In stature the bishop was rather short,
But spoke with power like a judge in court;
Sometimes his sharp eyes were piercing swords,
Other times his smile was warm, like the Lord’s;
His divine sense of humor won us all,
Yes, “Uncle Fultie” always had a ball;
His Shakespearean drama shook the soul,
Yet leading us to Heaven was his goal.
When we, your stubborn spiritual children,
Don’t listen to you in holy confession,
You slap the Spirit into our sleepy souls,
As you make prayerful intercession.
When we plan to drop the blitzkrieg bombs
Of mortal sin into our desperate heart,
You bilocate and bravely speak the truth,
And the holy fear of God to us impart.
When the evil one stealthily attacks us,
Aggressively seeking victims to devour,
As a warrior, you heroically hunt him down,
And lasso the beast with Rosary power.
Eugenio Pacelli is consecrated a bishop,
In Italy’s historic city of Rome,
But he is flung like a javelin into Germany,
And Munich is now his home;
Egelhofer sends Commander Seiler
On a mission filled with human hate,
The truth is Mr. E. thirsts for blood,
And Pacelli he wishes to assassinate;
Commander Seiler and his gang selfishly strut
To the bishop’s place of residence,
They’re planning a brash bold attack,
Plotting his murder with confidence;
They threaten the servant with weapons,
So she reluctantly lets them in,
Now they await the bishop’s return,
Thinking victory they will win.
Seiler stands ready at the door,
With his thugs in a semicircle around,
Armed with loaded guns and grenades,
Their faces are rather frowned;
When the bishop opens the door,
Seiler points a pistol at his pectoral cross,
Yet Pacelli fearlessly stands his ground,
And shows him who is boss;
The holy bishop speaks as soft as an abbot,
Or even a most prayerful friar,
But his courageous words rip into them,
Like relentless machine gun fire;
The bishop’s eyes are two spear tips,
That pierce right through their souls,
And in a daze they gape back at him,
As motionless as telephone poles.
With empty hands the would-be assassins
Return to Egelhofer the Extreme,
To his surprise, Pacelli still lives,
And in the Munich diocese reigns supreme;
The bishop bravely swatted their plans,
As if they were harmless flies,
Never before had they looked at a priest
With such powerful paralyzing eyes;
During the Second World War,
He saved countless lives from Nazi extermination,
And many Jewish people commended him,
For his covert operation;
This lean, stately figure ran the Church,
Though he never sought out fame,
He is better known as Pope Pius,
The Twelfth who has held that name.
You, the mystical
missionary of mercy,
are honored as
the first saint
of the Great Jubilee,
the first saint
of the new millennium;
you serenely smile
as the blessed blood
and the blessed water
kiss and mingle
in the infinite ocean
of Divine Mercy;
you see the barque
of St. Peter as it
faithfully floats on
the beautiful waves,
protected from the
storm winds of worry,
free from all fear;
like the warm welcoming
arms of the Bernini Colonnade
at St. Peter’s Square,
Divine Mercy is ready to
earnestly embrace every
hardened sinner who
hungers for healing and
thirsts for generous love:
Jezu ufam Tobie!
Like Rosary beads dipped in holy water,
Raindrops are falling from the sky,
Seventy thousand people in the roaring rain
Who would really rather be dry;
The valley of the Cova da Iria is a black
Blanket of umbrellas and hats,
And the drenched, dripping crowd is like
A muddy mob of very curious cats;
Three children kneel before an outdoor altar
As they await the promised sign,
And non-believers mockingly joke that
The children are just tipsy with wine;
The riotous rain finally stops at noon,
As the weather is forced to succumb,
But noon passes, and Heaven is late,
So perhaps no miracle will come.
But then a marvelous, mystical stillness and quiet
Come over this blessed place,
All laughter subsides and totally vanishes,
Without even the slightest trace;
Our Lady appears to all the three children,
Wearing garments dazzlingly white,
Her shape is graceful and delicate,
And her clothing is brighter than light;
Her eyes are like sparkling jewels,
And her sweet voice makes their hearts sing,
Her face is most exquisitely beautiful,
And she is a treasure of the great King;
But after hours and hours of waiting,
The crowd sees nothing at all,
If a Heavenly sign they don’t get,
Then perhaps the children they’ll maul.
After speaking to the three young children,
Our Lady casts a glance up above,
She gently points upwards to Heaven,
With a heart filled with mercy and love;
Then Lucia quickly points at the sky,
And tells everyone to look at the sun,
They only see a thick cloudy darkness,
So their expectations are little or none;
But through the clouds the sun is slicing,
And it’s spinning like a circular saw,
At this very strange and unnatural sight,
The crowd’s nerves really feel raw;
The sun is like a gyrating sparkler,
With sizzling sparks flitting about,
It is held by God’s invisible hand,
He is mighty -- of this there is no doubt.
