most of his leisure time was spent in the college library where he was fond of history and poetry books. It was noticed that despite the distractions in the library of catapult fights and general mayhem, he had the ability to shut himself off and continue to be absorbed in his reading. As he advanced up the college he became more skilled at writing and his friends remembered that out of twenty examination essays he obtained first place on sixteen occasions. Once he was punished with a beating for being the last boy to be ready for PE drill. He had no interest in Mathematics and, in his final exam, he came last. The only sport in which he developed an interest was Handball and it is said he achieved a standard above the average. He became a connoisseur of cricket though he rarely participated. In preparation for Ushaw College's centenary celebrations due to take place in 1908, Thompson, by then a celebrated poet, was approached to write a Jubilee Ode to mark the occasion. The poet was delighted that the assignment had been offered to him and it is said that he looked forward to seeing his 'College home' once more. His death, however, in 1907 meant that the commission was never carried out.
Thompson studied medicine for nearly eight years at Owens College, now the University of Manchester. While excelling in essay writing, he took no interest in his medical studies; he had a passion for poetry and for watching cricket matches. He never practised as a doctor, and to escape the reproaches of his father he tried to enlist as a soldier but was rejected for his slightness of stature. Then in 1885 he fled, penniless, to London, where he tried to make a living as a writer, in the meantime taking odd jobs – working for a bootmaker and booksellers, selling matches. During this time, he became addicted to opium, which he had first taken as medicine for ill health, having experienced a nervous breakdown while still in Manchester. He lived on the streets of Charing Cross and slept by the River Thames, with the homeless and other addicts. He was turned down by Oxford University, not because he was unqualified, but because of his addiction.[2] Thompson contemplated suicide in his nadir of despair, but was saved from completing the action through a vision which he believed to be that of a youthful poet Thomas Chatterton, who had committed suicide over a century earlier.[3] A prostitute whose identity Thompson never revealed, befriended him and gave him lodgings. Thompson later described her in his poetry as his saviour.[2]

Writing career

In 1888, after three years on the streets, he was 'discovered' after sending his poetry to the magazine Merrie England. He was sought out by the magazine's editors, Wilfrid and Alice Meynell, who recognised the value of his work. They took him into their home and, concerned about his opium addiction which was at its height following his years on the streets, sent him to Our Lady of England PrioryStorrington, for a couple of years. He continued to take opium but in small doses at irregular intervals, to relieve nerve pain.[2]
Francis wrote most of his poetry during this period from 1888 – 1897, after which he turned to writing prose. He struck up a good relationship with the Meynells who, parents and children, furnished inspiration for some of his poetry. They arranged for publication of his first book Poems in 1893. The book attracted the attention of sympathetic critics in the St James's Gazette and other newspapers, and Coventry Patmore wrote a eulogistic notice in the Fortnightly Review of January 1894. Francis' poem The Hound of Heaven was called by the Bishop of London "one of the most tremendous poems ever written," and by critics "the most wonderful lyric in the language," while the Times of London declared that people will still be learning it 200 years hence. His verse continued to elicit high praise from critics right up to his last volume in 1897. His selected poems published in 1908 contains about 50 pieces in all.[2] Notable among his prose works are an essay on Shelley, "The Life of St. Ignatius", and "Health and Holiness".[4]

Later life and death

Thompson moved around frequently, subsequently living as an invalid at Pantasaph, Flintshire, in Wales and at Storrington. A lifetime of poverty, ill-health, and opium addiction had taken their toll on him, even though he found success in his last years.
Thompson attempted suicide but was saved from completing the action through a vision which he believed to be that of a youthful poet, Thomas Chatterton, who had committed suicide almost a century earlier. Shortly afterwards, a prostitute - whose identity Thompson never revealed - befriended him, gave him lodgings and shared her income with him. Thompson was later to describe her in his poetry as his saviour. She soon disappeared, however, never to return.[5]
Thompson died from tuberculosis at the age of 47, in the Hospital of St John and St Elizabeth, and is buried in St. Mary's Roman Catholic Cemetery in Kensal Green. His tomb bears the last line from a poem he wrote for his godson, a Meynell: Look for me in the nurseries of Heaven.[1]

