The Feast of Candlemas, which derives its origin from the local observance of Jerusalem, marks the end of the Feasts included in the Christmas cycle of the liturgy. It is perhaps the most ancient festival of Our Lady. It commemorates, however, not only the obedience of the Blessed Virgin to the Mosaic Law in going to Jerusalem forty days after the birth of her Child and making the accustomed offerings, but also the Presentation of Our Lord in the Temple, and the meeting of the Infant Jesus with the old man Simeon– the Occursus Domini, as the Feast was anciently termed. This is the principal theme of the liturgy on this day: Jesus is taken to the Temple “to present Him to the Lord.” So the Lord comes to His Temple, and is met by the aged Simeon with joy and recognition.
The procession on this day is one of the most picturesque features of the Western liturgy. The blessing and distribution of candles, to be carried lighted in procession, preceded the Mass today– a symbolic presentation of the truth proclaimed in the Canticle of Simeon: Our Lord is the “Light for the revelation of the Gentiles.” The anthems sung during this procession, eastern in origin, well express the joy and gladness of this happy festival, and the honor and praise we give to our Blessed Lady and her Divine Son by this devout observance.
Entry for the Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the New Marian Missal
Wishing you and yours one last, heartfelt Merry Christmas! this season. May the beauty, hope, and joy of Our Savior’s glorious incarnation and birth arm us for the dreadful fight ahead. Septuagesima is coming this Sunday, of course, and I need not remind you of the evil of our times.
May we all beg Our Incarnate Lord and His Blessed Mother for the gift of final perseverance and a happy death, and then face the daily battle with confidence in the help of heaven.
Masses at St. Francis de Sales Oratory today: Low Masses at 8am and 12:15pm; Solemn High Mass preceded by blessing of candles and procession, 6:30pm
I read Ann Barnhardt’s recent short reflection on pain— “We are saved through infinite pain, proceeding directly from infinite Love. To experience pain is to be invited to enter into the Passion of your Savior.”– and thought of a poem from Dan England and the Noonday Devil, by Myles Connolly.
The title character, master of the apostolate of hospitality, undergoes an inner struggle throughout the book to give up worldly attachments. It reaches a climax, of course– it is a book. But the climax occurs only after the narrator, Dan’s friend and chronicler, shares this poem with us:
Morning Prayer
My dear, good Lord, my heart is too much glad;
Too eagerly she knows how life is fair;
How rich with honest love and laughter,
And how Your beauty lies upon it everywhere.
O much too glad, this morning heart of mine;
I cannot keep her mute of song, or still;
She must be surging forth and singing
That life is good and man may love it if he will.(Last night, my heart, I saw upon a hill,
With two lone arms outstretched, a gaunt black tree;
The sky was red a sullen moment,--
And lo, it was Cross, and on that Cross hung He.)
This soft, white morning, I say you are too glad,
Too readily you gifts of Pleasure gain;
He loves you less for all your singing,
Love more, glad heart, love more-- and win His gift of Pain.
A must read. I repost it here in full. Oremus pro invicem:
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Salvum fac populum tuum, Domine, et benedic hereditati tuæ. Et rege eos, et extolle illos usque in æternum. Save your people, Lord, and bless your inheritance. Govern and uphold them now and always. – Hymn. Te Deum
In these last hours that mark the conclusion of the civil year, each of us is preparing to take part in the solemn functions with which the Church raises to the Divine Majesty the praises of thanksgiving contained in the hymn Te Deum.
Te Deum laudamus: te Dominum confitemur. We praise you, O God: we acclaim you as Lord. In the plural “we,” one perceives the august voice of the Bride of the Lamb, adorned with the precious jewels of the Sacraments and the most precious gems of her royal crown: the most august Sacrament of the Altar, the Sacrosanct Sacrifice of the Mass and the Order of the Priesthood. And it is before the Most Blessed Sacrament that we all, standing as befits victors who are on our feet with Christ on the day of triumph, give thanks to God for the year that is drawing to a close.
