Canticle to Saint Rita

 

saint rita by unknown artist
Art source unknown

 

Though your life was filled with pain…
Though your soul was torn apart…
Never once did you complain.
Faithful ever was your heart.

As a child you served God well.
You were always good and kind.
On holy things you did dwell
Within your heart, soul, and mind.

When your parents asked for you
To be a mother and a wife…
You did all they asked of you;
Gave up your will and your life.

When your husband treated you
Most harshly and cruelly.
You served him faithful and true.
Converted him lovingly.

When your sons did seek to kill
The man who slayed your husband.
You placed your trust in God still,
And He in turn stayed their hand.

When your head was pierced into
With a thorn from Our Lord’s Crown.
It increased your fervor true.
Never was your soul let down.

Grant to me a small token,
Through the merits of your heart.
Grant that I be soft spoken.
Please ask God to take my part.

~ A poem by Rita Marita 

 

Saint Rita of Cascia ❤ Patron Saint of the Impossible, pray for us! 

The Mystic

mystic heart by deborah nell
Mystic Heart, art by Deborah Nell

 

The mystical state is one of loving. Only love can build a bridge. Graces given and received are the materials that go into making this immense, indestructible bridge between earth and heaven. The graces used call for more grace, and the bridge grows, and eyes that are quiet behold God everywhere.

But seeing is not enough. It is seeing and arising and giving all of oneself to him, in all his creatures, that builds the bridge in spans immense. A mystic is a lover, a bridge-builder, a heart made ready for the burning fire that is the Lord. A mystic is rest amid turmoil. A mystic is a broken vase that had been filled with perfumed oils and now lies in pieces, wet with tears. A mystic sees God’s love in every face; and the Father sees another, full of grace.

A mystic is a miracle of love who, at one and the same time, hangs crucified upon the hill of skulls, and rises up in Christ’s ascension, and rests upon the heart of God. The mystic alone can stand the burning coal upon his lips, the burning coal of love and fire that cleanses and makes it possible for men to hear the voice of God again, spoken as men speaks. A mystic is a vessel of peace, while he himself is nothing but a flame of pain.

A mystic is a humble soul to whom belongs the earth as well as heaven. A mystic is silence enclosed in speech. He serves all men, and is served by angels. A mystic bears the seal of God, yet doesn’t know he is a mystic, except to catch an echo here and a glimpse there, of things unseen, unheard by other men. Such are mystics, builders of bridges and houses of love.

~ A Meditation by Catherine Doherty, ‘Madonna House Apostolate’