‘Month of May, month of Mary! The heart of every Christian turns spontaneously toward his heavenly Mother, with a desire to live in closer intimacy with her and to strengthen the sweet ties which bind him to her. It is a great comfort on our spiritual way, which is often fatiguing and bristling with difficulties, to meet the gentle presence of a mother. One is so at ease near one’s mother. With her, everything becomes easier; the weary, discouraged heart, disturbed by storms, finds new hope and strength, and continues the journey with fresh courage.
“If the winds of temptation arise,” sings St. Bernard, “if you run into the reefs of trials, look to the star, call upon Mary. In danger, sorrow, or perplexity, think of Mary, call upon Mary.” There are times when the hard road of the “nothing” frightens us, miserable as we are; and then, more than ever, we need her help, the help of Our Mother. The Blessed Virgin Mary has, before us, trodden the straight and narrow path which leads to sanctity; before us she has carried the cross, before us she has known the ascents of the spirit through suffering. Sometimes, perhaps, we do not dare to look at Jesus the God-Man, who because of His divinity seems too far above us; but near Him is Mary, His Mother and our Mother, a privileged creature surely, yet a creature like ourselves, and therefore a model more accessible for our weakness.
Mary comes to meet us during this month, to take us by the hand, to initiate us into the secret of her interior life, which must become the model and norm of our own.’
–from Divine Intimacy, by Fr. Gabriel of St. Mary Magdalen, OCD
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In the 1960 calendar, today is also, fittingly, the Feast day of the great Spouse of Mary, under the title of St. Joseph the Worker. Through his powerful intercession, may our work be blessed, productive, and salvific in our states of life. Pray, too, for all those searching for work and the means to provide for their families.
Then, they came for the last Catholic, and the world ended, because the Church will exist until Christ comes again:
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Night came. White did not go to bed. He un- packed a box he had brought with him from the country. It held clothes, shoes, some tools. In the bottom of it, wrapped in an old coat, was a large case. He went over its contents carefully. There were some robes, a shiny cup, two small bottles, a book, a slab of stone, some miscellaneous small boxes and metal pieces. He went over each carefully. He filled one of the bottles with water. The other was already filled with a dark red liquid. Then, he packed every- thing back carefully in the case and waited.
The city was as still as if death had stolen in and possessed it. White sat patiently through the night hours. The sky had a strange pallor, he thought, and there was a strange weight to the silence of the city. He did not know whether it forbode good or evil.
Two hours before dawn, he took up his case and made his way to the street. The streets were de- serted. Always they were deserted at this hour as the slaves slept. But in the deserted dark of this night there was an unaccountable expectancy. The great masses of metal towered blackly upward, massed themselves hugely upward, as if threatening the stars. White walked quickly, a solitary speck of mo- tion along the floors of the caverns of the monstrous city.
He reached the base of one giant structure that surpassed all others by a thousand feet, a memorial tower to one of the first masters of the IGW. He slipped into the only elevator and went hissing up- ward to the roof, a half mile above the earth. He locked the elevator at the roof so that it could not be summoned. Then, he set himself quickly to work. He changed his garments. In a few minutes, despite the dim starlight, he was done.
“On top of that black tower of the devil in the kingdom of the Anti-Christ,” said Blue, “after all those centuries of extermination, there stood a priest in amice and alb, maniple, chasuble, girdle and stole, heir in a noble line of Christ’s servants, clad in their symbols of chastity, charity, honor and faith. The figure of Christ’s cross lay on his back. The anoint- ment of Christ was on his soul. Before him was his altar, his case topped with altar stone and missal and chalice. On it lay the corporal with the wafer he had made from the wheat he had grown. By it stood the two cruets of water and wine. He waited until first there was a streak of light across the east. Then he bowed down before his altar. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus sancti. Amen. The Mass had begun. He was keeping his promise to bring God back to earth.”
Blue’s voice was quivering. It was dark with night and fog. We still sat out on the roof. What time it was I did not know.
