"Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in."

Years ago, no actually decades ago, I read an article in Parade Magazine that keeps coming back to me these days. It was during the height of the AIDS epidemic and told the personal human interest story of a young, active homosexual man. In the early days of his lifestyle choice, he discarded his parents because they would not approve. He slandered them to all his homosexual friends and maintained no contact for years. 

A Poem in Honor of St. Alphonsus Liguori

Every now and then I write poetry, not especially good poetry, mind you, just flights of fancy. It happens a lot when I'm on five-day silent retreats. Perhaps I'm a bit stir crazy by the fourth day, but I have lots of poems in the back of my retreat journals.

A Palm Sunday Poem from The Donkey (And GKC)

Sometimes You Just Need to Take a Break!

I need a break from thinking about the controversy over the SSPX consecrations and the crisis in the Church. Even members of the Church Militant need R&R occasionally which is what retreats and days of reflection are all about as well. But hobbies and interests also offer opportunities to put down the stress occasionally and give our minds and hearts a rest.

Sunday Meditation: The Frustration of Lost Items

Today is the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. My plan was to spend the day re-reading Louis de Wohl's wonderful historical novel, St. Helena and the True Cross. Only one problem. I can't find it. The shelf with Mary Windeatt's saint novels is where it should be, but it isn't. I remember reading it a few years ago so I know I own the book, but where did I put it?

I looked through my alphabetically arranged lives of the saints and it isn't there. Then I went upstairs where I have two shelves of biographies and it wasn't there either. So instead of spending the day following my intended pursuit, I will read the entry on St. Helena in Butler's Lives of the Saints and offer up my frustration for the poor souls in Purgatory. 

Not Veggie Tales Silly Songs with Larry; But Les Femmes Silly Poems with Mary

I was cleaning off a hot spot in my kitchen this afternoon; (There are hot spots everywhere in my house!) and came across a poem I started about books. I can't remember doing it, but it's my handwriting, so I must have. Maybe I wrote it in my sleep. I've always been absent-minded but this is ridiculous!

What triggered the creation? I have no idea -- perhaps my granddaughter's book bingo. Anyway, life is so serious these days, taking a few minutes of respite from all the craziness of the culture and the concern about the conclave appeals to me. If you feel the same way about books that I do, perhaps you'll enjoy this. And when you're done, Silly Songs with Larry is fun too.

Do You Like Poetry? Here's One that's Worth Memorizing.

Hat tip to The Catholic Thing for publishing this beautiful poem by Lope de Vega. And a prayer of gratitude to Longfellow for translating it into English. It reminds me of Thompson's The Hound of Heaven. 

                        TOMORROW    

Lord, what am I, that with unceasing care
Thou did’st seek after me, that Thou did’st wait
Wet with unhealthy dews before my gate,
And pass the gloomy nights of winter there?
Oh, strange delusion, that I did not greet
Thy blest approach, and oh, to heaven how lost
If my ingratitude’s unkindly frost
Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon Thy feet.

How oft my guardian angel gently cried,
“Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see
How He persists to knock and wait for thee!”
And oh, how often to that Voice of sorrow,
“Tomorrow we will open,” I replied,
And when the morrow came I answered still “Tomorrow.”

Lope de Vega

— translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Embracing Duty and Honor to Make "Something Beautiful for God"

Thank you, St. Joseph, for
showing fathers how to be
dutiful dads!

Snippets of two poems are running through my head today. The first one is:

I could not love thee, dear, so much

Loved I not honor more.

Those lines come from Richard Lovelace's poem, To Lucasta, Going to the Warres (1649) Here's the whole thing, a lovely poem worth the trouble to memorize.

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,

That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind

To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,

The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith embrace,

A sword, a horse, a shield.

A Poem: The Reprobation of Hillary Clinton

A friend sent me a poem from a young woman named Corinna Swetz who will be 25 next month. I thought it was worth sharing. Unlike les femmes who love the Lord and fight for the faith as our patron St. Joan of Arc did, la femme Hillary is more like the sorceress involved in the Eucharistic miracle of Offida who advised a young bride to take a consecrated host, burn it, and put it into her husband's food as a love potion. Hillary's blood lust is aimed at the little images of Christ in their mother's wombs. She not only encourages their murder as choice, but enables the butchers who sacrifice them on their bloody altars. May God have mercy on her soul.

The Reprobation of Hillary Clinton

The Kiss of Christ

I take Communion to a local nursing home on Sundays. I visit eight residents most of whom suffer from Alzheimer disease or dementia. One lady is often antagonistic and tells me not to talk to her. She often refuses Communion saying she isn't worthy. I respond that none of us is worthy, but Jesus loves her and is the doctor who wants to bring her healing. Sometimes she decides to receive and sometimes she doesn't. 

Last Sunday I met her son, one of four children, and he shared two of her poems with me. They were profound and, in fact, reminded me of Caryll Houselander's work.

What a gift it is to see these debilitated individuals in a different light, in their prime so to speak. The poetry he read to me was, not only beautiful, but contemplative. One was titled O Solitude, but could have been titled O Jesu. And as I was thinking today about how to reach her I thought, "I will take her a poem by Caryll Houselander."

And here it is. May God use it to bridge the gap between her current suffering and her past contemplation. She needs the love of Christ so very much (as we all do) brought in the Real Presence of Our Eucharistic Lord.

Please pray for her. I'll let you know what happens tomorrow.

The Kiss of Christ

Lo, there He hangs, ashened figure -- pinioned to the wood.
God grant that I might love him -- even as I should.  

I draw a little closer -- to touch the face divine.
And then He leans to whisper -- "Oh foolish child of mine.
If now I should embrace you -- my hands would stain you red.
And if I leaned to kiss you -- the thorns would pierce your head." 

'Twas then I learned in meekness -- that love demands a price.
'Twas then I knew that suffering -- is but the kiss of Christ. 

Caryll Houselander

Sunday Meditation: Poems for Holy Week

I was putting away some books I bought at the library used book sale. ($3.00 a bag!) and found the poetry of Robert Frost. After reading a few of my favorite poems, I got to thinking about Lenten and Holy Week poems. After a little research here are a few to ponder and perhaps delight in. One by a Protestant, one by a martyr-saint, and one by a notorious sinner who repented and entered the Church on his deathbed like the good thief. Isn't God wonderful?

TO KEEP A TRUE LENT.
By Robert Herrick (1591-1674)