National Catholic Register portal (May 22, 2026) publishes a commentary by Regis Martin, S.T.D., professor of theology at Franciscan University of Steubenville, on the image of Christ as the Good Shepherd and the Lamb of God. The article weaves together biblical references to shepherds in the Old Testament, the parable of the lost sheep, Psalm 23, and George Herbert’s poetic rendering, culminating in the assertion that “the shepherd must be willing to die for his sheep” and that Christ “becomes no less a lamb himself” to atone for sin. Yet for all its devotional warmth, the piece is a masterclass in the modernist evasion of the supernatural: it reduces the supreme propitiatory sacrifice of Calvary to a sentimental metaphor of pastoral care, omits entirely the necessity of the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, the sacramental economy, the reality of original sin, and the absolute demands of the integral Catholic faith. What remains is a Christ who is merely a moral exemplar of self-giving love — a Christ stripped of His kingship, His justice, and His divinity as the only means of salvation.
A Christ Without the Cross: The Erasure of Propitiatory Sacrifice
The article’s central theological move is to collapse the distinction between Christ the Shepherd and Christ the Lamb into a single, undifferentiated image of tender care. Martin writes that “the shepherd must be willing to die for his sheep” and that Christ “becomes no less a lamb himself, who, by taking on the sins of the sheep, the whole weight of their travail, succeeds in atoning for every transgression ever committed.” The language is not wrong in isolation — it echoes, however distantly, the language of sacrifice. But what is entirely absent is the theological precision that the Church has always insisted upon.
The Sacrifice of the Cross was not merely an act of “self-giving love” or “continuous sacrifice” poured out in the manner of a shepherd tending his flock. It was a true propitiatory sacrifice, offered by the God-Man to His Eternal Father, satisfying divine justice for the sins of the entire human race. The Council of Trent, in Session XXII, Chapter II, teaches: “For, not yet being destroyed by death, He offered one sacrifice for sins, by which ‘He hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified’ (Heb. 10:14). Nor does the Church now offer another sacrifice for sins, but the same sacrifice, which Christ offered once on the altar of the Cross, is daily renewed in the Eucharist.” The Mass is not a mere memorial meal or a celebration of community togetherness — it is the Unbloody Sacrifice of Calvary, perpetuated on our altars by validly ordained priests acting in persona Christi.
Nowhere in Martin’s article is the Mass mentioned. Not once. Not even obliquely. The entire sacramental economy — Baptism, Penance, the Holy Eucharist, the other sacraments — is simply absent. This is not a minor omission. It is the gravest possible accusation against any Catholic writer: silence about the supernatural means of grace is silence about the very purpose of the Incarnation. As Pope Pius XI declared in Quas Primas (1925): “His reign, namely, extends not only to Catholic nations or to those who, by receiving baptism according to law, belong to the Church, even though their erroneous opinions have led them astray or discord has separated them from love, but His reign encompasses also all non-Christians, so that most truly the entire human race is subject to the authority of Jesus Christ.” And again: “And there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:12).
The article’s Christ is a shepherd who “gently leads” and “carries in his bosom” — but He is not the Christ who said: “If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me” (Matt. 16:24). He is not the Christ who instituted the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass at the Last Supper, commanding “Do this in remembrance of Me” (Luke 22:19) — not as a mere remembrance, but as a true and proper sacrifice. He is not the Christ before whom every knee shall bow, in heaven, on earth, and under the earth (Phil. 2:10). The article presents a domesticated Christ, a Christ of “tender grass” and “streams that gently pass” — lovely poetry, perhaps, but a Christ who bears little resemblance to the Christ of the Gospels, the Christ of the Councils, the Christ of the integral Catholic faith.
The Sentimentalization of the Faith: George Herbert’s Psalm 23 as Theological Program
Martin devotes considerable space to George Herbert’s poetic paraphrase of Psalm 23, presenting it as a faithful rendering of the psalmist’s intent. Herbert’s poem is, in its own right, a beautiful piece of English devotional literature. But Martin’s use of it is revealing — and deeply problematic.
Herbert’s rendering is thoroughly Protestant in its theological assumptions. The poem emphasizes the individual’s personal relationship with God (“While he is mine, and I am his, / What can I want or need?”), the absence of fear (“Yea, in death’s shady black abode / Well may I walk, not fear”), and the overflowing abundance of divine love (“My head with oil, my cup with wine / Runs over day and night”). What is entirely absent is any reference to the Church, the sacraments, the necessity of sanctifying grace, the reality of mortal sin, the need for confession, the final judgment, or the possibility of eternal damnation.
This is not accidental. It is the theology of the Reformation — a theology that the Catholic Church has always condemned. The Council of Trent, Session VI, Chapter XVI, teaches: “But if anyone says that man, justified by good works, does not truly merit eternal life and the attainment of that eternal life — if, indeed, he dies in a state of grace — let him be anathema.” And Canon 32 of the same session: “If anyone says that the good works of the justified are in such manner the gifts of God that they are not also the good merits of him justified… let him be anathema.”