Then the fickle sun changes colors,
And the many spectators reflect its glow,
The chamelionic sun lights up sky and land,
Putting on an impressive show;
First the sun turns a stunning silver,
And this is followed by a brilliant blue,
Then it turns a glorious, gleaming gold,
Followed by a most radiant red hue;
Every so often there are stellar explosions,
With blinding bursts of light,
The people are starting to tremble,
And are wondering if they should take flight;
They stare at the sun for a very long time,
Yet none of them hurt their eyes,
The whole crowd gapes in surreal wonder,
Observing this sign in the skies.
But suddenly unbolted from the wall of clouds,
The sun moves about in the sky,
It looks like it’s riding on a roller coaster,
On invisible tracks way up high;
The blazing orb dances in a fiery frenzy,
Although there’s not a lot of wind,
And glacial hearts are melting below,
Of those who have seriously sinned;
But now, like a menacing molten meteor,
The sun falls down towards the Earth,
Thousands of people cry out in terror,
Not experiencing any kind of mirth;
Alarmed atheists pray Our Fathers,
As their hearts’ flag of surrender is unfurled,
And agnostics stagger and stumble for cover,
Fearing it’s the end of the world.
Approaching at a frightful velocity,
The sun gradually drinks the dark sky,
As the speeding star draws ever nearer,
The people are preparing to die;
The red giant now fills the heavens,
And the situation is exceedingly dire,
The surface of the sun is a seething solar ocean
Of fantastical flaming fire;
But all this time the three good children
Have visions from the Heavenly realm,
They experience ecstatic joy and peace,
Since the good God is at the helm;
Then, in the twinkling of an eye,
The crowd looks up through happy tears,
They’re stunned because their nightmarish vision
Very suddenly disappears.
Just ten minutes earlier, the spectators in the
Cova were standing in the mire,
But now, in a flash, it is completely dry --
Faster than anyone could ever desire;
Ten miraculous minutes…
Have forever softened many thousands of souls,
Their lives are totally transformed,
And they no longer seek secular goals;
October 13, 1917…
Will be remembered throughout all of history,
Though for skeptics who read of Fatima,
This day may always be a mystery;
Many atheists and agnostics saw a miracle
That made them turn quite pale,
So know that this story happened,
And it is not some silly fairy tale.
My sweet Little Flower,
your humble acts of charity
are like tiny mustard seeds,
yet when they’re poured out
upon the fruitful fields of Heaven
by the Father’s faithful fingers,
they form a mountain of love
that would gracefully tower
over the mighty Everest;
you stand in great strength,
as the missionary of missionaries,
in the gentle presence of
the Virgin of virgins,
the Mystical Rose
of incomparable beauty,
and your precious seeds of prayer
are cultivated with care by the
ever patient Divine Gardener,
nourished by His living water,
producing a bountiful harvest of
salvation in our suffering world;
above the clouds of worry,
your cheerful sky is always blue --
help me to follow your example
so that my soul too may sing
those heartfelt words of wisdom:
“My vocation is love!”
Behold the Little Flower’s mom and dad,
They pray for parents about to go mad.
The Martin family had five sweet girls,
So their devout home was filled with French curls;
Louis and Zelie were full of great love,
They taught their daughters the path of The Dove;
With their “little queen” they had lots of fun,
And each of their girls became a young nun;
When Louis and Zelie finally died,
Heaven’s beautiful doors opened real wide.
So parents that want to pull out their hair
Should ask them for help, for they really care.
As you gently
And skillfully
Craft the wood,
You are in no hurry,
For you know
That everything comes
in God’s time;
Therefore,
When the angel
Commands you
To take Mary
As your wife,
Without rushing,
You patiently accept
And trust in God;
And when the angel
Commands you
To go to Egypt,
You move swiftly,
But you do so wisely
And with great faith,
Not at breakneck speed;
We, too, must learn from you,
Good St. Joseph,
Because when worry whirls,
And when anxiety agitates,
We must follow your example,
With calm and great patience,
Trusting wholeheartedly
In the Babe of Divine Mercy.
Your merciful and majestic eyes
are dazzlingly modest,
Sparkling like radiant jewels
of kindness and compassion;
Your serene smile swiftly
steals my humble heart,
As you point me towards the
path that leads to Jesus;
Your majestic mantle and sky-blue
sash dance joyfully in the breeze,
Reflecting the mildness and the
gentleness of the good God;
Your ladylike lips whisper
words of wisdom
That split the air like
loving lightning;
Your sweet, saintly actions
ripple through the universe,
Like warm, welcoming waves
of heavenly peace.
