Christmas Day
Baby Jesus is born,
And through Our Savior
We can be born again daily;
Day by day each of us awakens,
Day by day the evil one tempts us,
Day by day Divine Mercy is victorious,
As we surrender to the God of Mercy,
As we trust the God of Goodness,
As we embrace the God of Love;
Thus, we are born again daily
If we choose life with Him,
So every day can be like
Christmas Day.
When we’re thanks-living,
We choose for living,
We choose for giving,
Lovingly for-giving.
Thanksgiving,
What a wonderful
Gift from God,
It seems to me like
An inexhaustible
Spiritual ocean of the
Dazzling, magnificent
Divine Mercy.
When we’re living,
In thanksgiving to God,
We’re living for giving,
Lovingly for-giving.
Inspired by St. Francis de Sales
Dearest Jesus,
I place myself in your holy presence,
And I beseech you to inspire me
By the power of the Holy Spirit,
For the glory of God the Father.
O Lord, I recognize my unworthiness,
And I humbly ask pardon for my sins.
My heart is ready, O God,
My heart is ready --
Jesus, I trust in You!
Vive Jésus!
Amen.
Based on a true story, and dedicated to my delightful daughter
The long, arduous journey
was finally over,
More challenging than going
from London to Dover;
Clarissa Candela opened
her deep, dark eyes,
She got out of bed not
expecting any surprise;
For the last 33 days it’s been
a time for new prayers,
Almost like climbing a beautiful
resort’s elegant stairs;
Going upward towards God
in an imperceptible way,
She didn’t notice any spiritual growth
when she knelt down to pray.
As the beacon of dawn
gradually conquered the night,
The sinful, fearful darkness
was very quickly put to flight;
The angels unfurled the banner
of God’s light across the sky,
As on the freeway Clarissa
calmly drove in the desert so dry;
Her pilgrimage was to the beauteous
chapel of Our Lady of Solitude,
And since she could see the cupola,
her arrival was a certitude;
With holy sunbeams striking a
stained glass window from afar,
The chapel looked like a lighthouse
reflecting Bethlehem’s star.
Clarissa got out of her car, and a
sweet smile danced across her lips,
Her long, dark hair through the comforting
breeze ever so gently whips;
Looking at the chapel, she saw arches
and columns in a style European,
And the dappled desert stone, rustically
elegant, also made it look Galilean;
The cupola, topped with a simple cross,
was Our Lady’s jeweled crown,
And the t-shaped tau on the gable
declared good St. Francis’ renown;
Clarissa looked up, twirled around,
and saw an immense sky so blue,
She had never seen such beauty clothed
in such peace, ‘tis so very true.
Then she entered the chapel
experiencing a spiritual thirst,
Truly there were not many people
at mass on this January First;
Their few voices were humbly and
quietly raised almost inaudibly aloft,
And the Franciscan priest said mass
in a voice that was very, very soft;
The devout Poor Clare nuns were
all engaged in the deepest prayer,
And, honestly, the mass was so silent
that it was exceedingly rare;
When Clarissa’s 33 days of prayers
of consecration were finally done,
Might she be in danger of ending
as uneventfully as she had begun?
But St. Louis de Montfort’s
Consecration to Jesus through Mary,
Was recommended by her wise old
Irish pastor Monsignor O’Clary;
He had preached quite a fine homily
about this special devotion,
Saying, “It can really change your life,
if you have the notion”;
But now let me share with you
one rather noteworthy fact,
St. Louis’ closing prayer is
really a form of holy contract;
She knelt before Our Lord’s
beautiful crucifix near the altar,
And she dearly hoped that her
heart would not ever falter.
Midway through this closing prayer,
Clarissa’s heart was passionately,
Preciously pierced by the sweet sword
of the Spirit; her soul, suddenly
Brimming with God’s majestic mercy,
soared in a spiraling celestial
Crescendo of God’s love for her;
fearing that her heart, like a fiery
Supernova, might explode with emotion,
she silently slipped out
And sat quietly, alone, on the sofa
located in the pilgrims' parlor;
Here she serenely surrendered all
to the Spirit, like a noble
Knight of Christ, Through Our Lady,
The Queen of All Hearts.
Then like a giddy geyser she gushed
torrents of light-hearted laughter
And happy, heavenly tears; this golden
cascade of pure love poured
Over her soul like a warm, wonderful
waterfall of holy honey; deep down
Inside, the Spirit was strumming on
the harmonic harp of her heart, and
She was deliciously, delightfully deluged
by this overwhelming ocean of God’s love for her.
Afterwards, Clarissa softly strolled
back into the chapel to finish her
Closing prayer; approaching the altar,
with awe, she beheld the crucifix
Where Christ the Courageous heroically
hangs; from the back of the church
She felt his love as a light, blissful,
balmy breeze; but as she
Drew closer to that crucifix, she felt
His love magnificently magnified as it
Ignited into an intense, surging storm
of explosive, electric joy;
Kneeling before that same crucifix,
as a bold, brave warrior, she battled
Through her emotions until
word by word, slowly,
Meaningfully, she finished
her prayer of consecration.
