WHO WAS JUDAS ISCARIOT?

Was he actually

humble?

Or did his pride

puff

like swollen eyelids and make him

stumble?

Was he possibly

kind?

Or did silent envy

creep

like a serpent into his

mind?

Did he patiently

wait?

Or did his simmering anger

boil

as he smelled that costly nard with

hate?

Did he have

zeal?

Or was his faith

sluggish

like at his last supper

meal?

Did he perchance

share?

Or did his fingers

clutch

the silver coins to keep in his

lair?

Did his temperance avoid every

snag?

Or was he a glutton who

gobbled

all the leftover loaves from the

bag?

Did he have self-

control?

Or did he pant and burn for

power

since killing the Romans was his

goal?

Did he ultimately

repent?

Or did his faithless soul

fall

through the noose like

cement?

TO ST. BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX

Good St. Bernard, you love

Our Lord and Our Lady so much:

You were a sincere confessor,

But in the confessional, 

You were too severe,

Far far too severe,

And so the Spirit taught you

Gentleness, sweet gentleness;

Maybe it was from you that

St. Francis de Sales learned,

For he so famously said that

We will catch more flies 

With a spoonful of honey

Than with a barrel full of vinegar.

TO ST. LONGINUS

You rammed your lance into His side,

  And quickly the crimson blood poured;

Startled that He could have died so soon,

  You looked up at the crucified Lord.

Later His sacred blood pierced your soul,

  So you knelt down and began to pray;

This gradually led you towards holy freedom,

  To a path that was known as The Way.

Pontius Pilate marveled at your courage,

  For as a martyr you chose to die,

He wondered if what he heard of Jesus

  Might be the truth and not a lie.

TO ST. PATRICK

You’re a stout lad from the big Scottish isle,

A future bishop without any guile;

Kidnappers took you away from your home,

Across a sea that rippled with white foam;

In Ireland you were made a poor slave,

Life was rough, though you tried hard to be brave;

You drew close to God and He set you free,

At last with your eyes your homeland you see;

You return to Ireland so smart, so wise,

And clearly reveal all the devil’s lies;

You pray “Christ on my left, Christ on my right,”

And you help the Irish find the true Light.

TO ST. MONICA

You agreed to marry Patricius the pagan,

  Humbly submitting to your parents’ will,

You were very kind and generous to him,

  Though he responded by treating you ill;

But about a year before leaving this world,

  He finally accepted the Nicene Creed,

Through your example of faith and love,

  His stubborn soul was finally freed.

However, you still had much work to do,

  For your son Augustine broke your heart,

He was a teacher who was very arrogant,

  And he strutted because he was smart;

But you vigorously persisted in prayer,

  Fasting with tears over his empty life,

When he met the great Bishop Ambrose,

  The Spirit pierced your son like a knife.

It was on Easter that the saintly Ambrose

  Joyfully baptized your prodigal son,

Who went on to become a Church Father,

  And many victories over heretics won;

The end of your life was so very sweet,

  As Augustine treated you like gold,

You’re the patroness of motherhood,

  And of your story many have been told.

THE LIGHTHOUSE

A simple little child of God,

He humbly and obediently ascends

The steps of the sanctuary,

In holy reverence and awe,

Then as he stands before the ambo,

He stands before The Word,

And he is inside the lighthouse;

As he slowly begins to proclaim, 

The Spirit swiftly descends and

Love shines forth brilliantly from

The lighthouse into the nave,

Radiant red and white beams

That fill our hearts with wisdom,

Wisdom from the Divine Mercy.

TO ST. NICHOLAS

You are the merry Christmas saint,

You tried to live without complaint;

A bishop with a cheerful heart,

Your words pierced like a loving dart;

Your gift of gold saved three sweet maids,

Who always feared the Roman raids;

With holiness you beat the foe,

Your jolly laugh goes ho, ho, ho.