Your magnificent story I will tell:
The wondrous Miracle of Massabielle;
Our Lady came in breathtaking beauty,
And she knew that you would do your duty;
You came before her as God’s little child,
And looking down on you, she warmly smiled;
She gently asked you to dig in the ground,
And there spring waters were suddenly found;
Cripples bathed in the stream with salty tears,
And walked away whole without any fears;
Then hardened hearts started to melt,
And before the good God they humbly knelt.
From the Writings of St. Mother Teresa of Calcutta
“Just begin
one at a time.
One, one, one.
If I had not picked up
that first person
dying on the street,
I would not
have picked up
the thousands
of others
later on.”
“What are these
drops of oil
in our lamps?
They are the little things
of everyday life:
fidelity, punctuality,
little words of kindness,
just a little thought
for others;
those little acts
of silence,
of look, and of thought,
of word, and of deed.
These are the very
drops of love
that make our life burn
with so much light.”
“God does not look
for big things --
he looks for
how much love
we put in the giving.”
As a soldier you were really quite inept,
And as a student too you weren’t much,
Although the seminary gave you a chance,
It seemed holy orders you’d never touch;
But when the good God takes charge,
There’s nothing that He cannot do,
So through the intercession of St. Philomena,
Grace most bountifully fell on you.
Sent to a corrupt village named Ars,
You woke it up with fiery preaching,
People were flabbergasted by your words
And threatened by your priestly teaching;
Yet in the little box of the confessional,
You won a victory over selfish hearts,
Though the devil anxiously pursued you,
God extinguished all his flaming darts.
So many made pilgrimages to see you,
And confession lines were terribly long,
But through God’s grace you read their souls,
Bringing hope to many in the throng;
Thus the devil grew angrier and angrier,
That’s why the beast ranted and raved,
Still you won over many many souls,
In God’s mercy they were finally saved.
Why do some seek to erase
You from history’s chalkboard?
Why do they wish to cancel out
Your love for Native Americans?
In these deeply distressing times,
The Franciscan Way must lead:
Love must conquer all hatred,
Pardon must heal all injuries,
Faith must replace all doubt,
Hope must cast out all despair,
When Light scatters the darkness,
It is then that freedom rings.
Circa 1970
It was Thanksgiving evening, and the lamps
Glowed cheerfully in the cozy house;
Though the clean little home was modest,
It was filled with the sweet scent of love.
We were all stuffed with good food, and
Ready for some post-meal entertainment;
So the time had come for everyone in the
Family to engage in some competitive fun.
Our very alert ears quickly snatched the
Numbers out of the air, one by one;
Then our fingers excitedly placed the
Small black discs on the bingo cards.
Aunt Therese felt sorry for me, a young boy,
Because I was terribly saddened by losing;
So winking with a smiling old eye, she
Pushed her stack of pennies into mine.
You are a man in love,
oh so deeply in love
with Our Lady,
so with strength
and with courage
as a knight of Christ,
you cavalierly show us
the short way,
the easy way,
to the Queen of All Hearts;
as we follow the illustrious example
of St. John Paul the Great
and mild St. Mother Teresa,
you very confidently lead us
to the Blessed Virgin
so that she might
graciously guide us to
the Babe of Bethlehem;
the jealous Jansenists,
irked by your missionary success,
perniciously plot against you,
and you are banished --
but the flames of divine love,
like tongues of fire,
sweetly sweep throughout France
in the strong driving wind
of the serene Spirit;
even now in the new millenium
our lives continue to be
refreshed and renewed
by this burning blaze
as we make our consecration
to Jesus through Mary:
totus tuus.
Born in the breathtaking majesty of the Alps,
you became the Bishop of Geneva most brave;
You fought bloodless battles against the Calvinists,
and your gentle eloquence many souls did save.
Others preached with a barrel full of vinegar,
and for their listeners this wasn’t at all funny;
But you had the sense to sweeten your sermons
with the most delightful and delicious honey.
In your classic book you show us, the laity,
how to make our ordinary lives a success;
Teaching us to find God in the present moment,
our worried minds are relieved of great stress.
With great wisdom you gave us spiritual direction,
Explaining how we should run the good course,
And so you said in your wondrous compassion,
“We must do all by love and nothing by force.”
Your happy heart desired to go abroad,
On a mission to the exotic Far East;
Where you might convert lots of souls,
And become a holy Jesuit priest.
But as a merry man with natural goodness,
You were drawn by God to Rome;
You had no money and you had no plan,
Yet the Eternal City became your home.
With Socratic discussions on street corners,
You most pleasantly evangelized;
Yet you did it in such a fun-loving way,
That the people never felt chastised.
One Pentecost something special happened --
You felt the peace of The Dove;
When a globe of fire entered your mouth,
You almost died of ecstatic love.
You inspired many in the confessional,
So that the truth they understood,
And the people always heard you saying,
“When shall we begin to do good?”