“The last Christian,” said Blue fervidly, “was a priest. Can you see that heroic figure in the twilight of the world saying Mass in the citadel of the Anti- Christ? Can you hear the Christe eleison as he cries it to the breaking skies of dawn? Can you catch the murmur of the Credo as the winds carry it to the ends of the earth? Can you see him turning with shining face as he gives his Dominus vobiscum to the empty cathedral of the morning?
“It was magnificent,” exclaimed Blue as if he were telling of something he saw. “And the while he is making the sign of the cross over the wafer of bread, the powers of the Anti-Christ are gathering. He has been seen.
“An early plane spied him as he bent over his altar in the first streaks of fight. The warning has awak- ened the city.
“Below grows a tumult of multitudes. The clangor of the alarms and the rumble of moving people rise to the top of the tower. But the priest does not hear. His soul is on his Mass. The morbid slaves below awakening from their sluggish sleep are electrified by cries of a priest! a priest!’
“Millions who would not lift a hand to save a friend or give a sign of affection, these apathetic slaves of the Anti-Christ, are transformed by this dis- covery of the Mass. Stolid, stupid peoples, insensible even to pain, need— as ever— only the mention of the priest and the Mass to drive them into unimaginable fury,
“The mobs surge about the base of the tower. There is no access to the upper levels save by the lone elevator. Their blasphemies rise in raucous up- roar. Their frenzy would hurl over the structure itself if it could. . . . The while the priest is reverently at his Mass.
“Veni sanctificator omnipotens, aeterne Deus. ‘Come Thou Who makest holy, almighty and eternal God. . . / He is beseeching the blessing of the Holy Ghost.”
The Mass goes on.
“The Master of the IGW has summoned the mar- shal of his soldiers. ‘Stop the Mass immediately!’ he commands.
“The marshal reports that planes are speeding to the tower. The top is too small for a landing. It is a difficult shot . . / he is explaining.
“The Master is furious. ‘Bomb the tower. Destroy it. Demolish it. But stop the Mass! . . /
“His face was black/’ said Blue. “From his own tower he could see the silhouetted figure bending over his small altar. He tears his flesh in his rage.
“Two, three, four planes are circling above the tower. One drops a huge shell. It misses and goes hurtling down to the street. It crashes in the heart of the insane mob, annihilating a black square of them, shattering the steel walls, shaking the struc- tures for a mile around. Another bomb falls. Another misses. And again, there are slaughter and destruc- tion below. . . .
“But now the priest bows low over his altar. Qui pridie quam pateretur. … He begins the words of the consecration, the words that shall change the bread and wine of his altar into the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ.
“He approaches Christ’s own words at the Last Supper.
“One plane is now low over the roof of the tower, so low that the crew can make out the figure of the Cross on the priest’s chasuble. A bomb is made ready. . . .
“And now the priest comes to the words that shall bring Christ to earth again. His head almost touches his altar: Hoc est enim corpus meum. . . *
Blue was whispering. I think he was shivering.
“The bomb did not drop. No. No. There was a moment of awful silence. Then, a burst of light be- side which day itself is dusk. Then, a trumpet peal, a single trumpet peal that shook the universe. Then, the sun blew up like a bubble. The stars and planets vanished like sparks. The earth burst asunder. . . . And through this unspeakably luminous new day, through the vault of the sky ribbed with lightning came Christ as He had come after the Resurrection. It was the end of the world!”
Blue’s last words were just barely audible.
“The Kingdom of the Anti-Christ disappeared like ashes in a whirlwind. And hastening up out of their tombs and resting places came the souls of the just, happy, hearty, wholesome, to greet their king.”
Blue paused. Then he added:
“Father White who had been No. 2,757,311 found himself a hero even in heaven.”