THE DOVE OF DIVINE MERCY

The passenger jet takes off

In the deep Dark Night,

As the low clouds stealthily

Creep in from the ocean,

The journey soon becomes

Turbulent, and the people

Start to wring their hands

With worry, wondering

What will happen next,

But then out of nowhere

The Dove of Divine Mercy

Appears, with a wingspan

Wider than that of the aircraft,

He nestles under the jet, like

The Mother protecting The Babe,

And as He very gently flaps

His holy wings, He calms

The hearts of everyone, then

He safely takes them

Where they need to go –

Straight into the heart of

The Divine Mercy.

TO ST. HELENA

Dear modest, majestic

   mother of Constantine,

You sweetly speak

   with stately serenity;

As a holy pilgrim, with

   eyes alive and animated,

You search for Christ’s

   true cross on Calvary.

Lumbering laborers dig up for

   you a dizzying number

Of dirty crosses -- yet

   only one is miraculous;

Only one cures the

   worn-out woman’s incurable

Disease when she is

   wondrously made well.

Then, when you eagerly

   embrace its holy wood

In your amiable arms, you

   tremble with jubilation;

Strands of your long flowing

   hair blow in the breeze across

Your lovely face and then

   softly caress the holy cross.

TO ST. VERONICA

Under the cross, the Christ is crushed,

  And He staggers to the ground,

His loveblood pours from thorny wounds,

  Yet He utters not a single sound;

The stony Roman soldiers encircle Him,

  Watching for a menacing threat,

But with holy compassion for the Master,

  You just want to wipe away His sweat.

Like an invisible angel you pass them by,

  Focused on serving your Lord,

You approach to clean His bloody head,

  A head that has been badly gored;

For the very slightest moment of time,

  The weary Jesus has time to relax,

Then He presses His face into your cloth,

  Like a signet ring pressed to warm wax.

The savage soldiers abruptly grab you,

  Rudely and cruelly pushing you away,

But something catches your attention,

  A hopeful sign on this sorrowful day;

Your eyes twinkle with sincere wonder,

  And diminished are all your fears,

For there on your simple white cloth,

  The bloody visage of Jesus appears.

TO ST. MARTHA

You are a wonderful woman of hospitality,

  Anticipating all the guests’ needs,

While your sister sits near the Master,

  As the people He spiritually feeds;

But your mind is whirling with worry,

  Shackled by a million trifling things,

Meanwhile, the Word speaks of true freedom

  That lifts people’s souls with wings;

That day you learned an important lesson:

  First things always come first,

If we drink of the Lord’s living water,

  Then for the world we will never thirst.

TO ST. MARY MAGDALENE

Your attractive dark hair,

very long and wavy,

flowed aimlessly and

hopelessly over your

darkened eyes --

you were worn out

by the world’s dirty coins

and dirtier men.

But when you met

Him, the brightest light

of the purest love

streamed into your eyes,

driving the deadly demons

into a fearful frenzy and --

suddenly -- you found yourself

finally free.

Then, on the third day,

you giggled like a little girl

as you jubilantly ran

from the tomb

to the upper room

of your heart,

with a smile sparkling

and a soul soaring.

TO ST. ANNE

As the wind blows,

Your wise brown eyes

Are covered by wisps

Of your brown hair;

You watch your

Little Maria,

Your saintly cherub,

Skipping away

With a smile;

Your finely furrowed brow

Is knitted in a knot,

As you are pensively

Waiting, wondering:

What does the Mighty One

Have in mind for my

Darling dark-haired daughter?

May the Messiah be on the move?

FALLING

At the Last Supper,

Judas left you.

He betrayed you.

But don’t we

Betray you too? -- 

When we make excuses,

And skip the prayers,

And skip the masses,

And skip the Eucharist?

For then we are falling,

Down, down, down,

Headlong towards

The open-throated

Abyss of doom

Which vomits forth

The flames of folly.

Instead, let us

Return to Him, 

Our Father of Love,

To make a fresh

New start to our

Broken lives,

Let us fall

To our knees

And surrender to Him,

Let us fall

Into His loving arms

And embrace Him,

Let us fall,

Fall in love with Him,

Down in adoration falling.

