TO ST. JAMES THE LESSER, THE APOSTLE

You were the first bishop of Jerusalem,

  And were known as James the Just,

Since you were a relative of Jesus,

  People knew that you they could trust;

Your knees thickened like a camel’s,

  From all your time kneeling in prayer,

You had a long beard and lots of hair,

  And you always treated people fair.

The Jewish leaders failed with St. Paul,

  So they turned their ire towards you,

Their raging revenge was out of control,

  And their delirious desire grew;

They wanted to crush the New Way,

  So they pursued you like angry apes,

Christians were sprouting up everywhere,

  Like vineyards full of plenteous grapes.

You bravely refused to reject the Christ,

  So they threw you from the temple’s pinnacle,

Their grotesque expressions were ghastly,

  As they chose to be stubbornly cynical;

Then they hurled jagged stones at you,

  And with a club they broke your bones,

But you uttered prayers for your attackers,

  In between your painful groans.

TO ST. JAMES THE GREATER, THE APOSTLE

You were a son of Zebedee and Salome,

  And brother of John the Apostle,

Though your fishing boat was very reliable,

  It was definitely nothing colossal;

Were you a fiery fisherman from Galilee?

  For Jesus called you a son of thunder,

If so, then did your anger flare in the boat

  When your brother committed a blunder?

You saw Jesus rise at the Ascension,

  And it stirred in you a most pious desire,

Then within your breast burned a glorious zeal

  Which brightly glowed like a holy fire;

But King Herod Agrippa persecuted Christians,

  And he just wanted them to go away,

He thought that killing a respected apostle

  Would make them cease to pray.

It’s very true that King Herod seemed

  Like the most vile and pernicious slug,

He was very much like his grandpa,

  Who killed the holy innocents like a thug;

His wretched grandfather was selfish,

  The very violent Herod the Great,

Who savagely slaughtered the babes of

  Bethlehem in his beastly ire and hate.

Being a member of Jesus’ inner circle,

  You had a target on your back,

The giant executioner grunted, as he

  Chopped off your head with a whack;

You became the first apostolic martyr,

  Way back in the year A.D. forty-four,

But Jesus waited with a beaming smile,

  As He opened that Heavenly door.

TO ST. JOHN THE APOSTLE

Son of Thunder, you requested that Jesus

  Revengefully rain down ferocious flames,

You wanted to get back at those fools from

  Samaria who wouldn’t welcome Him;

But your fisherman’s soul was softened

  By the Savior, as Love taught you to love,

You were transformed by the Transfiguration,

  And you soon became the Apostle of Light.

During the Last Supper, you leaned on Love,

  And, alarmed, asked Him about the traitor,

Then, later, you saw the wondrous wounds

  Of Love wash away the world’s guilt;

He gave you His Most Blessed Mother,

  And you cared for her with holy compassion,

You, the Beloved Disciple, bravely and

  Courageously taught us obedience.

You were the miraculous martyr who

  Survived a bubbling, boiling cauldron of oil,

Then the Roman Emperor Domitian

  Egregiously exiled you to the isle of Patmos;

Hideous heresies denied Christ’s divinity,

  So you wrote a glorious gospel to refute them,

You were the mild mystic, the peaceful preacher,

  And the unforgettable Apostle of Love.

TO ST. ANDREW THE APOSTLE

Your mariner’s heart hungers to know the truth,

  And your saltwater soul is satisfied with John’s words;

But the brave Baptist has spoken of a greater one,

  And you are thinking about what he will be like;

You hope that he will be the promised messiah,

  Who will handily harpoon and sink the Romans;

And you hope he will be the holy and majestic king,

  Who will restore peace and prosperity to his people.

One morning the Baptist paternally points towards the

  Shore of the Jordan, at the fearless Fisher of Men;

Your eager eyes are alert as you race after Jesus,

  With sweat dripping from your shaggy beard;

As you reach him, he turns and smiles at you with warm,

  Welcoming eyes, and your heart is mystically awakened;

It feels like a beautiful balmy breeze is sweetly caressing

  The sails of your fisherman’s soul.

TO ST. PAUL THE APOSTLE

You watch with belligerent bullet eyes as

  Stephen is brought before the Sanhedrin,

The leaders flog him with false witness,

  And revengefully rush right at him;

They drag him outside the city,

  And lay their cloaks at your Pharisaical feet,

Then, with hellish hate, they hurl

  Spear-like stones that crush his body;

Horribly hideous thoughts float through

  The black ocean of your mind,

And you are obdurately obsessed with

  Driving Christianity into total oblivion;

You track and hunt down the Christians

  With the most dreadful determination,

You aggressively throw them into prison,

  Seeking to snuff out the sparks of the New Way.

