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! 

There Is a Homelessness

 

Jesus My Beloved art by ricardo colon
Art by Ricardo Colon

 

There is a homelessness, never to be clearly defined.
It is more than having no place of one’s own, no bed or
chair.

It is more than walking in a waste of wind,
or gleaning the crumbs where someone else has dined,
or taking a coin for food or clothes to wear.
The loan of things and the denial of things are possible
to bear.

It is more, even, than homelessness of heart,
of being always a stranger at love’s side,
of creeping up to a door only to start
at a shrill voice and to plunge back to the wide
dark of one’s own obscurity and hide.

It is the homelessness of the soul in the body sown;
it is the loneliness of mystery:
of seeing oneself a leaf, inexplicable and unknown,
cast from an unimaginable tree;
of knowing one’s life to be brief wind blown
down a fissure of time in the rock of eternity.
The artist weeps to wrench this grief from stone;
he pushes his hands through the tangled vines of music,
but he cannot set it free.

It is the pain of the mystic suddenly thrown
back from the noon of God to the night of his own
humanity.

It is his grief; it is the grief of all those praying
in finite words to an Infinity
Whom, if they saw, they could not comprehend;
Whom they cannot see.

~ A poem by Sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit (Jessica Powers), O.C.D.

 

A Poem to My Mom

 

my mom
Mom & I (photos taken by me)

 

My mom is always near
even though we live miles apart.
She lives in my heart.
She is with me all the time. . .
In my daily walks around the neighbourhood.
She is the music I enjoy listening,
that brings me calm and peace.

She is the joy and the sunshine
when I contemplate the beauty of God’s creation.
She is the fragrance of fresh flowers.
She is in my mind when I’m not feeling well.
She holds my hand and reassures me
that all will be well.

She is my warmth and my rest.
She is the sound of the birds chirping at dawn
when I awake.
She is the colors of the rainbow, reminding me
of the promises of God.
She is in the clouds that are slowly passing by.

She is in the day and the night.
She is in my heart, you know.
She is the place where I came from,
my first home, my childhood memories.

She is the one leading me into Mary,
Our blessed and heavenly Mother.
She placed me under Her care and protection.
She is my first love, my first friend.
She is my mom!

~ My personal reflection

 

Wishing you all a very Happy & Blessed Mother’s Day! ⚘

Ad Mariam

 

Madonna 1609
The Madonna, art by Giovanni Battista Salvi – called Sassoferrato (1609-1685) Rome

 

When a sister, born for each strong month-brother,
Spring’s one daughter, the sweet child Mary,
Lies in the breast of the young year-mother
With light on her face like the waves at play,
Man from the lips of him speaketh and saith,
At the touch of her wandering wondering breath
Warm on his brow: lo! where is another
Fairer than this one to brighten our day?

We have suffered the sons of Winter in sorrow
And been in their ruinous reigns oppressed,
And fain in the springtime surcease would borrow
From all the pain of the past’s unrest;
And May has come, hair-bound in flowers,
With eyes that smile thro’ the tears of the hours,
With joy for to-day and hope for to-morrow
And the promise of Summer within her breast!

And we that joy in this month joy-laden,
The gladdest thing that our eyes have seen,
Oh thou, proud mother and much proud maiden —
Maid yet mother as May hath been —
To thee we tender the beauties all
Of the month by men called virginal.
And, where thou dwellest in deep-groved Aidenn,
Salute thee, mother, the maid-month’s Queen!

For thou, as she, wert the one fair daughter
That came when a line of kings did cease,
Princes strong for the sword and slaughter,
That, warring, wasted the land’s increase,
And like the storm-months smote the earth
Till a maid in David’s house had birth,
That was unto Judah as Mary, and brought her
A son for King, whose name was peace.

Wherefore we love thee, wherefore we sing to thee,
We, all we, thro’ the length of our days,
The praise of the lips and the hearts of us bring to thee,
Thee, oh maiden. most worthy of praise;
For lips and hearts they belong to thee
Who to us are as dew unto grass and tree,
For the fallen rise and the stricken spring to thee,
Thee, May-hope of our darkened ways!

~ A poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-89) ,  S.J.

 

 

Happy Mother’s Day Blessed Virgin Mary, my heavenly Mother!
Ora pro nobis!

 

 

 

 

The May Magnificat

 

Virgin Mary meditation of the holy Virgin Mary by sarah paxton ball dodson 1889
Meditation of The Holy Virgin (1889), art by Sarah Paxton Ball Dodson

 

May is Mary’s month, and I
Muse at that and wonder why:
Her feasts follow reason,
Dated due to season —

Candlemas, Lady Day;
But the Lady Month, May,
Why fasten that upon her,
With a feasting in her honour?