After the death of Jesus, frightened by the earthquake and the darkness, all had left Calvary except the little group of faithful ones: Our Lady and St. John, who were never away from the Cross, and Mary Magdalen and the other pious women who ‘had followed Jesus from Galilee ministering unto Him’. Although Our Lord had died, they could not tear themselves away from Him, their adored Master, the object of all their love and hope. It was their love that kept them near the lifeless Body. This is a sign of real fidelity, to persevere even in the darkest and most painful moments, when all seems lost, and when a friend, instead of triumphing, is reduced to defeat and profound humiliation. It is easy to be faithful to God when everything goes smoothly, when His cause triumphs; but to be equally faithful in the hour of darkness, when, for a time, He permits evil to get the upper hand, when everything that is good and holy seems to be swept away and irrevocably lost–this is hard, but it is the most authentic proof of real love.”
In addition to her feast on September 15, the Church has long devoted the Friday in Passion Week to a contemplation of Our Lady and her seven sorrows, particularly at the foot of the Cross. This first meditation for today in Divine Intimacy is so beautiful, and such a beautiful rebuke of those hirelings who have the temerity to speculate that the Co-Redemptrix felt lied to by God [!]. Just typing that blasphemy makes me angry.
So, to honor and make reparation to Our Sorrowful Mother, I repost here this meditation:
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We find in Simeon’s prophecy the first explicit announcement of the part the Blessed Virgin was to have in the Passion of Jesus: “Thy own soul a sword shall pierce” (Luke 2:35). This prophecy was fulfilled on Calvary. “Yes, O Blessed Mother,” says St. Bernard, “a sword has truly pierced your soul. It could penetrate Your Son’s flesh only by passing through your soul. And after Jesus had died, the cruel lance which opened His side did not reach His soul, but it did pierce yours. His soul was no longer in His body, but yours could not be detached from it.” This beautiful interpretation shows us how Mary, as a Mother, was intimately associated with her Son’s Passion.
The Gospel does not tell us that Mary was present during the glorious moments of the life of Jesus, but it does say that she was present on Calvary. “Now there stood by the Cross of Jesus, His Mother, and His Mother’s sister, Mary of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalen” (John 19:25). No one had been able to keep her from hastening to the place where her Son was to be crucified, and her love gave her courage to stand there, erect, near the Cross, to be present at the sorrowful agony and death of the One whom she loved above all, because He was both her Son and her God. Just as she had once consented to become His Mother, so she would now agree to see Him tortured from head to foot, and to be torn away from her by a cruel death.
She not only accepted, she offered. Jesus had willingly gone to His Passion, and Mary would willingly offer Her well-beloved Son for the glory of the Most Holy Trinity and the salvation of men. That is why the sacrifice of Jesus became Mary’s sacrifice, not only because Mary offered it together with Jesus, and in Him, offered her own Son; but also because, by this offering, she completed the most profound holocaust of herself, since Jesus was the center of her affections and of her whole life. God, who had given her this divine Son, asked, on Calvary, for a return of His gift, and Mary offered Jesus to the Father with all the love of her heart, in complete adherence to the divine will.
I’m a day late, but hopefully not a dollar short, in presenting this beautiful invocation of the glorious St. Benedict, a true father not only to his spiritual descendants but to every Catholic in the West, as written by Dom Gueranger in The Liturgical Year. I have emphasized certain passages for your enjoyment:
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O Benedict! thou Vessel of Election! thou Palm of the Wilderness! thou Angel of Earth!—we offer thee the salutation of our love! What man was ever chosen to work on the earth more wonders than thou hast done! The Savior has crowned thee as one of his principal cooperators in the work of the salvation and sanctification of men. Who could count the millions of souls who owe their eternal happiness to thee?—thy immortal Rule having sanctified them in the Cloister, and the zeal of thy Benedictines having been the means of their knowing and serving the great God, who chose thee. Around thee, in the realms of glory, a countless number of the Blessed acknowledge themselves indebted to thee, after God, for their eternal happiness; and upon the earth, whole nations profess the true faith, because the Gospel was first preached to them by thy disciples.