Style and influence


Memorial plaque to Thompson, Winckley Street, Preston
His most famous poem, The Hound of Heaven, describes the pursuit of the human person by God. Phrases from his poetry have been lifted by others and made famous. The U.S. Supreme Court in Brown II used "with all deliberate speed" for the remedy sought in their famous decision on school desegregation.[6] A phrase in "The Kingdom of God"[7] is the source of the title of Han Suyin's novel A Many-Splendoured Thing. In addition, Thompson wrote the most famous cricket poem, the nostalgic "At Lord's". He also wrote The Poppy (1893), Sister Songs (1895), New Poems (1897), and a posthumously published essay, Shelley (1909).
G. K. Chesterton said shortly after his death that "with Francis Thompson we lost the greatest poetic energy since Browning."[8] Among Thompson's devotees was the young J. R. R. Tolkien, who purchased a volume of Thompson's works in 1913-1914, and later said that it was an important influence on his own writing.[9] Halliday Sutherland borrowed the second line of The Hound of Heaven for the title of his 1933 autobiographical best-seller "The Arches of the Years".[10] The American novelist Madeleine L'Engle used a line from the poem "The Mistress of Vision" as the title of her last Vicki Austin novel, Troubling a Star.
In 2002, Katherine A. Powers, literary columnist for the Boston Globe, called Hound of Heaven "perhaps the most beloved and ubiquitously taught poem among American Catholics for over half a century," adding that Thompson's other poetry lost its popularity amidst anti-Modernism in the Catholic church during most of the twentieth century. However, she agrees that the dawning century is more akin to his spirit: "His medical training and life on the streets gave him a gritty view of reality and a social conscience, and his governing idea that God is immanent in all things and in all experience, so vexatious to both Victorians and the Vatican alike, no longer strikes an alien or heretical note."[11]
In 2012, Chris Ward's biographical filmscript, Visions in the Life of the Victorian poet Francis Thompson 'Hound' was staged at the Riverside Studios, Hammersmith and following that the stage version was taken on a tour of London's churches including St Giles-in-the Fields and in St Olav's (City of London) in May 2014.[12] A film of Hound baced on the life of Francis Thompson has been made into feature film with a cast including Wayne SleepToyah Willcox and Hazel O'Connor, and with Francis Thompson played by Daniel Hutchinson.[13]

Legacy


Inscription on memorial plaque
Thompson's birthplace, in Winckley Street, Preston, is marked by a memorial plaque.[14] The inscription reads: "Francis Thompson poet was born in this house Dec 16 1859. Ever and anon a trumpet sounds, From the hid battlements of eternity." The home in Ashton-under-Lyne where Thompson lived from 1864 to 1885 was also marked with a blue plaque. In 2014, however, the building collapsed.[15]
In 1999 an Australian teacher added Thompson's name to the list of people (that as of 2016 extends to more than 100 individuals) suggested as possible suspects in the infamous Jack the Ripper murders, citing interpretations of his poetry and his medical background, but no physical evidence.[16][17][18]




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Amazon Link


Poems by Francis Thompsonhttps://mypoeticside.com/poets/francis-thompson-poems

The Gutenberg Projecthttps://www.gutenberg.org/files/1469/1469-h/1469-h.htm

Poems by Francis Thompsonhttps://www.poemhunter.com/francis-thompson/



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The Hound of Heaven, A Modern Adaptation


Oxvision Films - This is a modern adaptation of the poem The Hound of Heaven written by Francis Thompson produced by Emblem Media LLC. The book was written by Brian and Sally Oxley, Sonja Oxley Peterson with Dr. Devin Brown. Illustrations by Tim Ladwig.
This film is based on an illustrated book, The Hound of Heaven: A Modern Adaptation, it is available on Amazon: http://goo.gl/n2XAVn
For more information about Emblem Media or The Hound of Heaven visit:



Austin Kleon - Posts tagged \'top 100\'




Tuesday, May 12, 2020

R.E. Slater - Meditations




MEDITATIONS

by R.E. Slater


Around me lie hearts wrecked by words,
Flunged houses of anxious flesh,
Torn asunder by worthless men,
Ruthless their arts of war.