TO ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST

In humility you

   wear camel’s hair,

And your faith in God

   is extremely rare;

True repentance is

   your counsel for all,

Helping poor sinners

   to avoid a fall;

You detest the cruel

   world’s horrible lies,

For verily you are

   both strong and wise;

Then one day you see

   the holy white Dove,

And know that you

have finally found Love.

TO ST. MATTHIAS THE APOSTLE

You were added to the Eleven just a little bit later,

you’re the one who is known for replacing the traitor;

You were a part of the mission of the seventy-two,

and you saw how Jesus’ power made all things new;

On Pentecost you received the promised Paraclete,

and heard the first papal speech of good old St. Pete;

You mortified your flesh to kill your desire,

coupled with virtue, it helped put out the fire;

As a martyr, you were stoned in the year 80 A.D.,

now surrounded by Love, you’re finally free.

TO ST. MATTHEW THE APOSTLE

You collected terribly tall taxes,

And that’s why many called you a beast,

But then you met the loving Lord Jesus,

And quickly your financial career ceased;

Some felt you were a bloodsucker,

With a black-hearted desire to be rich,

But when you followed the mild Messiah,

Immediately you found your niche.

Perhaps like Scrooge you were selfish,

And you knew not how to love,

But then the Savior softened your heart,

And it became like that of a dove;

Maybe you counted clusters of coins,

And had lofty luxurious goals,

But after the Good Master inspired you,

You wrote a gospel to save sinners’ souls.

TO ST. SIMON THE APOSTLE

You were a zealot against the Romans,

  Whom you terribly wanted to crush,

Perhaps you dreamt of spearing their skulls,

  And watching their bright blood gush;

But Jesus of Nazareth was meek and mild,

  And he turned the other cheek,

When He healed the Roman’s servant,

  Did you think the Messiah was weak?

But Jesus spoke to rich and poor,

  With an amazing proclamatory power,

And for all people -- even Samaritan and Roman --

  He humbly died in that Crucifixion Hour;

His multitudinous miracles filled your

  Heart with amazement and with awe,

Almost imperceptibly you came to realize

  That He was the fulfillment of the law.

Some say that you were cruelly crucified,

  Just like Our Most Blessed Lord,

Others say you were sawed in two,

  With your body savagely and brutally gored;

Either way, the acid anger of hate

  Corroded the malicious murderers’ brains,

While in your holy heart God’s Spirit

  Now everlastingly and eternally reigns.

TO ST. THOMAS THE APOSTLE

The Christ was cruelly crucified in

  that tumultuous Passover season,

So your life was shattered and shaken,

  and you surrendered to the god of Reason;

You started to sound like a practical pagan,

  and not like a Christian apostle,

For you to believe Jesus rose from the dead,

  it would take a miracle very colossal.

The other apostles saw Jesus alive,

  and that’s why their faces turned pale,

But to you this sounded like a stupid story,

  like a fantastical fairy tale;

With stony sarcasm you scoffed at them,

  and you told them you needed proof,

Without some truly indisputable facts,

  it seemed like an apostolic goof.

But a week later you were with them

  as He walked right through the wall,

Your dark eyes now twinkled in the Light,

  and tears of faith began to fall;

Then you looked closer at Jesus’ flesh,

  and it was ripped by a Roman lance,

So you crumbled to your knees in humility,

  and you melted in His merciful glance.

Your soul had dried up in the desert of reason,

  with troubling doubts all around,

But now in this flash flood of Living Water,

  they very, very quickly drowned;

You then became the apostle of India,

  as your journeys led to the East,

Helping many people find their way,

  to the Heavenly wedding feast.

THE CHRISTMAS STAR IN THE DARK NIGHT

When our lives turn black

As night, and we are lost

And don’t know where to turn,

We lose our sense of direction

And wonder where our journey

Is taking us, but there is

No need to worry, for all we

Need to do is follow The Star,

The sparkling Christmas Star,

For she is peacefully waiting,

Waiting to sweetly embrace 

And caress each one of us,

From the depths of her heart,

And she is shining with a 

Dazzling brilliance that is

Wonderful to behold,

She quietly and calmly

Leads us to her Son,

For her magnificent Son is

The Most Holy Sun of Love,

The King of the Universe.