Lectio Divina – Wednesday of the Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time
Theme: “swineherds”
Written in the first person, in the voice of G.K. Chesterton
1. Lectio
Gospel – Matthew 8:28–34
> “The swineherds ran away, and when they came to the town they reported everything, including what had happened to the demoniacs.”
The tending of swine reveals that Jesus has entered Gentile territory, for pigs were considered unclean under the Mosaic Law. Yet the truly startling detail is not the pigs but the swineherds. They become evangelists of a sort—but of the wrong gospel. They announce not the liberation of two tormented men but the destruction of their livelihood. They tell the truth, yet not the whole truth. Their testimony is accurate but not faithful. Their fear of economic loss blinds them to the miracle standing before them.
How easily I can become a swineherd who reports Christ’s inconvenience rather than Christ’s salvation.
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2. Meditatio
As I mentioned recently, I am not only a shepherd but also a swineherd. I rarely mention that in conversation because swineherd does not roll off the tongue with the romance of shepherd. Shepherds belong in Christmas cards; swineherds seem to belong in muddy overalls.
Yet perhaps that is precisely where Christ chooses to meet me.
Here at The Glenn my vocation is to create a livelihood through regenerative agriculture by combining lawn care with meat production. As part of that experiment I raise Kunekune pigs, a small heritage breed from New Zealand. Unlike commercial breeds bred to root and destroy, Kunekunes are natural grazers. They convert grass into nourishment while helping improve the land instead of exhausting it. They remind me that even creatures once regarded as unclean can become instruments of healing when ordered rightly.
Still, I recognize a danger. It is possible to become so attached to regenerative agriculture that I begin to defend my vision instead of following Christ’s. The swineherds in today’s Gospel were not condemned because they kept pigs. They were condemned because their livelihood mattered more to them than the liberation of two human beings.
That temptation remains alive in every generation.
Pope Leo XIV observes that environmental exploitation destroys not only ecosystems but also the social fabric that gives communities meaning and identity. The temptation is to cling to the very systems that wound creation because they appear economically secure. Regenerative agriculture often feels like rowing into a storm against prevailing winds. It asks me to trust that healthier soil, healthier communities, and healthier relationships with creation are worth the uncertainty of transition.
Saint John Paul II deepened this vision in Laborem Exercens. Work is not merely a way to earn money but a participation in God’s own creative activity. Fair wages, dignified labor, and the worker’s participation in society are not economic luxuries but measures of whether the human person is treated as an image of God rather than as another cost of production.
That strikes home at The Glenn.
Every decision I make—whether about sheep, livestock guardian dogs, Kunekune pigs, or grazing—asks the same question: Am I building merely a profitable enterprise, or am I cooperating with the Creator?
The demons that block the road to regenerative agriculture are not only economic. They are the demons of impatience, pride, fear, and the craving for immediate success. Those are the demons I most need Christ to cast into the swine.
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3. Oratio (Prayer)
Lord Jesus,
Drive from me every demon that makes me value my livelihood more than Your lordship.
Teach me to work the land without possessing it, to raise animals without worshipping profit, to seek success without sacrificing charity, and to steward creation without imagining that I own it.
Grant me the courage to follow wherever You lead, even when Your Gospel unsettles the economics of my heart.
May every pasture at The Glenn become a place where Your Kingdom is more visible than my ambitions.
Amen.
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4. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)
Saint Junípero Serra left behind everything familiar to walk into lands where success was uncertain and misunderstanding was guaranteed. He was not remembered because he preserved his comfort, but because he surrendered it. A swineherd protects his pigs; a missionary risks himself for souls.
Chesterton might have smiled and said that civilization often mistakes the census of pigs for the census of saints. We count livestock with meticulous accuracy while scarcely noticing the miracle of one soul restored to freedom. The Kingdom of God has always appeared economically inefficient because heaven places a higher value on a healed person than on a full marketplace.
So I return to The Glenn with a new suspicion. Perhaps Christ has not asked me to choose between being a shepherd and a swineherd. He has asked me to become a steward whose first allegiance is neither sheep nor pigs, neither pasture nor profit, but the One who walks calmly into every country—even those we have declared unclean—and leaves behind people restored, demons expelled, and a question that echoes through every field:
Will I report what I have lost… or will I proclaim whom I have found?
Wednesday of the Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time