Around lie worlds of noxious fears,
Each neighbor contentious the other,
Benighted by day, sleepless the night,
Led by mockers of wicked heart.

Crying anger, shouting injustice,
Very imposters purveying the same,
Slanders first, divisive always,
Bereft the ways of peace.

Tongues filling with darkest hells,
Angry mouths fiercer than lions,
Feet running tormented paths,
Hands daily given to insurrections.

Bleating lost sheep rallying their masters,
To voices spewing ridicule and scorn,
O'er paths of ruin, pastures most bitter,
Joyless testimonies to each evil day.

All who follow, will follow ruin,
All who strive, so strife will meet,
Abandoning wisdom, fools embraced,
Lands once plenty, now plenteous ruined.


R.E. Slater
May 12, 2020
Rev. May 14 & 21, 2020


@copyright R.E. Slater Publications
all rights reserved


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Remarks


I was meditating on contentiousness this morning... here's what I learned from reading bible verses on the subject:

"If you ever have listened to a contentious person their mouths follow their hearts rapidly speaking slander and destruction.
"They do not dwell on any one divisive soliloquy but move quickly from topic to topic sowing discontent.
"They argue without listening, stirring up new troubles every day.
"Their hearts are befouled, their lips speak war.
"They are unwise; whose paths lead to destruction; and all who follow will meet their ends."

Thus this morning's poem as a tribute lying heavy upon my heart knowing but harm comes from the hearts of the wicked.

R.E. Slater
May 12, 2020

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Verses on the Contentious Spirit
Here's what the Bible says to those who follow in the ways of strife


Psalm 120:7 - I am for peace, but when I speak, they are for war.

Psalm 140:2 - ...Who devise evil things in their hearts; They continually stir up wars.

Proverbs 13:10 - Through insolence comes nothing but strife, but wisdom is with those who receive counsel.

Proverbs 15:18 - A hot-tempered man stirs up strife, but the slow to anger calms a dispute.

Proverbs 17:19 - He who loves transgression loves strife; He who raises his door seeks destruction.

Proverbs 18:6 - A fool’s lips bring strife, and his mouth calls for blows.

Proverbs 21:18 - The wicked is a ransom for the righteous, and the treacherous [stands] in the place of the upright.

Proverbs 21:19 - It is better to live in a desert land than with a contentious and vexing [man or] woman.

Proverbs 21:20 - There is precious treasure and oil in the dwelling of the wise, but a foolish man swallows it up.

Proverbs 25:24 - It is better to live in a corner of the roof than in a house shared with a contentious [man or] woman.

Proverbs 26:21 - Like charcoal to hot embers and wood to fire, so is a contentious man to kindle strife.

Habakkuk 1:3 - Why do You make me see iniquity, and cause me to look on wickedness? Yes, destruction and violence are before me; Strife exists and contention arises.

Galatians 5:15 - But if you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another.



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8 Qualities of Shepherd-Leaders

by Dr. John B. MacDonald
February 12, 2016


Can we improve on servant-leadership? I propose shepherd-leadership.

One author points out that, in the Bible,

“the shepherd image is one of the few that is applied exclusively to leaders.”

No fewer than eight times in the Old Testament, God is portrayed as the shepherd of his people. In the Gospels, Jesus Christ is described as the good shepherd. There are no better teachers or models of leadership. 

What can we learn from a shepherd about becoming better leaders?

