Today, the last day in November, we have the lovely feast of St. Andrew, first century. There are many stories and legends about this guy. I especially liked the story of his curing St. Matthew of blindness -- not because St. Matthew's prayers for himself were too weak, but because God wanted to use St. Andrew to demonstrate a grace. Or, as Pascal says, "God instituted prayer to show us the beauty of causality." (I love that.)
I do also recall that this first apostle, a fisherman and a disciple of St. John the Baptist, enabled a young man who followed him (I also heard it as a man who wanted to join the Church) and whose house was set afire by his angry parents, to put out the fire with only a single glass of water. (Thus his invocation against fire.) The arsonists were caught 5 days later. And I remember a story of Andrew's conversion of the pregnant wife of a murderer who subsequently could not give birth because she'd called on the goddess Diana (to hedge her bets, apparently). But that when she publicly renounced the false gods and acclaimed the One God (in whom she already believed), she was delivered of a healthy child.
But those are just legends. (Doesn't mean they're not true; just that we have only loose testimony for them.) We know Andrew was out fishing on a lake with his brother Simon when Jesus called them to become "fishers of men" and they left everything and followed him. (Of course, that leaves out the story of the miracle of the huge catch of fish upon Jesus' direction and Simon's passionate words: "Leave me, Lord, I am a sinful man." That single line of his expresses so much faith and passion and humility, I think Simon Peter would be allowed into heaven merely for that! It expresses how I feel -- how anyone would feel -- in the presence of the living God.) And Andrew and Simon Peter had a house in Capharnaum, a house they opened up to the Master, when he taught there. Which gives me a chance to correct something a homeowning priest said in a homily one time. He said Jesus owned a home -- he wasn't as poor as everyone said he was -- and the house in Capharnaum proves it. But it was Peter's house! And Jesus had the USE of it, not the ownership. There. Glad that's clear.
Andrew saw the miracle at Cana, he attended upon Jesus and after the resurrection preached in Scythia. He was martyred on an X-shaped cross (also called a saltire cross) in the town of Patrae in Achaia. His relics were taken to Constantinople and some from there to Scotland, to a monastery once called Abernethy and now called St. Andrew's. He is the patron of Scotland and of Russia, and of course all of those named Andrew. Saint Andrew, pray for us.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Today November 29
Today is the feast of St. Saturninus, companion of Saints Perpetua and Felicity (feast day: March 7), who died about 203. He was arrested with Perpetua and with Felicity and Revocatus, who were brother and sister slaves, and with Secundulus and put under house arrest. When they would not renounce their newfound Christian faith, they were thrown into prison and were to be persuaded in other ways. Perpetua's father, for instance, came and exclaimed, "Daughter, what have you done? You have brought dishonor on your family! No one of your lineage has ever been in jail." When she announced that she was only in jail for being a Christian, he flew into a helpless rage. When that didn't work, he brought her mother and her infant daughter Vivia to her, saying, "My sweetest daughter, have pity on me and on your sad mother and on your husband, who will not be able to live without you." But she -- and the others --remained constant in their faith.
A judge had Felicity separated from the men and questioned her: "Do you have a husband?" "Yes," she replied, "but he does not force my conscience." The judge: "Have pity on yourself, then, and live, especially since you have a child in your womb." Felicity: "Do to me whatever you wish, but you will never get me to do your will!"
And so he did. He had them all scourged, and then paraded half-naked through the streets and then thrown to the wild beasts. Saturninus he had beheaded. St. Saturninus, pray for us.
A judge had Felicity separated from the men and questioned her: "Do you have a husband?" "Yes," she replied, "but he does not force my conscience." The judge: "Have pity on yourself, then, and live, especially since you have a child in your womb." Felicity: "Do to me whatever you wish, but you will never get me to do your will!"
And so he did. He had them all scourged, and then paraded half-naked through the streets and then thrown to the wild beasts. Saturninus he had beheaded. St. Saturninus, pray for us.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Today November 28
Today is the feast of St. Catherine Laboure (1806 - 1876), daily Massgoer, waitress, farm girl and Vincentian sister. But she is best known by far as the mystic responsible for the design and casting of the Miraculous Medal, the one with Mary's image surrounded by the words "O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee."
I was surprised by a number of things in her story. I was surprised that this daughter of fairly well-to-do farmers (who had 13 hired hands living and working on the farm besides the [large] family) could not read! (She learned to read in the novitiate, which she called the "seminary.") I wasn't surprised that she found even Paris, City of Lights, with all the noise, bustle, culture and people -- which would have seduced many a young person -- seemed like just so many "soap bubbles" to her and didn't sway her from her resolve to enter the convent in the least.
I was surprised to learn that she had visions of Jesus before her famous vision of Our Lady. She saw Jesus, appropriately enough, in front of the blessed tabernacle there on the altar in church. Kids, the tabernacle used to be in the main part of church, in the sanctuary, front and center and the whole reason why you genuflected before getting into your pew. And Catherine saw the vision of St. Vincent de Paul in front of the reliquary of his incorrupt heart.
And finally, I was surprised how real Our Lady seemed to Catherine -- how she not only saw her, but heard the rustle of her skirts, and touched her and rested her hands on Our Lady's knees. Mary's fingers had rings on each of them, which I thought was neat -- I like rings and I find them highly symbolic and often beautiful -- and in the revelation of November 27, 1830 (not the first, which was July 19th of the same year), she appeared with those glorious rings shedding light, symbolizing grace, flowing down to a globe on which she was standing. An interior voice indicated to Catherine a medal should be made in that image with the words previously mentioned encircling it. (The reverse side, with Our Lady's monogram and cross, was also revealed at that time.) It took a long time, a lot of convincing, and some resistant middlemen (although a willing bishop) before the medal was finally struck in 1832. Because of the initial words, "O Mary, conceived with sin . . ." it was first called the Medal of the Immaculate Conception, but because so many miracles of healing and conversion occurred through it (including the famous conversion of the Jewish Alphonse Ratisbonne), it was commonly called the Miraculous Medal.
In obedience, Catherine mentioned her revelations to no one but her confessor and thus her identity was a secret, even after the medals took off in popularity. All knew SOME Vincentian sister had seen the vision and embraced the Virgin who said, "Graces will abound for those who wear [the medal]", but no one knew who it was. Few suspected the nun who worked in the Hospice, cooking, cleaning, mending for and entertaining the old and dying men, and who later worked in the chicken yard and later was portress. When some suggested it was she, she just laughed. But before her death, she revealed it to Sister Dufes, and after her peaceful -- hardly more than a sigh -- death, all knew. Her confessor could tell the world, and many flocked to her grave there at the convent at the Rue de Bac in Paris. In 1933 at the ritual exhumation, she was found perfectly incorrupt, as you can -- miraculously -- still see today. St. Catherine Laboure, pray for us.
I was surprised by a number of things in her story. I was surprised that this daughter of fairly well-to-do farmers (who had 13 hired hands living and working on the farm besides the [large] family) could not read! (She learned to read in the novitiate, which she called the "seminary.") I wasn't surprised that she found even Paris, City of Lights, with all the noise, bustle, culture and people -- which would have seduced many a young person -- seemed like just so many "soap bubbles" to her and didn't sway her from her resolve to enter the convent in the least.