Let us therefore consider that for which we must give thanks to the Most Holy Trinity.
We thank the Lord God for punishing us for our lukewarmness, our silence, our inclination to compromise, our hypocrisies, our yielding to the spirit of the world and the errors of the dominant ideologies. It was these sins and shortcomings that have allowed those who today impose the tyranny of the New World Order to flourish in the civil world, and those who excommunicate a pro-life priest and scandalously promote corrupt and heretical prelates and clerics to prevail in the ecclesiastical world. They have allowed, in the civil world, democracy to be transformed into the apostasy of nations and the cruel slaughter of the innocent. They have allowed, in the ecclesial body, the Second Vatican Council to introduce the principles of the Revolution into the Church, as a subversive lever to destroy it from within. They have allowed sin and vice be encouraged in the civil world, while honesty, integrity, and Christian morality are mocked and trampled upon, if not criminalized. They have allowed, in the ecclesiastical world, the persecution of the faithful and clerics who ask to profess the Catholic Faith and to celebrate it in the Apostolic Rite, while the Vatican Sanhedrin worships an infernal idol at the tomb of the Prince of the Apostles. They have allowed, in both the civil and ecclesiastical world – significantly allied on this point – the health mark of the Beast to be imposed on billions of people, in the name of a delirious plan of global population control, using as a pretext a disease that has proven to be curable and not fatal only after the prohibition of appropriate treatments had caused a sufficient number of deaths to terrorize the masses. They have allowed an operation, long time planned, carried out with impunity by NATO to provoke a war against an “invader” and in order to destroy the economy of Western nations, while it is evident that the Ukrainian crisis is instrumental to the realization of the Great Reset; no more and no less than COVID-19, as well as being as an expedient for Joe Biden to hide the evidence of the corruption of his family and the presence of biolaboratories linked to the Pentagon. They have allowed, in both civil and ecclesiastical institutions, officials to be more blackmailed the more they ascend in their careers, and that neither citizens nor believers demand that the corrupt and perverted be removed and prosecuted.
What we are witnessing today is the inevitable outcome of a series of small steps, each of which could have been prevented if only we had exercised a minimum of critical judgment and raised our voice, if we had protested in order to defend our rights that have been violated by those who should have been the first to protect them. Divorce, abortion, euthanasia, sodomy, gender ideology, leftist or right-wing liberalism, immigrationism, cancel culture, globalism, the health dictatorship, Malthusian environmentalism, ecumenism, synodality. . . Each time, we could and should have denounced the threat that loomed, and yet we were silent, so as not to be called “conspiracy theorists” or branded as “fundamentalists,” so that we would not suffer social and ecclesial ostracism because of our ideas or our Faith. “Each person is free to do what he wishes, so long as this also allows me to be Catholic and to go to the Latin Mass,” say those who have allowed themselves to be contaminated by liberal thought. But it is precisely this “doing whatever one wants” that has allowed the manipulators of the masses to change society and to make us strangers in our homeland, both in our own Nations and also within the Church.
Yet we knew very well that the project of Masonic liberalism ought to have been opposed by Catholics, following the repeated alarms and multiple condemnations of the Roman Pontiffs. We knew that liberals give their tolerance to everyone except Catholics, and that their worst enemy is Christ the King of the Nations, because wherever He reigns, the enemies of God and mankind are in shackles and not at the head of governments. We knew very well that rebellion against God in temporal and spiritual matters could only lead to either dictatorship or anarchy, yet we have allowed the trampling down of Justice in our courts and workers’ rights in our businesses, the prevention of treatment in our hospitals, the spreading of lies in our media, the corruption of young people’s morals in our schools, and the contradiction of the Magisterium from our pulpits.