Herbert’s poem, and Martin’s endorsement of it, reflects a quietism — a passive acceptance of God’s love that bypasses the necessity of cooperation with grace, the struggle against sin, the practice of the virtues, and the observance of God’s commandments. It is a theology of “sweet and wondrous love” that never mentions the cost of discipleship, the necessity of penance, or the reality of the devil. It is, in short, a theology that would have been incomprehensible to the Fathers of the Church, the Doctors, and the saints of the pre-conciliar era.
Consider the contrast with the authentic Catholic reading of Psalm 23. The Church has always understood this psalm in a triple sense: literally, as referring to God’s care for His people; allegorically, as referring to Christ and His Church; and anagogically, as referring to the eternal pasture of heaven. The “tender grass” is the doctrine of the Faith; the “streams that gently pass” are the sacraments; the “valley of the shadow of death” is the passage through this life of trial to the life to come; the “table prepared in the presence of enemies” is the Holy Eucharist, at which the faithful are strengthened against the assaults of the world, the flesh, and the devil.
Martin’s reading — and Herbert’s — strips the psalm of all but its most sentimental, individualistic, and naturalistic content. It is a reading that would fit comfortably in any liberal Protestant church, and it is a reading that reveals the depth of the infiltration of Protestant spirituality into the post-conciliar Catholic world.
The Missing Hierarchy: No Church, No Sacraments, No Authority
One of the most striking features of Martin’s article is its complete ecclesiological void. The Church is never mentioned — not the Mystical Body of Christ, not the Ark of Salvation, not the Kingdom of Christ on earth. There is no reference to the necessity of membership in the true Church for salvation: Extra Ecclesiam nulla salus (Outside the Church there is no salvation) — the dogma defined by the Fourth Lateran Council (1215), the Council of Florence (1438-1445), and repeatedly affirmed by the authentic Magisterium.
There is no reference to the sacramental system — the seven sacraments instituted by Christ as the ordinary means of grace. There is no reference to the necessity of Baptism for salvation (John 3:5), the necessity of Penance for the remission of mortal sins (John 20:22-23), the necessity of the Holy Eucharist as the Bread of Life (John 6:54). There is no reference to the priesthood, the apostolic succession, or the Magisterium. There is no reference to the indefectibility of the Church or the primacy of Peter.
This is not merely an oversight. It is a theological statement — whether intentional or not. It is the statement that the relationship between Christ and the individual soul is direct, unmediated by any institutional structure, any sacramental economy, any authoritative teaching. It is the statement of indifferentism — the heresy condemned by Pope Gregory XVI in Mirari Vos (1832), by Pope Pius IX in the Syllabus of Errors (1864), and by every pope up to and including Pius XII.
The Syllabus condemns, in Proposition 15: “Every man is free to embrace and profess that religion which, guided by the light of reason, he shall consider true.” And in Proposition 17: “Good hope at least is to be entertained of the eternal salvation of all those who are not at all in the true Church of Christ.” And in Proposition 18: “Protestantism is nothing more than another form of the same true Christian religion, in which form it is given to please God equally as in the Catholic Church.”
Martin’s article, by its very silence, implicitly endorses all three of these condemned propositions. If the Church is unnecessary to mention, then the Church is unnecessary to belong to. If the sacraments are unnecessary to mention, then the sacraments are unnecessary to receive. If the Magisterium is unnecessary to mention, then the Magisterium is unnecessary to obey. This is the logical terminus of the modernist project — and it is the actual terminus of the post-conciliar Church.
The “Good Shepherd” Without the Kingdom: Christ Denied as King
Martin’s article is titled “Christ the Shepherd, Christ the Lamb” — but it might equally be titled “Christ Without a Kingdom.” For the article never once mentions the Kingship of Christ — the dogma solemnly defined by Pope Pius XI in Quas Primas (1925), which we have in the source files.
Pius XI teaches: “His reign, namely, extends not only to Catholic nations or to those who, by receiving baptism according to law, belong to the Church, even though their erroneous opinions have led them astray or discord has separated them from love, but His reign encompasses also all non-Christians, so that most truly the entire human race is subject to the authority of Jesus Christ.” And: “It matters not whether individuals, families, or states, for men united in societies are no less subject to the authority of Christ than individuals.”
And again: “If men were ever to recognize Christ’s royal authority over themselves, both privately and publicly, then unheard-of blessings would flow upon the whole society, such as due freedom, order, and tranquility, and concord and peace.”
Martin’s Christ is a shepherd who “gently leads” — but He is not the King who demands the submission of all nations, all rulers, all societies, all individuals. He is not the Christ who said: “All power in heaven and on earth has been given to Me” (Matt. 28:18). He is not the Christ who will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and whose kingdom shall have no end.