I was surprised to learn that she had visions of Jesus before her famous vision of Our Lady. She saw Jesus, appropriately enough, in front of the blessed tabernacle there on the altar in church. Kids, the tabernacle used to be in the main part of church, in the sanctuary, front and center and the whole reason why you genuflected before getting into your pew. And Catherine saw the vision of St. Vincent de Paul in front of the reliquary of his incorrupt heart.
And finally, I was surprised how real Our Lady seemed to Catherine -- how she not only saw her, but heard the rustle of her skirts, and touched her and rested her hands on Our Lady's knees. Mary's fingers had rings on each of them, which I thought was neat -- I like rings and I find them highly symbolic and often beautiful -- and in the revelation of November 27, 1830 (not the first, which was July 19th of the same year), she appeared with those glorious rings shedding light, symbolizing grace, flowing down to a globe on which she was standing. An interior voice indicated to Catherine a medal should be made in that image with the words previously mentioned encircling it. (The reverse side, with Our Lady's monogram and cross, was also revealed at that time.) It took a long time, a lot of convincing, and some resistant middlemen (although a willing bishop) before the medal was finally struck in 1832. Because of the initial words, "O Mary, conceived with sin . . ." it was first called the Medal of the Immaculate Conception, but because so many miracles of healing and conversion occurred through it (including the famous conversion of the Jewish Alphonse Ratisbonne), it was commonly called the Miraculous Medal.
In obedience, Catherine mentioned her revelations to no one but her confessor and thus her identity was a secret, even after the medals took off in popularity. All knew SOME Vincentian sister had seen the vision and embraced the Virgin who said, "Graces will abound for those who wear [the medal]", but no one knew who it was. Few suspected the nun who worked in the Hospice, cooking, cleaning, mending for and entertaining the old and dying men, and who later worked in the chicken yard and later was portress. When some suggested it was she, she just laughed. But before her death, she revealed it to Sister Dufes, and after her peaceful -- hardly more than a sigh -- death, all knew. Her confessor could tell the world, and many flocked to her grave there at the convent at the Rue de Bac in Paris. In 1933 at the ritual exhumation, she was found perfectly incorrupt, as you can -- miraculously -- still see today. St. Catherine Laboure, pray for us.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Today November 27
Today is the dramatic feast day of St. James the Dismembered, (died 421). He was one of the members of the early Christian community in Beth-Lapeta in present-day Iran. We all think of that country as having been Muslim forever, but, no, it was pagan first (in fact, when James was still living, the kings were all pagan and the culture was predominantly pagan), then Christian and THEN Muslim. Interesting.
Anyway, James was a typical Persian male of the time -- masculine, vigorous and chauvinistic. He also made a deal with the devil: when the king befriended him (he was a royal courtier), he let his Christian faith kind of fall by the wayside. His wife and his mother were scandalized. They wrote to him: "By doing the will of a mortal man, you have deserted him with whom there is life; to please one who will be a mass of rottenness, you have deserted the eternal fragrance; you have traded the truth for a lie . . . Know therefore that from now on we are strangers to you." Stung to the core -- and by mere WOMEN -- James did the right thing: repented, and re-embraced his faith, even knowing what it would cost him.
King Vararanes called for him and boldly asked him, "Are you a Christian?" "Yes," said James. The king then reminded him of all the many favors and gifts the previous king, Vararanes' father, had bestowed on him. James calmly replied: "And where is he at present?" No one had ever addressed the king like that. Besides, it was rudeness in the extreme to talk about death! Vararanes was furious and sentenced James to a slow, gruesome death: each joint cut off, starting with the fingers, then the toes, then the limbs. If you think this torture is unique, it's not. I remember reading about a black man in America during Jim Crow days being tied to a chair, put up on a platform and killed in the very same horrific way. His crime had been the rape of a three-year-old white girl. One observer, even through convinced of the man's guilt, said no one, no matter WHAT his crime, should be condemned to that.
But James manfully refused to renounce his faith and even sang a little hymn to God after each dismemberment. When he was nothing but a trunk, he proclaimed, "The Lord will clothe me with new flesh." Then they beheaded him. Dear St. James, pray for us.
Anyway, James was a typical Persian male of the time -- masculine, vigorous and chauvinistic. He also made a deal with the devil: when the king befriended him (he was a royal courtier), he let his Christian faith kind of fall by the wayside. His wife and his mother were scandalized. They wrote to him: "By doing the will of a mortal man, you have deserted him with whom there is life; to please one who will be a mass of rottenness, you have deserted the eternal fragrance; you have traded the truth for a lie . . . Know therefore that from now on we are strangers to you." Stung to the core -- and by mere WOMEN -- James did the right thing: repented, and re-embraced his faith, even knowing what it would cost him.
King Vararanes called for him and boldly asked him, "Are you a Christian?" "Yes," said James. The king then reminded him of all the many favors and gifts the previous king, Vararanes' father, had bestowed on him. James calmly replied: "And where is he at present?" No one had ever addressed the king like that. Besides, it was rudeness in the extreme to talk about death! Vararanes was furious and sentenced James to a slow, gruesome death: each joint cut off, starting with the fingers, then the toes, then the limbs. If you think this torture is unique, it's not. I remember reading about a black man in America during Jim Crow days being tied to a chair, put up on a platform and killed in the very same horrific way. His crime had been the rape of a three-year-old white girl. One observer, even through convinced of the man's guilt, said no one, no matter WHAT his crime, should be condemned to that.
But James manfully refused to renounce his faith and even sang a little hymn to God after each dismemberment. When he was nothing but a trunk, he proclaimed, "The Lord will clothe me with new flesh." Then they beheaded him. Dear St. James, pray for us.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Today November 26
Today is the feast of that young Jesuit, St. John Berchmans, (1599 - 1621). Although he died of a mysterious illness at age 22, he was already a priest (he took his first vows September 2, 1618 in Malines) and was vigorously studying still in Rome. Although it would be interesting to see how he developed later in life, his spirituality was already quite mature -- and remarkably similar to that other youthful saint, St. Therese of Lisieux. "Set great store on little things," he wrote, and worked tirelessly to live up to that. He didn't practice any wild or excessive penances, and even said, "My penance is to live the common life." He did little things for others, denied himself little treats, and always smiled, even when he sure didn't feel like it.
He'd been a sentimental young man, much attached to his mother, but she died when he was quite young. His shoemaker father had to think of the other brothers and sisters coming up, but let him study for the priesthood, such was John's fervent desire. He enjoyed plays and sometimes performed in sacred dramas. He kept his conscience quite clear and displayed remarkable purity. He didn't draw attention to himself and mastered his will and pride, writing, "I like letting myself be ruled like a baby a day old." He even called his program his "little way"!
He endured his final grave illness with courage and good humor. When part of his treatment called for bathing his temples in wine, he said, "It is lucky such an expensive illness will not last long!" And it didn't.
He died four days later. His last words were: "Nothing at all" -- in answer to Father Cornelius' question as to whether he had anything on his conscience, apparently as an offer to hear his confession, if necessary. Good St. John, pray for us.
He'd been a sentimental young man, much attached to his mother, but she died when he was quite young. His shoemaker father had to think of the other brothers and sisters coming up, but let him study for the priesthood, such was John's fervent desire. He enjoyed plays and sometimes performed in sacred dramas. He kept his conscience quite clear and displayed remarkable purity. He didn't draw attention to himself and mastered his will and pride, writing, "I like letting myself be ruled like a baby a day old." He even called his program his "little way"!