Those who up until now have held positions of authority have done so by usurping power for the opposite purpose to that for which it exists. As I said earlier: we feel treated as if we are foreigners, indeed, although we are citizens we are treated like enemies of the State, and although we are members of the faithful we are treated as enemies of the Church, while the true foreigners and enemies of the State are welcomed, honored, and obeyed in the delirious “humanitarian” and “philanthropic” projects of the elite who have usurped authority. And some of us, in the face of this operation of social and religious engineering, have given up fighting, or even sided with the conspirators: they have chosen to please the powerful, to support their subversive plans in our Parliaments, in the halls of international institutions, in our cathedrals and even right under the cupola of St. Peter’s Basilica. Conformism, cowardice, obsequiousness; with the hope that today’s betrayal by which they crush our neighbor – whether it is a citizen who asks for honest rulers or one of the faithful who asks for holy shepherds – can somehow spare us from subsequent decimation. They forget that the Revolution devours its own children like Saturn, and that none of the accomplices of the first hour are spared the gallows, either in reality or in the media.
The Lord is our Father, and as Father He punishes us so that we understand our faults, repent of them, and change our lives. Deus, qui culpa offenderis, pœnitentia placaris, says a prayer of Lent: O God, who is offended by guilt and appeased by penance. Wherever there is guilt, wherever the Majesty of God is infinitely offended, there is the need of a punishment. Flagella tuæ iracundiæ, quæ pro peccatis nostri meremur: the scourges of Your indignation, which we merit because of our sins – just as so often happened to the people of Israel.
Blessed be this chastisement, which has lasted for over two years, and which is destined to endure if we do not make ourselves worthy of being spared, giving signs of conversion, repentance, expiation, and reparation. Blessed be this most inauspicious year that we now leave behind, during which the pandemic farce has shown itself in its criminal nature by revealing the project of death of the globalist elite; during which the ruthless cynicism of international organizations has manifested itself in hypocritical propaganda in favor of governments led by those who are most corrupt and subservient to the Great Reset, showing what lies those who do not recognize the transcendent principle of Truth are capable of telling, deluding themselves that they can erase the very work of the Creator by transhumanism, in whose image and likeness we have been made. Blessed be the boldness with which the tyrants of the New World Order have shown us the horrors that await us if we remain inert, passively enduring their health, environmental, energy, economic or war blackmails. Blessed is the arrogance of the Bergoglian sect, the accomplice of power and the servant of Masonic ideology, which with its compliance towards the wicked and its pharisaic severity against the good reveals – even to the simple – its apostasy and uncovers the gangrene of its vices. Like Job, let us bless the Lord above all in moments of tribulation, because in those trials – even in the most arduous and painful – we ought to see the intervention of Providence, the loving hand of God who does not abandon us to our own devices, we who have ended up much worse than watching over pigs, as happened to the prodigal son.
Miserere nostri, Domine, miserere nostri. Fiat misericordia tua, Domine, super nos, quemadmodum speravimus in te. Have mercy on us, Lord, have mercy on us. May thy mercy be upon us, Lord, in the measure that we have hoped in You. Have mercy on your children who have been abandoned by their rulers and shepherds. Have mercy on those who, precisely because they do not wallow in the false illusions of this age but live by the blessed Hope of your holy help, find in You the strength to fight the good fight, whether conducted in the family or in the workplace, from the seats of Parliament or from the editorial offices of a newspaper, from the pulpit of a country church or from the cell of a convent. Have mercy on those who do not resign themselves to the establishment of the hell on earth of the New World Order, nor to the no-less-infernal apostasy of irenic ecumenism.
And if we ask for an end to the scourges of this 2022, preparing to invoke with the Veni Creator the gifts of the Paraclete at the beginning of 2023, let us do so with the trusting humility of the prodigal son: Father, I have sinned against Heaven and against you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son (Lk 15:21). We do this by renewing our determination to obey God rather than men (Acts 5:29), when men abuse their authority by offending and disobeying Him in temporal and spiritual things.