You are a simple shepherd,
A poor Franciscan in the
True spirit of Father Francis,
Your respect for the Eucharist
Is profoundly beautiful,
For when the church bell rings —
No matter where you are
At that particular moment —
You cannot help but fall,
Fall to your knees in love,
Oh so madly in love,
With the Good Shepherd.
June 2023
Just outside of Rome,
about ten minutes or so
after passing Due Santi,
where St. Peter and St. Paul met,
I got terribly twisted around
while driving on the convoluted roads
of venerable Castel Gandolfo --
in short, I was lost.
Sadly, I never found Ristorante Da Agnese,
where Sweetie Pie had previously dined
with her university class
(and where I now had luncheon reservations);
in fact, I never even got close.
Instead, I ended up on the other side of
Lago Albano, in the heart of
beautiful Castel Gandolfo --
but I was hungry,
very very hungry,
and I was struggling
to find another restaurant —
let alone find parking.
Well, I drove back and forth
along the main road,
along the top of the volcanic crater,
with its steep breathless drops-offs,
and I almost felt as if I were riding
a white-knuckler roller coaster.
Finally, I found a potential place
where I might be able to eat lunch:
Ristorante Gardenia --
but the big question was
would it be open.
So I stepped down into
what I thought would be
the lobby, but since the restaurant
was built into the hillside of the crater,
I suddenly found myself walking
down, down, down --
quite a long way.
Eventually, I found someone,
and in my best Italian,
I asked if they were open,
and if I could have lunch there.
They were very kind,
and they said they could serve me
in just a few minutes
after the kitchen was open.
So I waited out on the side balcony,
sitting comfortably on a sofa,
which faces the very top
of Castel Gandolfo,
where, just a short way up,
I saw the antiquated domes
of the Papal Palace’s Vatican Observatory
amidst the charming Italian buildings,
in lovely pastel shades,
and the lush greenery
that blanketed the hillside.
Soon, the smiling waiter
led me to my small little table,
right on the edge
of a very narrow balcony
that overlooked the lovely lake.
The balcony’s rail was of
black wrought iron,
and the large elegant lamps
that hung from the ceiling
reminded me of
the glory and grandeur
of the age of Christendom.
I placed my order,
and then looked out
over the glory of God,
stunning Lago Albano
in all of its magnificent beauty.
Truly, the views were
nothing short of spectacular,
and as the sun slowly strolled
through the afternoon sky,
the chameleonic lake
gradually seemed to change colors.
I saw emerald, aquamarine, teal, gray,
in the most wonderful shades imaginable,
and the colors varied
depending upon the light,
the angle of the light,
and the movement of the
dramatic dark storm clouds
that were gathering,
in the distance,
and, eventually,
over the lake itself.
First, the waiter brought
some refreshing Natía water,
with fresh-baked bread --
and being a bread lover,
I was a happy man.
Then, came the main course,
Gnocchi alla Sorrentina,
one of my favorite dishes,
and it was prepared to perfection --
in fact, it was a masterpiece,
from an aesthetic perspective
as well as a culinary perspective.
It was the perfect blend of
semolina dough and potato,
and the delicious pasta,
brimming in the cupped dish,
was elegantly served
in a light and mild tomato sauce
that was bursting with flavor;
it was topped off
with fresh fior di latte
and a lovely sprig of basilico --
I felt like a king.
Then, for dessert,
I tasted the finest Babà con Crema
that I have ever had,
a rum-soaked cake
in the shape of a brioche,
filled with sweet cream,
and served on an artistic plate
which was cratered with indentations
(presumably, to make it easier
for me not to miss a morsel
of this unforgettable pastry).
So as I reflected back upon my afternoon,
I asked myself the question,
Why did I allow my mind
to get all twisted around
when things didn’t go my way,
when I was not in control?
Why didn’t I trust in God,
the God of surprises,
who spent this entire trip
trying to teach me
that through trust
He would shower His
divine mercy upon me --
which He did, repeatedly --
even in the dark night
of unknowing?
Prayer Shared by Fr. Chris Alar, MIC
O Most Holy Virgin,
And our Mother,
We listen with grief to the complaints
Of your Immaculate Heart,
Surrounded with the thorns placed therein
At every moment by the blasphemies
And ingratitude of ungrateful humanity.
We are moved by the ardent desire
Of loving you as our Mother,
And of promising a true devotion
To your Immaculate Heart.
We therefore kneel in spirit before you,
To manifest the sorrow we feel
For the grievances that people cause you,
And to atone by our prayers and sacrifices
For the offenses with which
They return your love.
Obtain for them and for us
The pardon of so many sins.
Hasten the conversion of sinners,
That they may love Jesus Christ,
And cease to offend the Lord,
Already so much offended.
Turn your eyes of mercy toward us,
That we may love God
With all our heart on earth,
And enjoy Him forever in Heaven.
Amen.