He endured his final grave illness with courage and good humor. When part of his treatment called for bathing his temples in wine, he said, "It is lucky such an expensive illness will not last long!" And it didn't.
He died four days later. His last words were: "Nothing at all" -- in answer to Father Cornelius' question as to whether he had anything on his conscience, apparently as an offer to hear his confession, if necessary. Good St. John, pray for us.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Homily: Christ the King: 2007
Brothers and sisters, today is the feast of Christ the King. I think we as Americans actually have an advantage over other people who live under an actual king, because our vision is unencumbered by the very real image of a human king, who may be fat, weak, greedy, lecherous and adulterous. For example, I think we have an easier time celebrating this feast than folks who lived in the later years of King Henry VIII's reign!
I think our imaginations are more influenced by C. S. Lewis's descriptions of a king than our collective memories of George III, our last (and incidentally, mad) king! And Lewis's kings are hard and manly, strong and noble, compassionate and self-sacrificing, just like Our Lord. And though He is rightly called "the Lamb" (as in "the Lamb who was slain is worthy to receive wisdom and power and honor"), He is also known as "the Lion" (as in "the Lion of Judah"), the king of beasts. And this is not a tame lion! He's noble, all right, but He's powerful and dangerous. And I think that point just needs to be stressed more. We've had so many images of Jesus as a white-washed, effeminate, "meek and mild" Northern European, we fail to see Him as the dark, strong, immensely powerful God-Man that He is and was. We need to remember that not only through Him were all things made, but before Him all will come to be judged.
And while it's unhealthy to fixate on Our Lord as Judge in some divine courtroom (as Luther did), we still need to always remember . . . we will be held accountable. And though we know we can count on His mercy, we really should be wise and repent NOW, make restitution NOW, forgive NOW, and straighten up and fly right NOW because who knows how much harder it will be to do so in the next life? St. Brendan, when at the end of his long and holy life, was asked by his sister what he feared, replied: "I fear if I go alone, if the journey be dark, the unknown region, the presence of the King, and the sentence of the Judge."
I love those lines. Those are some of the most honest lines in mankind's long history. Because we so shrink from even thinking about death, much less discussing it, we seldom hear such wise words. St. Brendan was a wise and fair man and if even he, such a GOOD man, feared certain aspects of death, well, maybe that should give us pause.
" . . . if I go alone." ("You got to go to the Lonesome Valley/ You got to go there by yourself" . . . lyrics from "Lonesome Valley," sung to the prisoners about to be executed). And he does say "if." Perhaps, as it is widely believed, just before we expire we are greeted by Christ, in the form we best knew Him on earth. That may be a surprise: the form of our parents, or a particularly compassionate teacher or friend, or a person we knew as a saint. And if we greet Him, accept Him, embrace Him then, we won't have to "go it alone."
" . . . if the journey be dark." And what a long, dark way it may be. The ancients swore we had to cross dark water. Some say we have to pay the ferryman. Some say we have to row our own boat ashore. Whatever. But we may not know the way. After all, there's no GPS on the other side of the grave.
" . . . the unknown regions." Few, if any, have returned from those regions and those who did, it may be argued, didn't really die. Who truly knows what happens, where we go, what we see? None but those who go and never return. May we walk carefully and in light.
" . . . the presence of the King." Here there is a direct reference to Jesus, our Lord -- and He may be in His glorious, majestic guise . . . hard to look upon, especially if we are in sin. Who can describe what being in the royal chambers may be like? And finally, nothing to distract us, nothing to excuse us, nothing behind which we can hide.
" . . . and the sentence of the Judge." And here's my major point. Some of us are counting on a light sentence, especially since that's what we've been taught and that's what WE would do if WE were God. But what if we're wrong? What if the little things we do are counted heavily, for good or for ill? What if it's NOT true that everybody gets a pass? What if the stakes are much, much higher than we assume?
I think that's worth at least considering, on this last Sunday of the year. And I think it should make each of us take a long, hard look at ourselves, and run, not walk, to confession. Because Our Lord remembers not those sins confessed and forgiven, and as St. Therese said, this reading of the so-called "good thief," one of her favorites, always gave her hope and solace. "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." And though he was guilty, and heavy with sin, he was told: "Amen, amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise."
[pause]
Let us now profess our faith . . .
I think our imaginations are more influenced by C. S. Lewis's descriptions of a king than our collective memories of George III, our last (and incidentally, mad) king! And Lewis's kings are hard and manly, strong and noble, compassionate and self-sacrificing, just like Our Lord. And though He is rightly called "the Lamb" (as in "the Lamb who was slain is worthy to receive wisdom and power and honor"), He is also known as "the Lion" (as in "the Lion of Judah"), the king of beasts. And this is not a tame lion! He's noble, all right, but He's powerful and dangerous. And I think that point just needs to be stressed more. We've had so many images of Jesus as a white-washed, effeminate, "meek and mild" Northern European, we fail to see Him as the dark, strong, immensely powerful God-Man that He is and was. We need to remember that not only through Him were all things made, but before Him all will come to be judged.
And while it's unhealthy to fixate on Our Lord as Judge in some divine courtroom (as Luther did), we still need to always remember . . . we will be held accountable. And though we know we can count on His mercy, we really should be wise and repent NOW, make restitution NOW, forgive NOW, and straighten up and fly right NOW because who knows how much harder it will be to do so in the next life? St. Brendan, when at the end of his long and holy life, was asked by his sister what he feared, replied: "I fear if I go alone, if the journey be dark, the unknown region, the presence of the King, and the sentence of the Judge."
I love those lines. Those are some of the most honest lines in mankind's long history. Because we so shrink from even thinking about death, much less discussing it, we seldom hear such wise words. St. Brendan was a wise and fair man and if even he, such a GOOD man, feared certain aspects of death, well, maybe that should give us pause.
" . . . if I go alone." ("You got to go to the Lonesome Valley/ You got to go there by yourself" . . . lyrics from "Lonesome Valley," sung to the prisoners about to be executed). And he does say "if." Perhaps, as it is widely believed, just before we expire we are greeted by Christ, in the form we best knew Him on earth. That may be a surprise: the form of our parents, or a particularly compassionate teacher or friend, or a person we knew as a saint. And if we greet Him, accept Him, embrace Him then, we won't have to "go it alone."
" . . . if the journey be dark." And what a long, dark way it may be. The ancients swore we had to cross dark water. Some say we have to pay the ferryman. Some say we have to row our own boat ashore. Whatever. But we may not know the way. After all, there's no GPS on the other side of the grave.
" . . . the unknown regions." Few, if any, have returned from those regions and those who did, it may be argued, didn't really die. Who truly knows what happens, where we go, what we see? None but those who go and never return. May we walk carefully and in light.
" . . . the presence of the King." Here there is a direct reference to Jesus, our Lord -- and He may be in His glorious, majestic guise . . . hard to look upon, especially if we are in sin. Who can describe what being in the royal chambers may be like? And finally, nothing to distract us, nothing to excuse us, nothing behind which we can hide.
" . . . and the sentence of the Judge." And here's my major point. Some of us are counting on a light sentence, especially since that's what we've been taught and that's what WE would do if WE were God. But what if we're wrong? What if the little things we do are counted heavily, for good or for ill? What if it's NOT true that everybody gets a pass? What if the stakes are much, much higher than we assume?