The Te Deum is a hymn of thanksgiving for victory, a song of triumph. But this triumph is not the passing triumph of men. Rather it is the eternal triumph of the Son of God, who conquered Satan, not with armies and angelic hosts, but by dying on the Cross, an instrument of ignominy transformed into a banner of glory by the Blood of the Lamb. Christ’s victory – Ego vici mundum, I have overcome the world, Our Lord assures us (Jn 16:33) – is accomplished on the triumphal way to Calvary, which the entire Mystical Body must follow, even to the passio Ecclesiæ, following the example of the Divine Redeemer, its Head. If we do not unite ourselves to the Passion of Christ, we will not be able to rise with Him and sit at His right hand in the blessed glory of Heaven. If we do not fight against sin under the banner of Christ and the Blessed Virgin, we will not be able to celebrate the final triumph over the ancient Serpent and his followers. If we do not rouse ourselves from torpor but instead remain simply watching the scoundrels who rage against the Church and humanity, seeking to cancel every trace of Christ, we have no reason to thank the Lord by singing the Te Deum, because we will have remained insensitive to His punishments and to the many warnings that He deigns to send us to urge us to reciprocate His love, that perfect and infinite love which enabled the Second Person of the Most Holy Trinity to become Incarnate in order to redeem us. Then we will be deserving of that dystopian nightmare which the servants of Masonic globalism have been preparing for us for years and of which we have had a terrifying foretaste in the recent past.
Let us therefore sing this Te Deum with a renewed heart and with the intention of witnessing to our fidelity to the Lord, regardless of our abilities, trusting in His holy help, which is all the more powerful the greater and more ferocious is the assault of the Enemy: In te, Domine, speravi: non confundar in æternum.
And so may it be.
+ Carlo Maria Viganò, Archbishop 31 December 2022 S. Silvestri Papæ et Confessoris
Grant, O Lord! that we may now celebrate this the Day of thy Birth, which today’s Solemnity brings round to us. This Day is like thyself—it is the friend of mankind. It comes to us in its regular course, visiting us each year. It grows old with the old; it is young and fresh with little children. We remember when we were young, how it came and passed away; and here it is again, faithful as ever in its welcome visit. It knows that nature could not do without it; here again like to thee, it comes in search of our fallen race. The whole earth thirsts after thy Birth-Day, O Jesus! It stands, as it were, between the past and the future, commanding all ages, as Thou dost. It is one, and yet it multiplies itself, as Thou dost. And since we behold thy past Birth-Day in this present Feast, make the two resemble each other in this also—that as thy Birth-Day brought Peace between heaven and earth, when the infinitely High God descended to this low earth; so may this solemnity signify and give us Peace … And truly, if every day of the year be rich in thy gifts, how much more ought not this to overflow with them?
St. Ephrem
A very merry, and a very blessed, Christmas to you all! Christ Our Savior is born!
A repost tradition, from Dan England and the Noonday Devil, by the late, great Myles Connelly. In this depraved age, yet in this still-beautiful time, while God yet offers us His Mercy, we are all travelers in the strange, cold, dead world of modernity. Followers of Him Who is all the world:
There would be tea brewing on the stove in the kitchen. The coals would show red with thin blue flames where one of the stove covers had been tilted. Then, there would be a candle, perhaps two, for there could only be candles on Christmas Eve. They would be burned down pretty low now, it being after eleven o’clock when he would reach home. About ten minutes past eleven, he always reached home. His stamping the snow off his shoes on the steps outside would be the signal for the handful of tea to be dropped into the pot. There would be candles in the next room, too, the dining room they called it. And then beyond that, another candle or two. Always candles on Christmas Eve. Not many candles. A few candles, but good candles special for the vigil. They would spear the dark with steady yellow flames, and make long, rich shadows on the walls and on the pictures on the walls. The ceiling would be lighted without shadows.
There were never shadows like these Christmas Eve candle shadows. They gave mystery to the house, and a soft strangeness that you never found on any other night.