Every year for the rest of her life
this holy devotion she would pray,
She would always return to Our Lady
of Solitude on the very same day;
Just as Our Lady had very few truly
remarkable days in her saintly life,
Clarissa had few days in which intense
joy pierced her soul like a knife;
Although she never again experienced
a cascading heavenly waterfall,
Every so often a raindrop of pure,
holy love her heart would enthrall;
In the twinkling of an eye the sword
of the Spirit would pierce her soul,
As if to remind her that perfect love
in Heaven must always be her goal.
I have a tendency to
overreact to things,
to immediately assume
the worst, out of fear;
but Our Lady is teaching me
that I need to be patient --
since patience, as St. Augustine said,
is the companion of wisdom,
and so, when an accident happens,
I take fear, and I promptly surrender it
to Our Lady, so that she can place
it at the foot of the cross,
until with a calmer mind
I can bring it before the King
in my private audience with Him,
and allow Him to guide me;
in the meantime,
I am resolved to
have the divine sense of humor,
knowing in my heart
that the Divine Mercy
will never let me down:
patience leads to good humor,
and good humor leads to
divine mercy in the dark night.
May 1968
It was a memorable day for me,
The greatest of my young life;
I still remember the class photo,
Me and another boy were the only
Ones dressed in suits of white,
And I loved wearing white
For the first time in my life.
Then inside the old church,
I recall wondering to myself
What Jesus would taste like;
When the time came to go forward,
I stood in line, and when our turn came,
We kneeled at the communion rail,
Waiting for the good God to come.
There He was, my Lord and my God,
And He was dressed in white too;
I meekly opened my small mouth
To welcome the King of Kings,
And then Baby Jesus was gently
Placed by His Holy Mother
On the manger of my tongue.
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?
September 2000
As I serenely sit in front of St. Peter’s
Basilica, I soak in the beauty of the piazza,
I look about my peaceful surroundings,
Drinking in the delicious glory of God;
Clusters of clouds casually waft by, so low
That they almost brush the top of the dome,
They pass by like eager pilgrims, Eucharistic
White against the bright blue sky.
Fresh flowers flow down on the white steps in front
Of the altar, like a colorful cascading waterfall,
I inhale the perfume of their sweet scent,
And I breathe in the Lord’s love;
The elegant church bells powerfully and
Rhythmically ring out God’s grandeur,
While the balmy breeze swirls around me
And compassionately caresses me.
Inspired by Romans 8:26 & Psalm 91:5 & Luke 1:47 & Luke 2:14
I try to pray
while in bed
at night,
but my tired mind
is weary, but then
Our Lady reminds me
to pray in the Spirit,
slowly, calmly,
and let my heart sing --
as St. Paul so wisely said:
the Spirit comes to the aid
of our weakness,
for we do not know
how to pray,
but the Spirit
intercedes for us,
with inexpressible groanings;
and so, I pray in the Spirit,
so that I may not fear
the terror of the night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
and as the Holy Spirit
fills my soul to the brim
with the sweet new wine
of His amazing love,
my body rests,
as my spirit rejoices
in God my Savior --
glory to God
in the highest,
and on earth peace
to those on whom
his favor rests!
September 2000
Pummeled by Parkinson’s,
he battles through the basilica,
leaning forward, heavily,
hunched over, crushed
under an invisible
wooden cross, laden
with the world’s woes;
from the ocean of onlookers,
a mother mildly lifts up
her little newborn,
and the Polish pope
most tenderly
blesses the babe
with a gentle kiss;
the spectators exhale
a halo as they breathlessly
and solemnly sigh, “O!”
God, merciful Father,
in Your Son, Jesus Christ,
You have revealed Your love
and poured it out upon us
in the Holy Spirit,
the Comforter.
We entrust to You today
the destiny of the whole world
and of every man and woman.
Bend down to us sinners,
heal our weakness,
conquer all evil,
and grant that all peoples of the earth
may experience Your mercy.
In You, the Triune God,
may they ever find the source of hope.
Eternal Father,
for the sake of the sorrowful Passion
and Resurrection of Your Son,
have mercy on us,
and upon the whole world!
Amen.
Inspired by Michelangelo’s masterpiece: September 2000
As I look up at the statue, I see Santa Maria,
as white as virgin milk, holding her Jesus;
She is the elegant embodiment of humble
Obedience and selfless compassion.
The Savior lay in the stately surrender of
Sacrificial love, in His mother’s majestic arms;
He is crushed, the weight of the world’s
Sin heavy upon His wounded body.