I think that's worth at least considering, on this last Sunday of the year. And I think it should make each of us take a long, hard look at ourselves, and run, not walk, to confession. Because Our Lord remembers not those sins confessed and forgiven, and as St. Therese said, this reading of the so-called "good thief," one of her favorites, always gave her hope and solace. "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." And though he was guilty, and heavy with sin, he was told: "Amen, amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise."
[pause]
Let us now profess our faith . . .
Today November 25
Today is the feast of one of my favorite (and much-maligned) saints: St. Catherine of Alexandria. It makes some people feel oh-so-superior and smart to say she never existed and was some pretty myth, but they're wrong. She may not have done all that her hagiographers say she did -- or in exactly that way -- but, hey, we attribute writings to famous guys who were already long dead and we still honor the words. It's true in the CONTENT, even if the form is not twentieth (or twenty-first) century. Shame on them for not documenting things the way the National Science Foundation would! And while we're at it, shame on them for not voice-recording and digitally photographing everything either! Sheesh!
So while I can't say for sure that her life played out this way (the story follows), I can say for sure she existed. The early Christians had no reasons to invent saints out of whole cloth, so to speak, and many reasons not to: they were a faith which rested almost entirely on historical fact, and they were bitterly persecuted and their detractors only too ready to pounce on them if they were caught in an outright lie.
St. Catherine is said to have been a fair daughter of a patrician family in Alexandria. A pagan, she was converted to Christianity, both by her extensive reading and by a mystical vision she had of the Christ Child and Our Lady. Emperor Maxentius began persecuting the Christians and Catherine, fearless and beautiful, went to him to protest. Maybe she felt her family position would protect her; it didn't. She was thrown into prison and asked to recant. She didn't; she even ended up converting the philosophers sent to "re-educate" her. So far she'd been bodily unharmed, but the stakes were being raised. Maxentius gave her an "out" by offering to let her be a royal concubine, but she refused. She was beaten and left in prison. Maxentius went off to inspect a military installation and in his absence his WIFE went to see her and was converted. This time . . . it's personal! When he came back, he had her sentenced to death on the "wheel" -- a spiked death instrument -- but her bonds were mysteriously, some say miraculously, broken when she was tied to it. Then she was beheaded; that always seems to work.
They say her body was brought to its final resting place at the great monastery of Mount Sinai by angels. But that too has a rational explanation. Alban Butler quotes Archbishop Falconio as saying, "As to what is said, that the body of this saint was conveyed by angels to Mount Sinai, the meaning is that it was carried by the monks of Sinai to their monastery. . . . It is well known that the name of the angelical habit was often used for a monastic habit, and that monks on account of their heavenly purity and functions were anciently called angels." Dear St. Catherine, pray for us.
So while I can't say for sure that her life played out this way (the story follows), I can say for sure she existed. The early Christians had no reasons to invent saints out of whole cloth, so to speak, and many reasons not to: they were a faith which rested almost entirely on historical fact, and they were bitterly persecuted and their detractors only too ready to pounce on them if they were caught in an outright lie.
St. Catherine is said to have been a fair daughter of a patrician family in Alexandria. A pagan, she was converted to Christianity, both by her extensive reading and by a mystical vision she had of the Christ Child and Our Lady. Emperor Maxentius began persecuting the Christians and Catherine, fearless and beautiful, went to him to protest. Maybe she felt her family position would protect her; it didn't. She was thrown into prison and asked to recant. She didn't; she even ended up converting the philosophers sent to "re-educate" her. So far she'd been bodily unharmed, but the stakes were being raised. Maxentius gave her an "out" by offering to let her be a royal concubine, but she refused. She was beaten and left in prison. Maxentius went off to inspect a military installation and in his absence his WIFE went to see her and was converted. This time . . . it's personal! When he came back, he had her sentenced to death on the "wheel" -- a spiked death instrument -- but her bonds were mysteriously, some say miraculously, broken when she was tied to it. Then she was beheaded; that always seems to work.
They say her body was brought to its final resting place at the great monastery of Mount Sinai by angels. But that too has a rational explanation. Alban Butler quotes Archbishop Falconio as saying, "As to what is said, that the body of this saint was conveyed by angels to Mount Sinai, the meaning is that it was carried by the monks of Sinai to their monastery. . . . It is well known that the name of the angelical habit was often used for a monastic habit, and that monks on account of their heavenly purity and functions were anciently called angels." Dear St. Catherine, pray for us.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Today November 24
Hardly anything is known of St. Chrysogonus, named in the Roman Canon, except that he was a martyr at Aquileia, a Roman official and a platonic friend of St. Anastasia! That's hardly enough for a blog entry. Luckily, we have the story of St. Andrew Dung-Lac and Companions from Vietnam, a country linked to our own as Iraq will be in future history books, I predict. And who knows? Maybe the telling of our experience in Vietnam will mellow over time -- a long time. Despite appearances, we weren't "nation-building" in Vietnam (we were trying to stop the so-called "domino effect" of Communist takeover), and unlike in Iraq, we were ASKED to come in to Vietnam. Sigh.
Anyway, Andrew's story takes place long before that, in the early 1800's. Andrew was born Dung An Tran, a pagan. He and his family moved to Hanoi when he was 12, and there made the acquaintance of a catechist who shared food and shelter with them. He took lessons and was baptized Andrew. He was so clever, he learned both Chinese and Latin (in addition to his native Vietnamese), and was chosen to study that queen of sciences: theology. On March 15, 1823, he was ordained a priest -- just in time for the first of 40 years of vicious persecution of Christians. He was twice imprisoned (with his freedom bought both times by parishioners!), and later when he was arrested again (even after having moved and changed his name to Andrew Lac), he was viciously tortured and then beheaded. They don't say HOW he was tortured, but it was probably pretty bad. Folks were often put in huge long (10 feet) wooden stocks, which they dragged along. It made it physically impossible to feed themselves. Plus it was horribly painful. They were often stripped from the waist down, strapped to a board and beaten with leather thongs. They were also bound to a spit-like thing and twisted til their joints popped out, kind of a version of the rack. I bet they even used waterboarding. The Spanish and Portuguese in Southeast Asia at the time did it. Yikes. But Andrew never apostatized, nor did the other 116 martyrs: 96 Viets, 11 Spaniards, and 10 French; and of all those: 59 were laymen, 50 were priests and 8 were even bishops. The blood of the martyrs became the seed of the Church. The Faith is very strong in Vietnam even today, though it is a nominally atheist and predominately Buddhist (60% of the population) country. St. Andrew Dung-Lac, pray for us.