The Boy would throw his hat and coat on the chair by the kitchen stove. Then, he would go on through the dining room, as they called it, into the other room. She would meet him, as she got up from the floor where she would be setting out the presents before the tiny crib. Her knees would be stiff, he knew, and her poor body tired, but she would get up with her white face happy in spite of its whiteness, and her always bright eyes brighter, and she would turn to him for a glance of appreciative pleasure. He knew she would look for that, though she had made the house clean, had washed and mended the old lace curtains, had scrubbed the floors–hadn’t he noticed the kitchen floor, white with the grain showing?– had swept and dusted not so much for his pleasure this night, but because God was coming. But she would look to see if he were happy. He would scowl. It was defensive, or perverse. But he would scowl, and while he scowled he would notice how white her hair showed on the side that caught the light of the candles.
“My poor boy is tired,” she would say.
Then he could hold the scowl no longer. He would say:
“Ma, the crib is beautiful.”
Then he would get down on his knees beside it. There would be a little red sanctuary lamp on the floor before it, with the white wick floating in oil. At twelve o’clock the lamp would be lighted. If you should happen into the room–the parlor they called it– in the early hours when the candles would be out, you would see only this, the red lamp with its tiny light flickering. It would cast a spell over you, this unsteady small light showing red on the floor beneath you. You would stand there and look at it, unstirring, unthinking, for minutes.
So, the Boy would get down on his knees beside the crib. It would be the same little crib they had last Christmas, and the Christmas before that. There would be the little imitation thatch shed, open in front. Outside, would be three shepherds with two sheep, kneeling. Inside, would be St. Joseph with his brown cloak and white beard and our Mother with her blue dress. In back would be the ox and the ass, the ox with his head low. And in the center, on a few wisps of hay– real hay that the peddler fed his horse–would be the tiny figure of Him who was all the world.
He would kneel there, before the shed that was not a foot high, and move the figures about a bit. He always liked to have the ox and ass close to the crib. Then, he would study the presents, laid out before the crib as tenderly as the Wise Men must have laid out their gifts. They would still be in their boxes. He would not touch them, not until daybreak. Then, they would all stop for a swift minute on their way out to Mass.
Afterward, after Mass and Communion, they, with their glass of water drunk but not yet with breakfast, would strew the floor with red strings and wrapping paper and boxes. How much colorful rubbish a few little things could make! For there were but a few things before the crib: a fountain pen, a tie, two books, a box of handkerchiefs… He could recognize everything from their boxes, thin square boxes for handkerchiefs, long boxes for gloves and ties. . . . But he knew, anyway. He and his mother had conspired together for the family. He had his gifts, too. But they would not be put out until he was safely in bed….
Then, she would call from the kitchen. He had better hurry. It was getting close on midnight. So he would have his cup of tea, and a slice of brown-crusted white bread that had come from the oven that afternoon. And maybe a piece of the fruit cake, the rich, dark fruit cake heavy with spice and raisins that was always in the house on Christmas Eve. She would have her cup of tea with the cream– for they would use the cream tonight– showing brown gold on top. But she would have only tea for it was the vigil of Christmas.
That would be beautiful. He would tell her all that had happened at work. How old Nelson was worried because his little girl was ill, and it was Christmas Eve. How the yardmaster who cursed constantly was quiet today, and swore only when he was mad. How Big Mike had gone down to St. Mary’s to confession with him, and how the church was crowded. Everything, everything. . . .
And then he would empty his pockets of all his money, including the gold piece the firm had given him for Christmas. That would be his supreme moment– to give over every dollar, every cent. He had been doing that so long now but it never, for some strange reason, failed to make him gulp with happiness. Hadn’t they bought the piano together, his mother and he, the upright piano with the green covering that came with it? Hadn’t thy bought the new heavy rug for the parlor, the two of them, conspiring this way? Weren’t they saving now to buy the house?– the house out of town a little distance, the house with a garden, quiet, but near the church.
How happily she would look at him. How proudly. And he would drain his teacup so that he could hold the cup high and hide his eyes, his moist eyes. . . .
That would be beautiful, beautiful.
“Pray for those poor souls who have no home on Christmas Eve,” she would say, as always she had said.
And the Boy would pray.
The Pullman porter gave a quick turn to the Young Man’s chair. The Young Man who had been dozing sat up abruptly.
