Nisibis 27

A man raised his voice: "A simple physician, my Lord, who set bones, not one who sets a broken limb at night so that it might be healed by morning in his own land. For you, my Lord, are both the night and the day of God, you yourself. The Church: Hear the voice of my cry, my children. Two and ten physicians spread her out, that woman whose likeness they spread out and did not help. Those physicians were a small matter, as if they were not physicians. As much as they spread her out, she bent and was healed. She was hidden, she drew near to your garment, not to your body. To a garment every physician bends, he was to her. How then, my Lord, will you bend to your Church, which has gone astray? Even passersby on the road, when they saw her smallness, bent to the passing woman, and to your purchased one you spread out. Nor does the physician of my healing consider that physician. The daughter of six hundred is half of the six hundred of that one. The pain that renewed the old medicine that you healed. And when you were healed, you quickly cast me off and left me. Like a blind man, my Lord, for whom the wife of a blind man is pleasing. My blindness, love, and teach to love the daughter of her spouse. For the night of the blind man, you were the one who adorned her. Her eyes were cast down, and her children were good. Come, my Lord, for it is fitting that you, my children, are pleasing to me. You are the one alone, and with you, from all good ones, you are good. There is no blemish in you, my Lord, and no coverings with you. From between two beauties, my children, to what do they resemble? Your father, when he took the chaste one, the blind one, who conceived in that moment and gave birth on that blind man.

When by his skill he is the physician who sets the broken bone, for it is by his mystery that he calls the true ones to the weak and the sick who have cried out at all times. You, my Lord, know; you know what they did in you. An apostle to you, my Lord, bowed me to the pure Virgin. The calf of my fathers I served, my Lord, and I loved you. My children, the lambs, did not stone their brothers. From a lamb I saw that was sacrificed and did not speak, was bound and did not flee, was crucified and did not tremble, and the living one turned to revive his murderers. Not Adam, your progenitor, who boasted unjustly, and his son, not in knowledge, slew his brother by deceit. Sons of the spirit, you, and children, sons of the waters. I say to you also: you stoned me and I was not angry, you crucified me and I did not thirst, you burned me and I did not curse. To that master of yours who died and to your mother who sickened, the begetter of serpents was called sons of the tree. It was not by their cries but by their deeds that victory is for the one who conquers, the daughter of freedom. Thus also gods were called sons of the tree, not by essence but by grace. For you, then, I made brotherhood your mother, it is a wonder that God himself gave you life, and you cut off from yourselves his brotherhood, so that the one of creation, for he is for the servant, he gave you life. To you, praises, my God, who was not with creatures; you made brotherhood for him, but with your own. Lord of all creatures, praise to your mixture.

It is not a wonder, then, that he who among creatures makes the dead alive, as though it were one and the same work. Blessed is the Lord whose works, his living ones, desire that he be.