O Father of so many people! look down upon thine inheritance, and once more bless this ungrateful Europe, which owes everything to thee, yet has almost forgotten thy name! The light, which thy Children imparted to it, has become dimmed; the warmth they imparted to the societies they founded and civilized by the Cross has grown cold; thorns have covered a large portion of the land into which they sowed the seed of salvation. Come and forward thine own work; and by thy prayers, keep in its expiring life. Give firmness to what has been shaken. May a new Europe—a Catholic Europe—spring up in place of that which heresy and false doctrines have formed.
O Patriarch of the Servants of God! look down from heaven on the Vineyard, which thy hand hath planted, and see into what a state of desolation it has fallen. There was a time when thy name was honored as that of a Father in thirty thousand Monasteries, from the shores of the Baltic to the borders of Syria, and from the green Erin to the steppes of Poland. Now, alas! few and feeble are the prayers that ascend to thee from the whole of that immense patrimony, which the faith and gratitude of the people had once consecrated to thee. The blight of heresy and the rapaciousness of avarice have robbed thee of these harvests of thy glory. The work of sacrilegious spoliation is now centuries old, and unceasingly has it been pursued; at one time, having recourse to open violence, and at another, pleading the urgency of political interests. Sainted Father of our Faith! thou hast been robbed of those thousands of sanctuaries which, for long ages, were fountains of life and light to the people. The race of thy children has become almost extinct: watch over them that still remain, and are laboring to perpetuate thy Rule. An ancient tradition tells us how our Lord revealed to thee that thy Order would last to the end of the world, and that thy children would console the Church of Rome and confirm the faith of many in the last great trials—deign to protect, by thy powerful intercession, the remnants of that Family which still calls thee its Father. Raise it up again; multiply it; sanctify it: let the Spirit, which thou hast deposited in thy Holy Rule, flourish in its midst, and show, by thus blessing it, that thou art ever “Benedict,” the servant of God.
Support the Holy Church by thy powerful intercession, dear Father! Assist the Apostolic See, which has been so often occupied by Disciples of thy School. Father of so many Pastors of the people! obtain for us Bishops like those sainted ones, whom thy Rule has formed. Father of so many Apostles! ask for the countries, which have no faith, preachers of the Gospel, who may convert the people by their blood and by their words, as did those who went out Missioners from thy Cloisters. Father of so many holy Doctors! pray that the science of sacred literature may revive, to aid the Church and confound error. Father of so many sublime Ascetics! rekindle the zeal for Christian perfection, which has grown so cold among the Christians of our days. Patriarch of the Religious Life in the Western Church! bless all the Religious Orders, which the Holy Spirit has given successively to the Church; they all look on thee with admiration, as their venerable predecessor: do thou pour out upon them the influence of thy fatherly love.
Last, O Blessed favorite of God! pray for all the Faithful of Christ during these days which are consecrated to thoughts and works of penance. It was in the midst of the holy austerities of Lent that thou didst mount to the abode of everlasting delight; ah! help us Christians, who are at this very time in the same campaign of penance. Rouse our courage by thy example and precepts. Teach us to keep down the flesh, and subject it to the spirit, as thou didst. Obtain for us a little of thy blessed spirit, that turning away from this vain world, we may think on the eternal years. Pray for us, that our hearts may never love, nor our thoughts ever dwell, on joys so fleeting as are those of time.
Catholic piety invokes thee as one of the patrons, as well as one of the models, of a dying Christian. It loves to tell men of the sublime spectacle thou didst present at thy death, when standing at the foot of the Altar, leaning on the arms of thy disciples, and barely touching the earth with thy feet, thou didst give back, in submission and confidence, thy soul to its Creator. Obtain for us, dear Saint! a death courageous and sweet as was thine. Drive from us, at our last hour, the cruel enemy, who will seek to ensnare us. Visit us by thy presence, and leave us not, till we have breathed forth our soul into the bosom of the God who has made thee so glorious a Saint.