“Grand Central, suh.”
The porter was holding his overcoat.
The Young Man was dazed.
Wasn’t there tea brewing, and a red fire showing where the stove corner had been tilted? And across from him. . . .
Across from him was a row of Pullman chairs. Empty, of course. Who else but a harried reporter would be traveling thus into New York at eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve?
The porter took his tip and was gone. The Young Man made his way hazily out into the station.
And there were candles, one or two that spotted the room with yellow flames and threw long shadows. . . .
“Reservation?” asked the room clerk in the hotel.
The Young Man nodded and wrote his name. A tall bald-headed man in a dinner jacket staggered across the heavily ornate hotel lobby. Two gaudy young women tittered.
Candles, a few candles. . . .
“Front!”
A thin, small, ageless bellboy, in blue uniform and silver braid, appeared mechanically. He took his bags and led the way to the elevator.
And she was there, rising from the crib on the floor. How white her hair showed where it caught the light of the candles. . . .
“The heat on, sir?” The bellboy was turning the valve on the radiator. The steam began to pound through the pipes.
The Young Man moved to the window. Twenty stories below him the city was stirring out of its newly laid cover of snow. Even in the dark, the roofs were white, the cornices and window ledges were white. Far, far down, the streets were white, white spotted with black, streaked with black.
“Looks like a white Christmas.”
The bellboy spoke impatiently. The Young Man gave him his tip. He banged the door as he left.
The Young Man turned back to the window.
It was the same little crib with its imitation thatch, and the few wisps of hay– real hay the peddler fed his horse. . . .
The Young Man looked down. Everywhere there were lights, ragged lights, pointed lights, clustered lights, solitary lights, white, red, yellow lights. But the Young Man did not see. He drew the shade and turned from the window.
And there was St. Joseph in his brown cloak and our Lady in her blue dress and the tiny figure of Him who was all the world. . . .
The Young Man still had on his overcoat. Under the mirror of the dresser was a collar button of a former guest which the maid, in her cleaning, had missed. He fixed his eyes on it but did not see. He was without heart and his mind whirred. Where, he was asking himself dazedly, where in this world’s maze of people and places, where in this wilderness of stars and philosophies, where is Home?
Hadn’t they bought the piano together, and the rug….
The Young Man threw himself on the bed.
“Dear Jesus! Dear Mother of God!”
His sobbing filled his cell in the mountain of earth and steel, glass and stone.
“Dear Mother of God!”
And she would say, “Pray for those poor souls who have no home on Christmas Eve…”
At length, on the distant horizon, rises, with a soft and radiant light, the aurora of the Sun which has been so long desired. The happy Mother of the Messias was to be born before the Messias himself; and this is the day of the Conception of Mary. The earth already possesses a first pledge of the divine mercy; the Son of Man is near at hand. Two true Israelites, Joachim and Anne, noble branches of the family of David, find their union, after a long barrenness, made fruitful by the divine omnipotence. Glory be to God, who has been mindful of his promises, and who deigns to announce, from the high heavens, the end of the deluge of iniquity, by sending upon the earth the sweet white Dove that bears the tidings of peace!
The Eternal Father would not do less for the Second Eve that he had done for the First; yet she was created, as was also the first Adam, in the state of original justice, which she afterwards forfeited by sin. The Son of God would not permit that the Woman, from whom he was to take the nature of Man, should be deprived of that gift which he had given even to her who was the mother of sin. The Holy Ghost, who was to overshadow Mary and produce Jesus within her by his divine operation, would not permit that foul stain, in which we are all conceived, to rest, even for an instant, on this his Spouse. All men were to contract the sin of Adam; the sentence was universal; but God’s own Mother is not included. God, who is the author of that law; God, who was free to make it as he willed; had power to exclude from it Her whom he had predestined to be his Own in so many ways; he could exempt her, and it was just that he should exempt her; therefore, he did it.