Is it only its being brighter
Than the most are must delight her?
Is it opportunest
And flowers finds soonest?

Ask of her, the mighty mother:
Her reply puts this other
Question: What is Spring?
Growth in everything —

Flesh and fleece, fur and feather,
Grass and greenworld all together;
Star-eyed strawberry-breasted
Throstle above her nested

Cluster of bugle blue eggs thin
Forms and warms the life within;
And bird and blossom swell
In sod or sheath or shell.

All things rising, all things sizing
Mary sees, sympathising
With that world of good,
Nature’s motherhood.

Their magnifying of each its kind
With delight calls to mind
How she did in her stored
Magnify the Lord.

Well but there was more than this:
Spring’s universal bliss
Much, had much to say
To offering Mary May.

When drop-of-blood-and-foam-dapple
Bloom lights the orchard-apple
And thicket and thorp are merry
With silver-surfed cherry.

And azuring-over greybell makes
Wood banks and brakes wash wet like lakes
And magic cuckoocall
Caps, clears, and clinches all —

This ecstasy all through mothering earth
Tells Mary her mirth till Christ’s birth
To remember and exultation
In God who was her salvation.

~ A poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, SJ

 

 



“Mother of God, tell me your mystery;

of how your earthly life was spent:
the way, right from the time of ‘Fiat – how you’d be
buried in adoration, Mary!
Say how – in a peace, a silence – you could enter in
to deeps that none but you could do –
bearing the gift of God within.
Secure in God’s embrace keep me I ask.
In me his imprint may He place –
For wholly love is he.”

Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity, O.C.D.


Put Your Finger Here

 

Jesus and thomas2
The Incredulity of Saint Thomas, art by 
Vicente López y Portaña –1849

 

The fact that God handed over his only Son to humankind is not a historical event in the sense that it belongs to the past and is over once and for all. God doesn’t refer to those who seek him to something he did a long time ago. He hands over his Son to each and every one in an eternal present.

The Father’s sacrifice of his Son and the Son’s perfect assent to the Father’s will is beyond time. God made this sacrifice yesterday, he does so today, he will do it throughout eternity.

The most glorious sign of God’s continuing giving of himself is the Eucharist, which the Church celebrates every day. In it, God’s sacrifice is present. Here God puts his Son so completely at your disposal that you get to eat and drink him. It must pain the heart of God when people, after having received him in the Eucharist, immediately can begin to doubt and question whether they are truly loved. What more could God do to prove his love?

When Jesus appears to Thomas (Jn 20:24-29), he complies totally with Thomas’s wishes. Jesus submits to him, puts himself at his disposal, makes of himself an object and an illustration. Thomas gets to touch him with his finger, verify that it is Jesus who is with him. Jesus surrenders to Thomas like he surrenders to you in the Eucharist. As often as you want you can receive Jesus, who gives himself to you completely disarmed. Can you doubt his love?

 

~ A Meditation by Father Wilfrid Stinissen, O.C.D.

 


O Holy Trinity, Eternal God, my spirit is drowned in Your beauty. The ages are as nothing in Your sight. You are always the same. Oh, how great is Your majesty. Jesus, why do You conceal Your majesty, why have You left Your heavenly throne and dwelt among us? The Lord answered me, My daughter, love has brought Me here, and love keeps Me here. My daughter, if you knew what great merit and reward is earned by one act of pure love for Me, you would die of joy. I am saying this that you may constantly unite yourself with Me through love, for this is the goal of the life of your soul. This act is an act of the will. Know that a pure soul is humble. When you lower and empty yourself before My majesty, I then pursue you with My graces and make use of My omnipotence to exalt you.
~ Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska, Divine Mercy in My Soul – Diary.  


 

Jesus, I Trust In You! ❤ Jezu Ufam Tobie!

 

The New Season

 

woman and the fountain of love by christian schloe
Art by Christian Schloe

 

Waiting is purification,
is patience quelling desire,
is God’s time permeating human haste.

The crystal droplet
gathers at the curled leaf’s tip
but does not fall.
The mighty wave bounds in
but does not break.

The heart’s new season
pauses on the threshold
of the walled, inviolate garden,
the spring of living waters at its center.

We wait till that authoritative voice
cries once more, “Come forth!
Begin to bud and bloom!
Toss in the breezes of my ardent love!
Be all renewed and filled with light!
Waiting is over—
the hour of fulfillment come!”

Beloved, this is our new season.
Together let us go to meet it.

 

~ A poem by Barbara Dent, O.C.D.S.