Following up on a helpful sermon at Mass last evening:
Attachment to our honor is expressed in all those susceptibilities, large or small, arising from our attitude of soul that wishes to affirm our personality, hold on to the esteem we receive from others and make our own point of view prevail. This shows up concretely in various schemes—more or less conscious and petty—to obtain or to keep certain privileged and honorable positions where our own views, which we always think are good, will prevail. All this remains more or less disguised by the fact that we have—or think we have—the intention of acting with an eye to good. We decide, therefore, that what we do is legitimate. Yet we are not aware that this way of acting, though apparently done to defend the good, prevent scandals, and further good works, is only a defense of our own pride. This truth is made evident, for on similar occasions, when like this circumstances have been resolved, we do not take as much trouble to defend the honor and the works of others as we would have done if these had been our own. A soul that allows itself to be preoccupied with such things is, as St. Teresa of Jesus says, bound to earth by ‘a chain which no file can sever. Only God can break it, with the aid of prayer and great effort on our part.’
[…]
O Jesus, grant that my honor may consist solely in intimate union with You, in the effort to become more and more like You. Although You were God and had the right to be treated and honored as God, You willed to be treated like the lowest of men! You wished no other right than to fulfill the will of the Father, to die on the Cross for His glory and our salvation. In the light of Your example, I have a better understanding of the meanness of my pride which, in order to defend foolish rights, loses itself in so much confusion and so many fruitless discussions. O Lord, why should I confine myself to crawling on the ground among the thorny roots of my passions, when you have created me to soar in the heavens?
Oh! help me to free myself from the vain pretenses of my ego which, like a heavy weight, continually try to drag me down; help me to get rid of this great load, and to rise toward You, my God, in a sure flight!”
Happy Feast Day to all readers! The great theologian of the Church has his feast today. For members of the Institute of Christ the King, it is a first class feast, and any member of the faithful who assists at Mass at an Institute apostolate today may gain a plenary indulgence under the usual conditions. There will be a Solemn High Mass at St. Francis de Sales Oratory at 6:30 pm today.
How much we could use another Aquinas, however pale the imitation, just as we could use intellects able to be moved by that man. Both the preacher and the preached-at today are of such poor quality. Hence, the whirwind we reap.
The following passage comes from Chesterton’s book on St. Thomas, and I leave it with you to enjoy:
The Thomist movement in metaphysics, like the Franciscan movement in morals and manners, was an enlargement and a liberation, it was emphatically a growth of Christian theology from within; it was emphatically not a shrinking of Christian theology under heathen or even human influences. The Franciscan was free to be a friar, instead of being bound to be a monk. But he was more of a Christian, more of a Catholic, even more of an ascetic. So the Thomist was free to be an Aristotelian, instead of being bound to be an Augustinian. But he was even more of a theologian; more of an orthodox theologian; more of a dogmatist, in having recovered through Aristotle the most defiant of all dogmas, the wedding of God with Man and therefore with Matter. Nobody can understand the greatness of the thirteenth century, who does not realise that it was a great growth of new things produced by a living thing. In that sense it was really bolder and freer than what we call the Renaissance, which was a resurrection of old things discovered in a dead thing. In that sense medievalism was not a Renascence, but rather a Nascence. It did not model its temples upon the tombs, or call up dead gods from Hades. It made an architecture as new as modern engineering; indeed it still remains the most modern architecture. Only it was followed at the Renaissance by a more antiquated architecture. In that sense the Renaissance might be called the Relapse. Whatever may be said of the Gothic and the Gospel according to St. Thomas, they were not a Relapse. It was a new thrust like the titanic thrust of Gothic engineering; and its strength was in a God who makes all things new.