Was it not this grand exemption which God himself foretold, when the guilty pair, whose children we all are, appeared before him in the garden of Eden? In the anathema which fell upon the serpent, there was included a promise of mercy to us. I will put enmities, said the Lord, between thee and the Woman, and thy seed and her seed: she shall crush thy head. (Genesis 3:15) Thus was salvation promised the human race under the form of a victory over Satan; and this victory is to be gained by the Woman, and she will gain it for us also. Even granting, as some read this text, that it is the Son of the Woman that is alone to gain this victory, the enmity between the Woman and the Serpent is clearly expressed, and she, the Woman, with her own foot, is to crush the head of the hated Serpent. The Second Eve is to be worthy of the Second Adam, conquering and not to be conquered. The human race is one day to be avenged, not only by God made Man, but also by the Woman miraculously exempted from every stain of sin, in whom the primæval creation, which was in justice and holiness, (Ephesians 4:24) will thus reappear in her, just as though the original sin had never been committed.
Raise up your heads, then, ye children of Adam, and shake off your chains! This day, the humiliation, which weighed you down, is annihilated. Behold! Mary, she who is of the same flesh and blood as yourselves, has seen the torrent of sin, which swept along all the generations of mankind, she has seen it flow back at her presence and not touch her; the infernal dragon has turned away his head, daring not to breathe his venom upon her; the dignity of your origin is given to her in all its primitive grandeur. This happy day, then, on which the original purity of your race is renewed, must be a Feast to you. The Second Eve is created, and from her own blood (which, with the exception of the element of sin, is the same as that which makes you to be the children of Adam), she is shortly to give you the God-Man, who proceeds from her according to the flesh, as he proceeds from the Father according to the eternal generation.
From The Liturgical Year, by Dom Gueranger
Blessed Feast Day, dear readers! Masses on this Holy Day of Obligation at St. Francis de Sales Oratory are at 8am, 12:15pm, and 6:30pm.
O God, who didst wondrously preserve the Mother of Thine only-begotten Son from original sin in her Conception: grant, we beseech Thee: that strengthened by her intercession we may be ready with clean hearts to take part in her festival. Through the same Lord Jesus Christ Thy Son, who liveth and reigneth with Thee in the unity of the Holy Ghost, God, world without end. Amen. (Collect of the Mass)
O Most Holy Virgin who wast pleasing to God and didst become His Mother. Immaculate in your body, in your soul, in your faith and in your love, we beseech thee to look graciously upon the wretched who implore thy powerful protection. The wicked serpent, against whom the primal curse was hurled, continues nonetheless to wage war and to lay snares for the unhappy children of Eve. Ah, do thou, our blessed Mother, our Queen and Advocate, who from the first instant of thy conception didst crush the head of our enemy, receive the prayers that we unite single-heartedly to thine and conjure thee to offer at the throne of God, that we may never fall into the snares that are laid for us, in such wise that we may all come to the haven of salvation; and in the midst of so many dangers may holy Church and the fellowship of Christians everywhere sing once more the hymn of deliverance, victory and peace. Amen.
Good morning, and prayers for a blessed Advent. I am reading Trustful Surrender to Divine Providence, a very beautiful and thought-provoking little tract available at Tan Books. I may from time to time post some reflections here during Advent.
But, let’s just start today with this obvious mirror to our ourselves:
Later when the Jews by their iniquities had grievously offended Him and provoked His wrath, He says: The Assyrian is the rod and the staff of my anger, and my indignation is in his hands, I will send him to the deceitful nation, and I will give him charge against the people of my wrath, to take away the spoils, and to lay hold on the prey, and to tread them down like the mire of the streets.
… Let us conclude then with Saint Augustine: All that happens to us in this world against our will (whether due to men or to other causes) happens to us only by the will of God, by the disposal of Providence, by His orders and under His guidance; and if from the the frailty of our understanding we cannot grasp the reason for some event, let us attribute it to Divine Providence, show Him respect by accepting it from His hand, believe firmly that He does not send it to us without cause.
Saint Louis Catholic 