Anyway, Andrew's story takes place long before that, in the early 1800's. Andrew was born Dung An Tran, a pagan. He and his family moved to Hanoi when he was 12, and there made the acquaintance of a catechist who shared food and shelter with them. He took lessons and was baptized Andrew. He was so clever, he learned both Chinese and Latin (in addition to his native Vietnamese), and was chosen to study that queen of sciences: theology. On March 15, 1823, he was ordained a priest -- just in time for the first of 40 years of vicious persecution of Christians. He was twice imprisoned (with his freedom bought both times by parishioners!), and later when he was arrested again (even after having moved and changed his name to Andrew Lac), he was viciously tortured and then beheaded. They don't say HOW he was tortured, but it was probably pretty bad. Folks were often put in huge long (10 feet) wooden stocks, which they dragged along. It made it physically impossible to feed themselves. Plus it was horribly painful. They were often stripped from the waist down, strapped to a board and beaten with leather thongs. They were also bound to a spit-like thing and twisted til their joints popped out, kind of a version of the rack. I bet they even used waterboarding. The Spanish and Portuguese in Southeast Asia at the time did it. Yikes. But Andrew never apostatized, nor did the other 116 martyrs: 96 Viets, 11 Spaniards, and 10 French; and of all those: 59 were laymen, 50 were priests and 8 were even bishops. The blood of the martyrs became the seed of the Church. The Faith is very strong in Vietnam even today, though it is a nominally atheist and predominately Buddhist (60% of the population) country. St. Andrew Dung-Lac, pray for us.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Today November 23
Today there is a veritable plethora of great saints: St. Clement I, third successor of St. Peter; Blessed Miguel Pro, he of the Cristeros movement and who greeted the firing squad with his hands outstretched and proclaiming "Viva Cristo Rey!" (I always tear up when I read that), but we are going to go with the great Irish missionary-monk, St. Columban (died 615). He was a strong man, both in words and in deeds -- he told off not only a king (of Burgundy, not Ireland -- for he was first a missionary in France, then in Switzerland and Northern Italy [Lombardy]), but bishops and even the pope -- and when he was forced out of yet another monastery and had to build a new one, he did so, even to carrying logs on his shoulders . . . and at the age of 70! This intrepid man was born in Ireland (in Leinster) and well educated; he came to Gaul to pray and to instruct the pagans. This he did and as the movie says, "If you build it, they will come." He built a monastery in Annegray and soon it was too small for all the postulants, so he built another at Luxeuil. He really loved that one, so it was with a heavy heart that he was forced out -- ostensibly because he celebrated Easter on the wrong date. But he knew the real reason and told the bishops "that there are more important matters than the date of Easter which they ought to attend to." - Butler's Lives. He knew it was because of the king of Burgundy's licentious life (he had concubines -- no wife -- and four natural children) and "The fact that the bishops frequented his court and never adverted to the scandal shows to what a low state Christianity had fallen." Columban called them on it and they were miffed. They were more than miffed -- they were furious and threw him and every Irishman out of the monastery and the country. Columban wrote a letter to his successor while he was being shoved onto a ship on the dock at Nantes, "I have desired to serve everybody, I have trusted everybody, and it has made me almost mad. Be thou wiser than I . . . "
But God works in mysterious ways. Deported to Ireland, they instead ended up in a storm that blew them back to the mainland. They traveled up the Rhine to Zurich and finally Lake Constance, but the pagans kicked them out. They finally ended up in Bobbio in Lombardy in Northern Italy and built the great monastery there. He lived a peaceful life -- praying and preaching -- he even tamed wolves, a bear and her cub, and countless squirrels, who ate out of his hand and slept in his cowl.
The problem with the pope was a thorny one. He was asked (by locals) to take the side of some bishops who defended some writings (the so-called "Three Chapters") that were condemned as favoring Nestorianism. These bishops went so far as to go into schism. Columban wrote to Pope Vigilius with great passion (boldly calling him a "cause of scandal"), but defended the authority of the pope with equal warmth: "All we Irish living in the furthest parts of the earth are followers of Saints Peter and Paul and of the disciples who wrote the sacred canon under the Holy Ghost. We accept nothing outside this evangelical and apostolic teaching . . . We are bound to the chair of Saint Peter. For, though Rome is great and known afar, she is great and honored with us only because of this chair." Amen brother. We Irish are nothing if not loyal to the Faith!
Poor Columban would be sad to know his beloved Luxeuil, thriving through til the end of the 18th century was disbanded completely in the French Revolution. And even Bobbio, whose library was the rival of any in medieval Europe, was dispersed by 1803. But Columban's memory lives on and his mission continued and continues in the souls of the many Irish missionaries who came after him. St. Columban, pray for us.
But God works in mysterious ways. Deported to Ireland, they instead ended up in a storm that blew them back to the mainland. They traveled up the Rhine to Zurich and finally Lake Constance, but the pagans kicked them out. They finally ended up in Bobbio in Lombardy in Northern Italy and built the great monastery there. He lived a peaceful life -- praying and preaching -- he even tamed wolves, a bear and her cub, and countless squirrels, who ate out of his hand and slept in his cowl.
The problem with the pope was a thorny one. He was asked (by locals) to take the side of some bishops who defended some writings (the so-called "Three Chapters") that were condemned as favoring Nestorianism. These bishops went so far as to go into schism. Columban wrote to Pope Vigilius with great passion (boldly calling him a "cause of scandal"), but defended the authority of the pope with equal warmth: "All we Irish living in the furthest parts of the earth are followers of Saints Peter and Paul and of the disciples who wrote the sacred canon under the Holy Ghost. We accept nothing outside this evangelical and apostolic teaching . . . We are bound to the chair of Saint Peter. For, though Rome is great and known afar, she is great and honored with us only because of this chair." Amen brother. We Irish are nothing if not loyal to the Faith!
Poor Columban would be sad to know his beloved Luxeuil, thriving through til the end of the 18th century was disbanded completely in the French Revolution. And even Bobbio, whose library was the rival of any in medieval Europe, was dispersed by 1803. But Columban's memory lives on and his mission continued and continues in the souls of the many Irish missionaries who came after him. St. Columban, pray for us.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Today November 22
I kind of like how I skirted the issue of the Presentation of Mary yesterday. I mean, all we have of it is from apocrypha which satisfies detail-starved readers at the price of truth and reliability. But that doesn't mean it DIDN'T happen. I call to mind my son's Thai friend whose Buddhist grandmother shaved her head and entered the convent late in life. When I marveled at that, the girl said that dedication to the temple is a very fluid and often temporary thing. One lives in the world and then enters religious life, or vice versa, easily. But it still is a huge deal -- her grandmother shaved her head, renounced all her possessions and donned the orange robe. Also, many monks serve and receive training and then leave to marry and start families. Perhaps Our Lady's Temple duty was like that.
Anyway, today's saint is the lovely St. Cecilia, aka Cecily, (died 230), the patroness of music. And I think she is patron in three ways. Many could be said to sing to God, but she, when she was compelled to submit to an arranged marriage, "sang in her heart to the Lord alone" - Acts of St. Cecilia. I used to think that was a pretty weak argument for making her patroness of all music! But as I've gotten older, I realize that that's the most important part of music: that which is in your heart. The sincere, the blessed, the bubbling-up music of the heart is the best. And this is what poor Cecilia had. Okay, here are the other two ways (related in many respects.) As a beautiful, educated, and above all, refined, daughter of Roman nobles, she KNEW music. She was trained in music, she performed it, she was surrounded by it. And finally, it is said she assiduously sang the divine praises and according to her Acts, she often joined instrumental music with vocal. All musicians, whether choristers or players or composers, can take her as patroness and this as their feast day.