On the dusty road to Damascus,

  You relish your recent conquest over the Christians,

You are smugly satisfied with your success

  Against those foolish religious rebels;

But then there is a blinding flash,

  Infinitely brighter than a bolt of lightning,

Catapulted from your frightened horse,

  You clumsily crash to the ground and collapse;

Then you unmistakably hear that familiar

  Gentle voice of Christ the Courageous,

He tenderly and mercifully asks,

  “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?”

Suddenly you are struck blind,

  And you are entirely enveloped in darkness,

It appears as if God has blown out the sun,

  As if it were a giant candle in the sky.

Pondering and perturbed, you are praying quietly,

  In a modest home on Straight Street,

Lost in your thoughts, you rhythmically

  Stroke your black mustache and beard;

Your heavy heart weeps in dismay,

  As your brashness has led to your bitter blindness,

Now the hero who was persecuting the rebels

  Is himself converting into a rebel;

Scattered at your feet are the shattered

  Pieces of your old way of life,

A day ago those puzzle pieces all fit together,

  Like the pillars in Solomon’s Portico;

But now a key piece of the puzzle is missing:

  The messianic centerpiece,

With tears, you repentantly fast and pray,

  As Ananias approaches with the missing piece.

Gazing at the Circus Maximus, you know

  That your time in this world is very short,

As you reflect back upon your life,

  You realize how much you’ve changed;

Through the limitless love of the Lord,

  You have become a very humble man,

And through the Prince of Peace,

  You are filled with the fruit of the Spirit;

After so many years, you long to

  Give the kiss of peace to the saintly Stephen,

You hunger and thirst to embrace your

  Magnificent Messiah, Jesus the Just;

The sun sets in Rome’s crimson sky,

  Surrounded by clusters of woolly clouds,

This flock of lambs is ready to follow

  The shepherd-sun down into Vatican Hill.

THE LIGHT OF THE WORD

“When Jesus finished these words, the crowds were astonished at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as their scribes.” (Matthew 7:28-29)

“Indeed, the word of God is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword….” (Hebrews 4:12)

It is before mass,

Quiet and still,

And I wholeheartedly pray

As I prepare to proclaim

The magnificent Word of God,

For I am a lector today,

And so I sit in the third pew,

Close to the beautiful ambo,

Which stands in stately majesty,

High in the sanctuary.

The sonorous bell

Awakens me from prayer,

And I stand as the mass begins,

Then, after the relatively brief

Opening prayers of holy mass,

I walk towards the sanctuary

And slowly ascend the steps

Near the ambo,

The Dark One intensifies

His attacks upon me,

Vociferously and maliciously

Accusing me and taunting me.

I feel like Peter, stepping out of the boat,

Approaching Jesus on the water,

Because I know for a certainty

That if I take my eyes off the Lord,

I will swiftly sink and drown

In this insidious Sea of Lies.

But Our Lady takes me by the hand,

And leads me up the marble steps,

Urging me to strive for divine union

With the most holy Word of God,

And although I don’t see anything,

I can feel the warmth of His Love,

And the closer I get to His Word,

The more my heart leaps with joy.

Finally, I stand before His throne,

The throne of His Word,

And as I begin to proclaim

The Sacred Scriptures --

The Good, the True, the Beautiful --

I feel transformed by the fruit of the Spirit.

Then the Light of the World

Brilliantly and dazzlingly shines forth

From His Holy Word,

Filling the entire nave of the church

With the unfathomable Light of Divine Mercy,

And the unimaginably beautiful Light of Love.

And, thus, He generously opens

Our blind eyes and deaf ears,

And we recognize the presence

Of Our Savior and King,

The King of the Universe,

Who generously pours His wisdom

Into our weak, troubled minds,

And, lo, we too are now filled

With the Lord’s light.

But, to speak honestly,

I, a poor miserable sinner,

Recognize my own unworthiness;

For just as a donkey

Cannot take credit for the riches

Of gold and silver

That his good master

Piles high upon him,

I too can take no credit

For the shining forth

Of this great heavenly light.

After this holy encounter,

I don’t feel like the same person,

Indeed, my poor miserable life

Has been transformed by the Transfigured,

And, behold, my life --

Indeed all of our lives --

Are now a new creation!

LONGER SPIRITUAL COMMUNION PRAYER

Inspired by St. Francis de Sales

O Lord of Love,

Through the heartfelt proclamation

Of your most Holy Word

I long for holy union with you!

O Lord of Love,

Through the child-like reception

Of your most Holy Eucharist,

I long for holy union with you!

O Lord of Love,

Through joyful thanksgiving

For your precious gift

Of divine mercy in the dark night,

I long for holy union with you!

Thank you, Jesus,

For the gift of your love!

Amen.

SIN AND SINNER

All too often,

especially in the past,

we have hated the sin

and hated the sinner,

thus marginalizing

entire races of peoples,

and this is neither good,

nor true, nor beautiful.