This is the essential modernist move: to strip Christ of His kingship, His justice, His authority, and to present Him as a figure of pure, undemanding love. It is the Christ of the “gentle Jesus, meek and mild” of the Protestant hymnal — not the Christ of the Apocalypse, who is “the Lion of the tribe of Judah” (Rev. 5:5), who “judges and makes war in righteousness” (Rev. 19:11), and whose enemies shall be “made a footstool for His feet” (Heb. 10:13).
The Lamb Without the Altar: The Eucharistic Absence
Perhaps the most damning silence in Martin’s article concerns the Eucharist. The title itself — “Christ the Lamb” — is a direct reference to the Agnus Dei, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world — a title that finds its supreme expression in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, where the Lamb of God is immolated upon the altar under the appearances of bread and wine.
And yet the Mass is never mentioned. The Eucharist is never mentioned. The altar is never mentioned. The sacrifice is never mentioned — except in the most vague, metaphorical sense of “self-giving love” and “continuous sacrifice.”
This is not merely an omission. It is a systematic erasure — the erasure of the very heart of the Catholic faith. The Mass is the source and summit of the Christian life (as the modernists themselves like to say, though they mean something entirely different). Without the Mass, there is no propitiatory sacrifice. Without propitiatory sacrifice, there is no remission of sin. Without remission of sin, there is no salvation. Without salvation, the entire edifice of Christianity collapses.
The article’s silence about the Mass is the silence of the post-conciliar Church itself — a Church that has replaced the Most Holy Sacrifice with the “table of assembly,” that has reduced the priest to a “presider,” that has transformed the altar into a table, that has denied the Real Presence in practice while affirming it in theory, that has opened the “Eucharist” to non-Catholics, non-Christians, and even the manifestly unworthy. It is the silence of the abomination of desolation spoken of by Daniel the prophet (Dan. 9:27, 11:31, 12:11) and confirmed by Our Lord Himself (Matt. 24:15).
The Sheep Without the Shepherd: The Crisis of Authority
The article begins with a charming anecdote about rescuing a “hapless young cow” from a bush — and then transitions to the observation that sheep are “stupid and helpless” and “without constant and unremitting care they will at once come to shipwreck, foolishly destroying themselves.” This is, of course, an apt description of the state of the faithful in the post-conciliar Church — a Church in which the shepherds have abandoned the sheep, in which the pastors have become wolves, in which the guides have led the flock into the wilderness of error and confusion.
But Martin does not draw this conclusion. He does not identify the crisis of authority that has produced this state of shipwreck. He does not name the antipopes who have occupied the Vatican since 1958. He does not name the heretical councils — Vatican II and its aftermath — that have produced the present catastrophe. He does not name the false bishops and false priests who have infiltrated the structures of the Church and corrupted the faithful.
Instead, he offers a sentimental meditation on the Good Shepherd — a meditation that, however well-intentioned, serves only to obscure the reality of the present crisis. It is the kind of writing that is perfectly at home in the post-conciliar Church — a Church that prefers sentiment to substance, emotion to doctrine, andcomfort to truth.
The faithful do not need sentimental meditations on the Good Shepherd. They need the true Good Shepherd — the Christ who founded a Church, who gave that Church the sacraments, who appointed Peter and his successors as the visible head of that Church, who promised to be with that Church all days, even to the consummation of the world (Matt. 28:20). They need the true Church — the Church of all ages, the Church of the martyrs and the confessors, the Church of the Councils and the popes, the Church that has endured for two thousand years and will endure until the end of time.
And they need the true Mass — the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Altar, offered by validly ordained priests, according to the immemorial Roman Rite, for the remission of sins and the salvation of souls. This is the only remedy for the present crisis — and it is the remedy that the post-conciliar Church, and writers like Martin, refuse to offer.
Conclusion: The Bankruptcy of Post-Conciliar Spirituality
The article by Regis Martin is a perfect specimen of post-conciliar Catholic spirituality — warm, sentimental, biblically allusive, and theologically empty. It is the spirituality of a Church that has lost its faith and is trying to disguise the loss behind a veneer of devotional language. It is the spirituality of a Church that has abandoned the supernatural and retreated into the natural, that has denied the necessity of the sacraments and replaced them with “community,” that has rejected the kingship of Christ and replaced it with “dialogue,” that has forgotten the reality of sin and replaced it with “self-giving love.”
The faithful must reject this spirituality — not because it is entirely without beauty, but because it is entirely without truth. And without truth, there is no salvation. As Our Lord Himself said: “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32).
The truth is this: Christ is the Good Shepherd — but He is also the Lamb of God, immolated on the altar of the Cross and daily renewed on the altars of His Church. He is the King of kings and Lord of lords — and He demands the submission of all nations, all rulers, all societies, all individuals. He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life — and no one comes to the Father except through Him (John 14:6). And He has established a Church — one, holy, catholic, and apostolic — outside of which there is no salvation.
This is the faith of all ages. This is the faith that the post-conciliar Church has betrayed. And this is the faith that the faithful must cling to — with every fiber of their being — until the dawn of a new era of Catholic restoration.
Source:
Christ the Shepherd, Christ the Lamb (ncregister.com)
Date: 23.05.2026