Here are at least eight qualities of true leaders we can learn from the good shepherd in John 10. Take a moment to become familiar with John 10:1-18:

John 10:1-18 New American Standard Bible (NASB)
Parable of the Good Shepherd
10 “Truly, truly, I say to you, he who does not enter by the door into the fold of the sheep, but climbs up some other way, he is a thief and a robber. 2 But he who enters by the door is a shepherd of the sheep. 3 To him the doorkeeper opens, and the sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. 4 When he puts forth all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. 5 A stranger they simply will not follow, but will flee from him, because they do not know the voice of strangers.” 6 This figure of speech Jesus spoke to them, but they did not understand what those things were which He had been saying to them.
7 So Jesus said to them again, “Truly, truly, I say to you, I am the door of the sheep. 8 All who came before Me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not hear them. 9 I am the door; if anyone enters through Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture. 10 The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and [a]have it abundantly.
11 “I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep. 12 He who is a hired hand, and not a shepherd, who is not the owner of the sheep, sees the wolf coming, and leaves the sheep and flees, and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. 13 He flees because he is a hired hand and is not concerned about the sheep. 14 I am the good shepherd, and I know My own and My own know Me, 15 even as the Father knows Me and I know the Father; and I lay down My life for the sheep. 16 I have other sheep, which are not of this fold; I must bring them also, and they will hear My voice; and they will become one flock with one shepherd. 17 For this reason the Father loves Me, because I lay down My life so that I may take it again. 18 No one has taken it away from Me, but I lay it down on My own initiative. I have authority to lay it down, and I have authority to take it up again. This commandment I received from My Father.”
Footnotes:John 10:10 Or have abundance

1. Boundaries. As I’ve written before, every relationship is defined and preserved by boundaries (See: “Leaders, Fools and Impostors”). Stepping over those boundaries damages or destroys the relationship.

A true leader will establish and maintain boundaries. For the shepherd there is a sheep pen within which only his sheep may gather (10:1-2).

For leaders in every area of life, there are appropriate ethical and moral boundaries that leaders need to establish and maintain for the benefit of those they lead.


2. Example. The shepherd “goes on ahead of [the sheep], and his sheep follow him” (10:3-4). 

Any true leader will lead by example. It is not a case of “do as I say, not as I do.” They are to be worthy models to follow. 


3. Trustworthy. Sheep follow the good shepherd “because they know his voice” (10:4). This was learned over time from the consistent and caring treatment of the shepherd toward the sheep.

A leader needs to cultivate a deep sense of trust from those he or she leads. This is a quality where one’s voice speaks volumes about the character and care of a leader. 


4. Provision. A shepherd provides good pasture (10:9). A sheep says of the shepherd (Psalm 23):

“I shall not be in want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

He leads me beside quiet waters,

He restores my soul.”

True leaders provide for the needs of those they lead. For instance, they do not grind down their employees in unhealthy environments at less than livable wages. They do not fire them without caring about what happens to them. When it comes to a leadership choice, a person is more important than a profit.

A leader acts in a way that gives “life” to those he or she leads (10:10).


5. Sacrificial. Five times Jesus speaks about laying down his life for the sheep (10: 11, 15, 17-18). This shepherd chose personal sacrifice for the welfare of his sheep. 

So it is with true leaders. They willingly experience personal sacrifice for the benefit of those they lead. It’s not about the leader; it’s about those they lead. 


6. Invested. The shepherd has a personal stake in the well-being of the sheep. A hired hand will abandon them when the going gets tough or dangerous – for him, it’s only a job. The shepherd is invested in the sheep and sticks with them through thick and thin (10:12). 

So it is with true leaders. They are personally invested in those they lead. 


7. Relational. “I know my sheep and my sheep know me” (10:14). 

The true leader takes the time and energy to build solid and genuine relationships with those he or she leads. Those led are not viewed as mere employees, servants, or objects; each is known and treated as an “image of God.” 


8. Visionary. Jesus moved toward increasing the size of his flock – those who would become his genuine followers (10:16). 

True leaders have a vision for the future and move toward it.

These are a few qualities we can learn from a shepherd to become better leaders.

What can you add?