On the surrounding walls, the magnificent
Marble is a multicolored whirlwind;
The Holy Spirit beautifully swirls and
Soars through it in grace-ful agape.
I have a tendency to
overreact to things,
to immediately assume
the worst, out of fear;
but Our Lady is teaching me
that I need to be patient --
since patience, as St. Augustine said,
is the companion of wisdom,
and so, when an accident happens,
I take fear, and I promptly surrender it
to Our Lady, so that she can place
it at the foot of the cross,
until with a calmer mind
I can bring it before the King
in my private audience with Him,
and allow Him to guide me;
in the meantime,
I am resolved to
have the divine sense of humor,
knowing in my heart
that the Divine Mercy
will never let me down:
patience leads to good humor,
and good humor leads to
divine mercy in the dark night.
September 2000
Reflecting on God’s grandeur, I marvel
At the beauty that surrounds me,
The statue of the Pietà vibrantly reflects
The sweet sublimity of God’s mercy;
The nave floats in the swirling, variegated,
Multi-colored waves of a marble ocean,
And massive pillars of magnificent marble
Stand at attention like the Swiss Guards.
As the doors silently open, the Holy Father’s
Vehicle slowly rolls down the aisle,
And in rushes a breeze of heavenly hope
That placidly fills the sails of our souls;
I stand on my chair and see the saint whose
Faith defeated the dreary dark night,
As he kisses a babe, love ripples through
The crowd and rhymes in our hearts.
August 1988
As I struggle up the steep path,
My legs now feel much heavier,
And I wonder if the view will really
Be worth the arduous journey;
I see a sage old man approach,
Bearded like one of the prophets,
When I ask if I should continue,
He winks at me and nods yes;
Finally, when I reach the summit,
I behold the Valley of Heaven --
I breathe the Holy Spirit into my
Soul, and then exhale a smile;
The snow-capped mountains
Glisten in the warm soothing Light,
As the lovely lake glimmers from
The Divine Mercy rays of the Son.
August 1988
It is a bright beautiful morning in the
crisp clean air of the Canadian Rockies,
We ascend as I drive up a wonderfully
windy road past babbling brooks,
The two of us are together, in the car that
we affectionately refer to as the “Tin Can”;
After reaching the sunny summit,
we gently roll into the Valley of the Ten Peaks;
We finally arrive at the large lake and
look up at the regal ring of mountains,
Yet I feel slightly saddened because
somehow it’s less than I expected;
A lodge that looks like a big log cabin
stands silently like a sentinel near the water,
We decide to dine there and enjoy a
delightful bit of roast beef for lunch;
The savory flavor of my sandwich lingers
in my mouth, as I think about my morning,
I try to cunningly convince myself that
I’m not disappointed, but I know that I am.
Departing for our next destination,
I wistfully walk towards our little car,
But as I look to the right, I see a
tar-black hill with a winding trail upon it;
The people look like pilgrims as they
make their way up the mysterious mound,
Curiosity gradually grows within me as I
ponder, puzzled, where the path leads;
So I investigate and struggle up the steep
trail, tripping occasionally on rock and rubble,
But when I get to the top, I am frozen
with fascination as I behold the view;
Above me is a diadem of snow-tipped peaks,
gleaming with the glory of God,
Below me is the pristine lake, and it is
shimmering and sparkling like a gemstone;
It appears as if millions of sapphires
and emeralds have melted into liquid,
And the blue-green color of the
lovely lake is luminous in the sunshine.
My senses are suddenly soaked in Your
Holy Spirit’s lasting love, and I feel Your beauty,
At this moment, nothing else matters,
and I only long to be close to You;
At this moment, I am oblivious to my past,
and I am oblivious to my future,
I am living in the eternal and
mystical present of the great I AM;
You are Holy Humility, You are
Magnificent Mercy, You are Limitless Love,
And with Your divine sense of humor,
You really are the God of surprises.
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?
Dedicated to my Father: Circa 1970
Me and Dad were at
Knott’s Berry Farm and
he couldn’t wait to share
his favorite attractions with me;
the torch of his enthusiasm
burned even hotter
than the fiery ashes
of his cigarettes;
but I was like a wet match,
soaking wet,
and Dad had no chance,
no chance at all --
my whole world was
Disneyland;
hot words of anger
gathered in his mouth
like fierce storm winds,
but then he hesitated,
thought pensively for a moment,
and, finally, swallowed them;
with a smile of selfless surrender,
he took my hand in his own
and, together, we walked
towards the parking lot.
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.
Inspired by St. Louis de Montfort & St. John Paul II
Tuus totus ego sum,
Et omnia mea tua sunt.
I am all yours, O my Jesus,
And all that I have is yours,
Through Santa Maria,
Your most holy mother.
Come, Holy Spirit!
I pray for myself…
I pray for my family…
I pray for my faith community…
I pray for the world…
I pray for the poor souls of purgatory…
Vive Jésus!
Amen.