Nowadays,

in our upside-down

politically correct world,

we love the sin

and love the sinner,

thus glorifying everything,

and standing up for nothing,

and this is neither good,

nor true, nor beautiful.

Sometimes our world

is even more diabolical,

and we love the sin

and hate the sinner,

thus leading to the persecution

and martyrdom

of many, many Christians,

and this is neither good,

nor true, nor beautiful.

But sometimes,

by the grace of God,

we get it right:

we hate the sin

and love the sinner;

this is very, very good,

this is very, very true,

this is very, very beautiful.

TRUST

Based on the Concept of St. Paul’s Fruit of the Spirit

When you are afraid,

Trust.

When you are sad,

Trust.

When you are agitated,

Trust.

When you are impatient,

Trust.

When you are angry,

Trust.

When you are selfish,

Trust.

When you are doubting,

Trust.

When you are demanding,

Trust.

When you are reckless,

Trust.

When you are foolish,

Trust.

Trust in Divine Mercy,

Trust always,

Trust.

ST. FRANCIS DE SALES' PRAYER BEFORE MAKING AN EXAMINATION OF CONSCIENCE

Dearest Jesus,

King of Divine Mercy,

I place myself in your holy presence,

And I beseech you to inspire in me

By the power of the Holy Spirit.

Give me your light,

And give me sight,

That I may gain

A perfect knowledge

Of myself.

With St. Augustine,

I cry out to you,

“Lord, let me know you,

And let me know myself!”

And with St. Francis,

I humbly ask you,

“Lord! Who are you,

And who am I?”

I protest that I do not wish

To learn of my progress

In order to rejoice in myself,

But solely to rejoice in you, dear God,

Because I do not wish to glorify myself,

But I only wish to glorify you, dear Lord,

And give you thanks.

I also protest that if I find,

As I fear I shall,

That I have made only a little progress,

Or none at all,

Or even that I have fallen backward,

I will not on that account

Be depressed or made cold

By discouragement or despondency

Of any sort.

On the contrary,

I protest that I wish to encourage

And animate myself all the more,

I wish to humble myself,

And I wish to correct my faults

By the assistance of your grace.

Amen.

TO ST. PETER THE APOSTLE

Your fishing boat bobs up

   and down in uncertainty,

As you reflect upon the

   meaning of your life;

With a sterile stare you

   gaze at the wobbly waves,

While the wonderful wind of

   the Spirit is silently approaching;

A merciful Son of Man is

   standing on the sandy seashore,

He is looking for his Rock,

   to make him a fisher of men;

The breeze blows through

   your stubborn dark hair,

As the Son of Man asks if He

   can come aboard your boat.

As Jesus ascends, He disappears

   into nebulous misty clouds,

You feel like a floundering

   fisherman without his nets;

Without the Good Shepherd,

   your heart seems hollow,

You now appear more like

   a pebble than a rock;

But later, a deafening wind

   whirls through the room,

And fantastical flaming

   fireballs crown all present;

In divers tongues, all mystically

   praise the good God,

And you proclaim the Word

   with holy courage.

As you are cruelly crucified

   upside-down on Vatican Hill,

Your life is brimming with

   meaning and significance;

Your blood falls to the earth

   like a myriad of mustard seeds,

Where the Church will

   take root and grow strong;

You are the first link in

   the precious papal chain,

An unbreakable chain dripping

   with martyrs’ blood;

This chain will withstand

   the hammering of heretics,

It will be like a fruitful vine

   bringing Love to the world.

TO THE HOLY FAMILY

Good St. Joseph, you were sent

To be my wise knightly master,

So that through your assistance

I could reach Heaven faster.

Sweet and holy Queen, you are

So kindly patient and so humble,

The dark one terribly hates you,

For you make him trip and stumble.

Babe of the Incarnation, above you

Swirls the immaculate white Dove,

For now God enters His creation

To show the true depth of His Love.

SILENT KNIGHT, holy knight

St. Joseph the Silent Knight,

Holy man of common sense,

You preached the gospel,

Though often without words,

If you had the knowledge,

You answered your neighbor,

If not, then through divine wisdom

You put your hand over your mouth;

Teach me how to hold my tongue,

To follow the Spirit’s lead,

Instead of getting in trouble

By rashly running ahead of Him;

It’s pleasant to converse,

But it’s far better to be prudent.

THE KNIGHT

Christmas,

The night of Christ,

The breathtaking eve when the

Babe of the Incarnation

Heroically came to save us.

St. Joseph,

The Knight of Christ,

The brave, holy man that the

Babe of the Incarnation

Trusted wholeheartedly.

THE HOLY KNIGHT

You protected the Babe of Light,

In Bethlehem’s most Holy Night.

The magi in their wise hands hold

Both sweet frankincense and gold,

But your strong courageous arms

Save Baby Jesus from all harms.