Cecilia's life was not one of unmitigated tragedy. She was forced into marriage, yes, but she managed to convince her husband, Valerian, to live with her in a completely continent marriage! No easy task -- she was beautiful, he was young, they both had needs. She even convinced him that Christianity was the right religion. Oh, my. But in this she had the advantage of the performance of a miracle. Valerian asked to see this protecting angel she kept referring to. Upon proper cleansing and prayer, he was given the great grace of beholding her guardian angel. (Interestingly, her Acts describe him as appearing like an old man in garments white as snow and holding a book of gold. He wasn't silent, either. He read from the book: "One Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and father of all, who is above all and through all and in all of us." Valerian declared his submission to the truth of this Faith -- one wonders how much of his assent was just astonishment and awe -- and was baptized.) Valerian and his brother, Tiburtius, who was also converted by Cecilia, were put to death as Christians. Cecilia retrieved and buried their bodies properly and for this "crime" was given the choice of sacrificing to the gods or death. She bravely chose death and the magistrates, reluctant to cruelly behead such a lovely and gracious girl, sentenced her to be suffocated to death in the steam-room in her parents' basement. She remained a whole day and a night in the super-heated steam without harm. Finally a headsman was dispatched to behead her there. Losing his nerve, he merely brutally hacked her neck the requisite three times and then fled. She lingered three days and nights, her head half severed. She couldn't talk, but she lay on her side with her fingers extended three on one hand and one on the other, in mute testimony to her belief in the Trinity of the the One God. How do we know this?
A remarkable grace occurred many years after her death and removal from the catacomb of St. Callistus: when her body was exhumed by Cardinal Sfondrato and in the presence of many witnesses, it was found to be perfectly preserved, right down to the neck wounds and the position of her hands. She was lying on her side, her body modestly draped; a great sculptor, Stefano Maderno, executed an exact replica of the body in marble, which may be found still today above the high altar of the Basilica of St. Cecilia in Rome. St. Cecilia, pray for us.
Anyway, today's saint is the lovely St. Cecilia, aka Cecily, (died 230), the patroness of music. And I think she is patron in three ways. Many could be said to sing to God, but she, when she was compelled to submit to an arranged marriage, "sang in her heart to the Lord alone" - Acts of St. Cecilia. I used to think that was a pretty weak argument for making her patroness of all music! But as I've gotten older, I realize that that's the most important part of music: that which is in your heart. The sincere, the blessed, the bubbling-up music of the heart is the best. And this is what poor Cecilia had. Okay, here are the other two ways (related in many respects.) As a beautiful, educated, and above all, refined, daughter of Roman nobles, she KNEW music. She was trained in music, she performed it, she was surrounded by it. And finally, it is said she assiduously sang the divine praises and according to her Acts, she often joined instrumental music with vocal. All musicians, whether choristers or players or composers, can take her as patroness and this as their feast day.
Cecilia's life was not one of unmitigated tragedy. She was forced into marriage, yes, but she managed to convince her husband, Valerian, to live with her in a completely continent marriage! No easy task -- she was beautiful, he was young, they both had needs. She even convinced him that Christianity was the right religion. Oh, my. But in this she had the advantage of the performance of a miracle. Valerian asked to see this protecting angel she kept referring to. Upon proper cleansing and prayer, he was given the great grace of beholding her guardian angel. (Interestingly, her Acts describe him as appearing like an old man in garments white as snow and holding a book of gold. He wasn't silent, either. He read from the book: "One Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and father of all, who is above all and through all and in all of us." Valerian declared his submission to the truth of this Faith -- one wonders how much of his assent was just astonishment and awe -- and was baptized.) Valerian and his brother, Tiburtius, who was also converted by Cecilia, were put to death as Christians. Cecilia retrieved and buried their bodies properly and for this "crime" was given the choice of sacrificing to the gods or death. She bravely chose death and the magistrates, reluctant to cruelly behead such a lovely and gracious girl, sentenced her to be suffocated to death in the steam-room in her parents' basement. She remained a whole day and a night in the super-heated steam without harm. Finally a headsman was dispatched to behead her there. Losing his nerve, he merely brutally hacked her neck the requisite three times and then fled. She lingered three days and nights, her head half severed. She couldn't talk, but she lay on her side with her fingers extended three on one hand and one on the other, in mute testimony to her belief in the Trinity of the the One God. How do we know this?
A remarkable grace occurred many years after her death and removal from the catacomb of St. Callistus: when her body was exhumed by Cardinal Sfondrato and in the presence of many witnesses, it was found to be perfectly preserved, right down to the neck wounds and the position of her hands. She was lying on her side, her body modestly draped; a great sculptor, Stefano Maderno, executed an exact replica of the body in marble, which may be found still today above the high altar of the Basilica of St. Cecilia in Rome. St. Cecilia, pray for us.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Today November 21
Today is the feast of the Presentation of the Virgin Mary. Mentioned in the apocryphal "gospels," it was nonetheless not celebrated until the 11th century in the East. It was celebrated in the West in the late 1300s, but was struck from the calendar by St. Pius V. C'mon. A SAINT dropped it. But Sixtus V took it up again and now it is a so-called "major double," (I love these names), and Passionists keep it as a "double of the first class," and Carmelites a "double of the second class."
All that notwithstanding, how do the advocates of this feast, the supposed bringing of the baby girl Mary -- well, toddler; texts say she was three -- to the Temple account for the fact that she was in Nazareth, for it was there that she received the message of the angel? The Temple was in Jerusalem! None of my sources explain this.
I suppose one could jibe this feast with the facts by arguing that while SOME dedications to Temple duty were lifelong (see Samuel), others were only temporary. She may have just received an education there and then returned home.
I think it was a way to honor the Virgin Mary and was a delightful way to make her into a Catholic nun which she most definitely WASN'T. :) I think it's along the same lines of people who tell you she was sworn to perpetual virginity, when that was almost unheard of among first-century Jews. All good Jewish girls were expected to get married -- and the Messiah was to come in the usual way children come into the world. What an honor to be his mother! And how unexpected to remain a virgin! How unlikely! And what a great sacrifice, when you think about it. But Our Lady was tough -- she came from hardy stock -- and was more than up to the task. For she had been blessed from birth; before that, actually.
Holy Mother of God -- and our Mother -- pray for us.
All that notwithstanding, how do the advocates of this feast, the supposed bringing of the baby girl Mary -- well, toddler; texts say she was three -- to the Temple account for the fact that she was in Nazareth, for it was there that she received the message of the angel? The Temple was in Jerusalem! None of my sources explain this.
I suppose one could jibe this feast with the facts by arguing that while SOME dedications to Temple duty were lifelong (see Samuel), others were only temporary. She may have just received an education there and then returned home.
I think it was a way to honor the Virgin Mary and was a delightful way to make her into a Catholic nun which she most definitely WASN'T. :) I think it's along the same lines of people who tell you she was sworn to perpetual virginity, when that was almost unheard of among first-century Jews. All good Jewish girls were expected to get married -- and the Messiah was to come in the usual way children come into the world. What an honor to be his mother! And how unexpected to remain a virgin! How unlikely! And what a great sacrifice, when you think about it. But Our Lady was tough -- she came from hardy stock -- and was more than up to the task. For she had been blessed from birth; before that, actually.
Holy Mother of God -- and our Mother -- pray for us.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Today November 20
Today is the feast of Blessed Mary Fortunata Viti, born Anne Viti, (1827 - 1922). Yes, those dates are correct; she DID live to the ripe old age of 95, quite an accomplishment. Her religious name "Fortunata," meaning "lucky," is ironic; it's kind of like the old joke: "Lost dog. Description: 3 legs, 1 ear, some mange, castrated. Answers to the name of 'Lucky.' " She wasn't THAT bad off, but one could say she had a very rough life. Her father was an inveterate alcoholic and gambler and drank and gambled all the money away from the household, the money to feed and care for NINE children. Distraught, her mother died when Anne was only 14 and being the oldest girl left in the house, she had to care for all the other kids . . . and even their dad when his health suffered. She never let the other kids speak disparagingly of him, even when his behavior warranted it. She showed him nothing but love and respect all those years. If TV has taught me anything, the long-suffering, courageous, and don't forget beautiful, blond-haired daughter brings him around in the end, right? Wrong. He died without ever having changed his ways nor apologizing for what he did.
