Dears Internet Friends,

We have the pleasure of presenting this site, which is dedicated to the BIRTH of Christianity, for your personal use and enjoyment, and as we have no lucrative goal in mind, you can download this text on to your hard disk, or make a copy with your printer for easier reading for yourself and your friends.

As we own the "royalties", we recommend to all people interested in the distribution, printing or publishing of our work,  as books or CDROMs, to contact us by E-mail, so that we can give you a written contract, part of our rights for printing, translation or distribution in the countries and languages that you are proficient in, and this according to its availability.

The poems in these texts can also be reproduced in magazines, but solely with author's permisssion. You can contact him by e-mail at the following address :

 (Jean-Claude BRINETTE - FRANCE)

The EYES of the Master


A young man appeared, a LABORER,
Two thousand years ago in Galilee;
His friends and neighbors, thought him mad
When he said: THE DAY has COME...

Ah! this look of the Master, so soft, so gentle,
Full of understanding, love and care.
He helps those who suffer, from wherever they come,
He comforts the humble and the poor...

Mystical secret force of the infinite...
Supernatural rays that pierce the inner being.
Soft, soothing light, source of truth,
Invisible energy that creates a united world...

Were they brown or blue those astonishing eyes ?
That so many beings followed, thirsting for happiness,
Since he promised them an end to their pain
And a New Life: in the eternal Kingdom...

His miracles surprised all the crowds assembled,
With his fountain of LIVINGWATER, he takes care of aching hearts,
He gives his bread to our souls, forgives past mistakes,
He is the good shepherd who wants all to join together….

YOU that see from above our confusion,
YOU that guide the stars in our Universe
YOU that show the way to men who hope,
Bring your light to men in darkness ( J. Cl. Brinette)


A small anecdote :


I had just left the seminary to do a noviciate in a convent hospital, where mental patients were cared for. Here, a sick man who had lost his memory years ago, and could no longer speak, had (no-one knew how) climbed a staircase, and with his head and reason lost in the clouds, suddenly missed one step and fell like a clash of thunder to the bottom of the wooden staircase, banging himself on the head.

Male nurses hurried towards him, and suddenly the sick man got up, sat on a chair and said, while watching the lines of patients' beds :

 " But what am I doing here ? "

How many times do we wake up in our beds, coming out of our dreams and we ask this same question?

Maybe we too can change something that will bring us closer to our real identity ? Maybe something small, a tiny hole in our shell, an opening towards another world, helping us to forget our material connection to this earth, and reminding us that one day we will recover our wings ?

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