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. 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 our 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. 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;

Stone-faced 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,

However, your sister sits near the Master,

  As the people He spiritually feeds;

Your anxious 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?

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 saw it 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,

  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.

TO ST. BARTHOLOMEW THE APOSTLE

With smug sarcasm you doubted Philip:

  the Christ from Nazareth could not come;

Philip’s words just sounded impossible,

  and he didn’t believe his Bethsaidan chum.

Smiling softly, this Jesus said that

  He had seen you under the fig tree;

Your spiritual eyes suddenly opened,

  And the true Messiah did you finally see. 

You saw Lazarus slowly lurch forward,

  as he stepped out of his rocky grave;

This was one of many amazing miracles

  that in the end your soul did save.

Years later, you screeched and screamed in pain

  as your sordid killers skinned you alive;

But now your bright eyes see Heavenly glory

   where for eternity you very happily thrive.

TO ST. PHILIP THE APOSTLE

Maybe like Falstaff you were a “practical” man,

  It’s even possible that from danger you ran;

Perhaps you were very timid and shy,

  Then Jesus called you to life on high;

Did you fear the Holy Spirit’s fire?

  If so, even introverts God can inspire!

In Bethsaida born and in Phrygia killed,

  Even the meek God’s kingdom can build.

TO ST. JUDE THADDEUS THE APOSTLE

You steadfastly served the Lord,

And were famous for physical healing,

You happily sought out holiness,

And spent much time prayerfully kneeling;

In a foreign land you were beaten to a pulp,

Until you were door-nail dead,

But it wasn’t satisfying enough,

So your murderers lopped off your head;

Now you wear a martyr’s golden crown,

And live in Heaven’s perennial jubilation,

Interceding for the Church Militant,

You help it become a new creation.

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!