She never got much of an education -- nor was she at all rich -- but her loving disposition (and knockout good looks) resulted in plenty of marriage proposals. But Anne had the Lord on her mind. She decided to join the Benedictines, and while she actually favored a more distant convent, she entered the one in her home town of Veroli -- which was a good thing, as it turned out. That other convent was later disbanded and all the nuns scattered.
Sister Fortunata now embarked on her long spiritual journey -- without ever leaving home. One of the first things to occur was her decision to turn down the generous offer to make her a choir sister rather than a lay sister, which is what she came in as. This would entail getting a real education and a lot higher status in the convent. But as she later explained to a fellow lay sister who had just complained that their lot was little better than that of a servant, "Don't let that bother you. I was offered the choice of being a choir nun and I would have loved to sing the praise of God. To me, these sisters are like God's angels. But I chose rather to be a lay sister, in order to have greater opportunity to practice humility."
And practice humility she did. From a routine that was long and repetitious, to mending clothes and vestments, to helping the sick nuns, to simply spinning thread, she offered her whole life as a prayer to God. She practiced no great penances and always kept to herself, but still people sought her out. Visitors with problems and neighboring schoolchildren could often be found in her company. She always knew just the right words of comfort and advice to say. God inspired her. I mean, she heard no voices, but she so opened herself to his Holy Will that she always knew what to say. She knew future events sometimes, also. She knew which postulants were going to make it and which weren't -- even contrary to the other nuns' expectations. She "saw" in advance that one priest who served them would leave the priesthood, and another would leave and eventually return. She did do battle with evil spirits, but she didn't dwell on that aspect of her life, commenting quietly that prayer and the Sign of the Cross helped her to resist and win.
When she died quietly and peacefully in 1922, few of the sisters knew they had a saint in their midst. I'll bet some even thought, "What shall we write about her in the [death] announcement?" kind of like they did when St. Therese died. But the people knew. They treasured her memory, and two girls were miraculously cured of TB through her intercession. She was beatified in 1967. Blessed Mary Fortunata, pray for us.
She never got much of an education -- nor was she at all rich -- but her loving disposition (and knockout good looks) resulted in plenty of marriage proposals. But Anne had the Lord on her mind. She decided to join the Benedictines, and while she actually favored a more distant convent, she entered the one in her home town of Veroli -- which was a good thing, as it turned out. That other convent was later disbanded and all the nuns scattered.
Sister Fortunata now embarked on her long spiritual journey -- without ever leaving home. One of the first things to occur was her decision to turn down the generous offer to make her a choir sister rather than a lay sister, which is what she came in as. This would entail getting a real education and a lot higher status in the convent. But as she later explained to a fellow lay sister who had just complained that their lot was little better than that of a servant, "Don't let that bother you. I was offered the choice of being a choir nun and I would have loved to sing the praise of God. To me, these sisters are like God's angels. But I chose rather to be a lay sister, in order to have greater opportunity to practice humility."
And practice humility she did. From a routine that was long and repetitious, to mending clothes and vestments, to helping the sick nuns, to simply spinning thread, she offered her whole life as a prayer to God. She practiced no great penances and always kept to herself, but still people sought her out. Visitors with problems and neighboring schoolchildren could often be found in her company. She always knew just the right words of comfort and advice to say. God inspired her. I mean, she heard no voices, but she so opened herself to his Holy Will that she always knew what to say. She knew future events sometimes, also. She knew which postulants were going to make it and which weren't -- even contrary to the other nuns' expectations. She "saw" in advance that one priest who served them would leave the priesthood, and another would leave and eventually return. She did do battle with evil spirits, but she didn't dwell on that aspect of her life, commenting quietly that prayer and the Sign of the Cross helped her to resist and win.
When she died quietly and peacefully in 1922, few of the sisters knew they had a saint in their midst. I'll bet some even thought, "What shall we write about her in the [death] announcement?" kind of like they did when St. Therese died. But the people knew. They treasured her memory, and two girls were miraculously cured of TB through her intercession. She was beatified in 1967. Blessed Mary Fortunata, pray for us.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Today November 19
Today is the feast of Saints Barlaam and Josaphat (4th century). Josaphat was a rich Eastern king's son and had been much protected since infancy. In fact, one might say he was overprotected, as he was never allowed out of the castle or off the castle grounds. He was never allowed to see anything sad, like pain, sickness or death. But he didn't know anything about that . . . his isolation just saddened him when he reached adolescence and though he didn't tell his father -- he put on a happy face for him -- one of the servants told the king. So the king allowed Josaphat to travel outside the castle, provided he have a large, cheerful retinue to shield him from any untoward scenes. Well, they didn't shield him completely, for he learned about the Four Things: sickness, poverty, old age and death. First he saw a leper, and then he saw a poor blind man. Astonished, he asked his followers who those people were and what was their trouble. Being told, he asked, "Do they happen to everybody?" They said no, and he responded, "Are those who are to suffer such things known in advance, or are the incidents unpredictable?" They said: "Who can know what is in store for him?"
Then he met a very old man who was stooped and drooling. Stunned, Josaphat asked what was wrong with him and being told "old age," he asked, "And what will be the end of this man?" They said, "Death!" "Is death for everybody or only for some?" He learned that all men die and asked, "In how many years do these things happen to us?" They told him, "Old age comes on at 80 or 100, and death follows." (And this in the Fourth Century! Who says they only lived til 35?) At this, the prince was much depressed, though he was a good actor and managed to keep his state of mind from his father.
Now Barlaam was a monk and a man of the Spirit. He came to the prince dressed in poor clothes and said he had a precious stone to sell to the prince. It had power to restore sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, and wisdom to the simple. A guard tried to see the stone before he would let him in to the royal chambers, but Barlaam said, "If anyone looks on it who has bad eyesight, his sight will get worse." The near-sighted guard unhanded him. "And if any who live an unchaste life look upon it, it loses all its powers." The guard hurriedly let him in then.
What Barlaam had for the prince was not a magic stone, however, but marvelous words and edifying stories. It would take far too long to reproduce them here. One, though, I will paraphrase here, because it reminds me of another tale I heard long ago, but with a different moral.
Once upon a time a man was being pursued and running for his very life, when he fell into a deep abyss. Luckily he caught hold of a small bush on his way down. At the bottom of the abyss was a fire-breathing dragon, waiting to devour him. When he looked up at the bush to which he was clinging, he saw its roots were being nibbled away at by a black and a white mouse. Then he looked up and saw some drops of honey, which he gathered and ate, "giving himself entirely to enjoying the sweetness of the little bit of honey." Now when *I* first heard this story, the sweetness of the honey was the point, but when Barlaam tells the story, it's not. The abyss is the world, full of evil. The bush is the life of each man, eaten away at, some faster, some slower, by time. The dragon is eternal judgment, threatening. And the honey is the fleeting pleasures of this world, which really don't amount to much.