You are the knight of the Dove,

And on that Holy Night met Love.

Hellishly bloody Herod the Hater

Fears that he’s not the greater,

But you, oh most humble father,

With vainglory don’t even bother.

You protected the Babe of Light,

In Bethlehem’s most Holy Night.

TO ST. JOSEPH

Your thick, wavy brown hair happily

  Blows in the breeze of God’s will;

Your warm brown eyes twinkle with

  Contentment, crinkling as you smile.

You protect the holy Babe from Herod’s

  Hellish hands, which are dripping with blood;

In obedience, you help the Holy Family

  Evade him and elusively escape to Egypt.

As a worker, you handle the wood of

  God’s creation with gentle strength;

With industrious ingenuity, you use

  God’s good gifts to serve others.

You shatter lustful temptation with your

  Carpenter’s mallet of holy purity;

Then, as God’s valiant soldier, you slay

  Selfishness with the sword of surrender.

In your loving example, you show little Jesus

  how to be a good son to His mother;

With your humble heart, you teach Love

  How to love, and the angels are amazed.

EASTER AT EMMAUS

Our heads hung low,

Saddened and perplexed

By the troubling events just

Three days prior in Jerusalem;

My companion and I were

Searching for the missing piece

Of the Messianic puzzle,

Not realizing that it was less

Than a stone’s throw away;

Then, when we turned around,

We found a man who was both

Wise and friendly, and He too

Was on the road to Emmaus;

As He spoke to us over the

Next several miles, the fire of

Heavenly hope began to rekindle

Within our souls once again,

So we invited Him to sup with us

When we arrived in Emmaus;

After the sun set over the hills,

The stars twinkled with delight as

The Son suddenly rose in our hearts,

For when He broke the bread,

He smiled His very gentle smile, 

And we felt as if we had been

Born again.

THE RESURRECTION

I turn around and before me you stand,

  one whose robe is dazzlingly white,

As you speak my name and say “Mary,”

  you forever shatter my deep dark night;

With great love, you bestow your peace upon me,

  through your wonderfully warm brown eyes,

Your merciful smile cheers my heart,

  so that my soul can most sweetly arise;

In the joyful breeze of the Holy Spirit,

  your flowing hair very gently swirls,

In my heart I totally surrender to you,

  and for you this is a treasure of pearls.

THE CRUCIFIXION

In a shadow of deep darkness, the Light

  of the world hangs crooked on the cross,

A jagged crown of razor-thin thorns is

  thrust maliciously into His throbbing head;

Bright-red blood and the fickle crowd’s

  sour spittle trickle into His stinging eyes,

He licks His cracked lips, and He tastes

  the bold bitter flavor of blood.

The Roman soldiers’ wild whips tore

  and radically ripped Jesus’ holy flesh,

And now the sticky crusted wounds cling

  to the weatherbeaten wood and ooze;

Knife-like nails puncture His hands and feet,

  and make them look like cored apples,

His shoulders slump down, crushed under

  the weight of every sin in human history.

The soldiers hellishly hammered the nails

  into Jesus’ flesh, as if He were an animal,

Indescribable pain blasted through the

  bones of His body like dynamite;

He now surrenders His body, mind, soul,

  and spirit to the will of His Father,

He lovingly practices what He preached,

  and He prays for His persecutors.

Jesus is high up, as if atop an isolated

  island, surrounded by a sea of hate,

A cacophonous chorus of insults assails

  His ears, and the smell of sin is in the air;

His mother, living in the dark night of

  unknowing, silently waits and watches,

She kneels in total surrender, while a 

  sword of sorrow slashes her heavy heart.

In the afternoon, Golgotha is enveloped

  in a mysterious murky darkness,

Then, when Jesus dies, the earth quakes

  in violent anger at the murder of its Creator;

Rumbling and roaring, buildings catastrophically

   crash and crumble to the ground,

The terrifying temblor forces the sanctuary’s 

  curtain to explosively burst apart.

That mysterious murky darkness remains

  in the hearts of Jesus’ faithful followers,

Their entire worlds are seriously shaken,

  and they are stunned and stupefied;

But on the third day, the nebulous fog

  of uncertainty will finally dissolve,

On the third day, a heavenly ray of Light

  will come, far brighter than the sun.

THE DARK NIGHT OF THE CROSS

Staggering and stumbling

On the rocky Via Dolorosa,

My hands wearily and weakly

Cling to the splintered cross;

A Roman soldier lashes me

With a whirling crackling whip,

Which like a wildcat’s claw

Rips and tears my poor flesh;

My knees buckle and I fall,

My battered head striking the

Stubborn and unforgiving ground,

Forcefully thrusting the thorns

Deeper into my wounded skull;

My soul silently suffers

In the dark night of the cross —

And yet I’m doing this all for you,

Just for you, because I love you,

So dearly, so deeply, so divinely.