In a word, St. Thomas was making Christendom more Christian in making it more Aristotelian. This is not a paradox but a plain truism, which can only be missed by those who may know what is meant by an Aristotelian, but have simply forgotten what is meant by a Christian. As compared with a Jew, a Moslem, a Buddhist, a Deist, or most obvious alternatives, a Christian means a man who believes that deity or sanctity has attached to matter or entered the world of the senses. Some modern writers, missing this simple point, have even talked as if the acceptance of Aristotle was a sort of concession to the Arabs; like a Modernist vicar making a concession to the Agnostics. They might as well say that the Crusades were a concession to the Arabs as say that Aquinas rescuing Aristotle from Averrhoes was a concessions to the Arabs. The Crusaders wanted to recover the place where the body of Christ had been, because they believed, rightly or wrongly, that it was a Christian place. St. Thomas wanted to recover what was in essence the body of Christ itself; the sanctified body of the Son of Man which had become a miraculous medium between heaven and earth. And he wanted the body, and all its senses, because he believed, rightly or wrongly, that it was a Christian thing. It might be a humbler or homelier thing than the Platonic mind that is why it was Christian. St. Thomas was, if you will, taking the lower road when he walked in the steps of Aristotle. So was God, when He worked in the workshop of Joseph.
G.K. Chesterton, “St. Thomas Aquinas: ‘The Dumb Ox'”
Let us prostrate ourselves at the feet of Jesus and say to Him: O Christ Jesus, Incarnate Word, Who came down from heaven so as to reveal to us the secrets that You, the only-begotten Son of God, ever contemplate in the bosom of the Father, I believe and I acknowledge that You are God, as the Father is; His equal. I believe in You; I believe in Your works; I believe in Your person; I believe that You came from the Father, that You are one with the Father; that whoever sees You sees also Him. I believe that You are ‘the resurrection and the life.’ I believe this and, believing it, I adore You, and consecrate to Your service the whole of my being, the whole of my activity, the whole of my life. I believe in You, Christ Jesus, but increase my faith.
Hello everyone, I apologize for sparse posting. Work has been busy in the extreme. I wanted to write today with a mix of various items that have been rattling around my attic:
When I saw the picture and headline below over at Canon 212, written as only Frank Walker can write it, I spit my coffee all over my iPad:
Oh, the irony! It is literally staring you in the face. Yes, let us open our eyes to REALITY. Let us at least DESIRE to open our eyes to reality. Hello?! When will anyone in the hierarchy do this? Have I missed something?
2. When I look at the shutdown of the TLM in Austin, TX– one of the most well-established of the Diocesan efforts, along with the venerable Arlington, VA community– it just makes me sick. I asked my wife why they would put up with it, and not just go full St.-Nicolas-du-Chardonnet? You know, or maybe just take everyone with their priests and have Masses on the front steps, in the parking lot, or a private house for that matter? My wife, always more sensible, reminded me they very well may be taking steps to preserve the community. I hope so. We as Catholics have a right to this Mass and if our bishops overstep their authority it is not unlawful to defend our rights.
Don’t worry, though, I’m sure it will get worse before it gets better.
3. Of course, many have sensed that this is a Lent to be extra penitent. With the end of the world staring us in the face, I should think so. The struggle is to fast and make reparation while fulfilling our Lord’s admonition to not appear to fast. Not to be glum and brooding. Nobody benefits from a cranky fast-er, least of all the subject. One of the things I love about the Institute is its consistent, Salesian approach to these things. God bless it!
4. I wonder what is happening with His Eminence Cardinal Burke. Recall that surprise private audience with Bergoglio right around the time of the Tucho abomination. Since then, I haven’t heard much about his doings. NOT that he owes me an explanation, of course. Just curious.
5. When will it all end? When will Mary’s Immaculate Heart triumph? I suppose when we have been chastised enough for our lack of faith, hope, and charity.
6. Speaking of Frank Walker, I join him in being amazed that Rorate Caeli and its writers so thoroughly buy the Ukraine propaganda campaign emanating from both the Ukraine and the U.S. The masks are waaaaay off by now. It is the political equivalent of driving alone in your car with a mask on and syringes of deathvaxxx stuck in both arms.
7. If you are still looking for Lenten reading material, may I recommend Blessed Columba Marmion’s Christ in His Mysteries, in particular the chapters on the Lenten mysteries? Quite excellent.