He told a more hopeful story. In a far country, the inhabitants would take a foreign man as their king, wine and dine him, give him his every wish and then suddenly exile him to a terrible island where he would suffer hunger and cold. Now one man noticed this and when he was seized on to be king, he used his power to send a great store of treasure ahead to the island, so when the people rebelled against him and kicked him out, naked, to the island, he was able to live in relative comfort. The wise man was he who sent riches ahead of him to the place of eternal life, by putting them now in the hands of the poor. And Barlaam told many other stories besides, and explained about the tenets of our Faith. Josaphat exclaimed that he wished to be baptized and he was, secretly. Besides this, he said he wanted to follow the monk back into the desert. Barlaam told him to wait.
The kind, whose name was Avennir, found out about this and angrily threatened to disown his son. Josaphat said, "Why, o king, are you saddened because I have become a sharer of good things? What father has ever appeared to regret his son's well-being?" Avennir, seeing threats weren't working, tried to cajole Josaphat with pretty arguments and even set up a contest of a Christian apologist against his pagan priests. That didn't work either. In fact, Josaphat saw through the scheme (for Avennir had a pagan monk substituted for the Christian Barlaam) and it backfired. When they trotted out the fake, Josaphat, playing along, said, "You know, Barlaam, how you taught me. If you now successfully defend the faith, I shall hold to it as long as I live. But if you are defeated, . . . I will cut out your heart and feed it to the dogs." Strong words. Nachor (for such was the imposter's name) went on to defend the Faith flawlessly. Avennir was defeated and allowed Josaphat to remain a Christian, which he did even when he succeeded his father to the throne. He ruled in justice, but heavy is the head that wears the crown, so a time came when Josaphat appointed a successor, retired to the desert and eventually embraced his old friend in a cave. After they died, the reigning king dispatched a party to find the bodies and bring them to a suitable tomb in the royal city in India. Saints Barlaam and Josaphat, pray for us.
Then he met a very old man who was stooped and drooling. Stunned, Josaphat asked what was wrong with him and being told "old age," he asked, "And what will be the end of this man?" They said, "Death!" "Is death for everybody or only for some?" He learned that all men die and asked, "In how many years do these things happen to us?" They told him, "Old age comes on at 80 or 100, and death follows." (And this in the Fourth Century! Who says they only lived til 35?) At this, the prince was much depressed, though he was a good actor and managed to keep his state of mind from his father.
Now Barlaam was a monk and a man of the Spirit. He came to the prince dressed in poor clothes and said he had a precious stone to sell to the prince. It had power to restore sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, and wisdom to the simple. A guard tried to see the stone before he would let him in to the royal chambers, but Barlaam said, "If anyone looks on it who has bad eyesight, his sight will get worse." The near-sighted guard unhanded him. "And if any who live an unchaste life look upon it, it loses all its powers." The guard hurriedly let him in then.
What Barlaam had for the prince was not a magic stone, however, but marvelous words and edifying stories. It would take far too long to reproduce them here. One, though, I will paraphrase here, because it reminds me of another tale I heard long ago, but with a different moral.
Once upon a time a man was being pursued and running for his very life, when he fell into a deep abyss. Luckily he caught hold of a small bush on his way down. At the bottom of the abyss was a fire-breathing dragon, waiting to devour him. When he looked up at the bush to which he was clinging, he saw its roots were being nibbled away at by a black and a white mouse. Then he looked up and saw some drops of honey, which he gathered and ate, "giving himself entirely to enjoying the sweetness of the little bit of honey." Now when *I* first heard this story, the sweetness of the honey was the point, but when Barlaam tells the story, it's not. The abyss is the world, full of evil. The bush is the life of each man, eaten away at, some faster, some slower, by time. The dragon is eternal judgment, threatening. And the honey is the fleeting pleasures of this world, which really don't amount to much.
He told a more hopeful story. In a far country, the inhabitants would take a foreign man as their king, wine and dine him, give him his every wish and then suddenly exile him to a terrible island where he would suffer hunger and cold. Now one man noticed this and when he was seized on to be king, he used his power to send a great store of treasure ahead to the island, so when the people rebelled against him and kicked him out, naked, to the island, he was able to live in relative comfort. The wise man was he who sent riches ahead of him to the place of eternal life, by putting them now in the hands of the poor. And Barlaam told many other stories besides, and explained about the tenets of our Faith. Josaphat exclaimed that he wished to be baptized and he was, secretly. Besides this, he said he wanted to follow the monk back into the desert. Barlaam told him to wait.
The kind, whose name was Avennir, found out about this and angrily threatened to disown his son. Josaphat said, "Why, o king, are you saddened because I have become a sharer of good things? What father has ever appeared to regret his son's well-being?" Avennir, seeing threats weren't working, tried to cajole Josaphat with pretty arguments and even set up a contest of a Christian apologist against his pagan priests. That didn't work either. In fact, Josaphat saw through the scheme (for Avennir had a pagan monk substituted for the Christian Barlaam) and it backfired. When they trotted out the fake, Josaphat, playing along, said, "You know, Barlaam, how you taught me. If you now successfully defend the faith, I shall hold to it as long as I live. But if you are defeated, . . . I will cut out your heart and feed it to the dogs." Strong words. Nachor (for such was the imposter's name) went on to defend the Faith flawlessly. Avennir was defeated and allowed Josaphat to remain a Christian, which he did even when he succeeded his father to the throne. He ruled in justice, but heavy is the head that wears the crown, so a time came when Josaphat appointed a successor, retired to the desert and eventually embraced his old friend in a cave. After they died, the reigning king dispatched a party to find the bodies and bring them to a suitable tomb in the royal city in India. Saints Barlaam and Josaphat, pray for us.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Today November 18
Today is the feast of St. Philippine Duchesne, aka Rose Philippine Duchesne (1769 - 1852). What a great saint! And a friend of another saint: St. Madeleine Sophie Barat, founder of the Society of the Sacred Heart, which Philippine joined. But it wasn't the first order poor Philippine tried out: she tried, over her liberal, republican, atheistic father's objections, to join the Visitation Sisters first. She "eloped" to them, as it were, staying behind at the convent after a casual visit there with her aunt (who had then to tell the news to her dad.) He of course came to the convent to collect her, but this strong-willed saint gave an impassioned plea (admittedly from behind the relative protection of the grille) and her father agreed to let her stay. She thought she was home free, but then the French Revolution broke out and she was turned out of the convent, along with all the other sisters. She wasn't idle, however -- she risked life and limb bringing food, medicine and the Sacraments to folks on death row during the Reign of Terror. She even smuggled priests in to them (since she herself couldn't give them the Last Rites). Then when it was over, she thought she had it made: due to her relative wealth (her father had been a prominent lawyer), she bought her old convent and invited all the former nuns back, including the ancient Superior. The fight had gone out of them, however, and one by one they left the convent until only Philippine was left. Depressed but not discouraged, she joined Madame Barat's order when she was 49 years old! That was certainly a late vocation, especially in those days.
But Philippine's age-defying accomplishments were not ended. She and four other sisters headed off to America from France, and endured many years of hardship in the wilderness, including poverty, vermin, and freezing cold. Often the milk froze in the bucket from the barn to the house. But she endured it all -- even spiritual privations, such as the lack of priests. "Be ready for all," said her bishop. "One must plow before one raises a crop." True.
She was always friendly and selflessly charitable (including providing food and clothing) to the intrepid Jesuits of the Missouri mission (including the explorer Father de Smet). So the priest in charge there agreed to let Mother Philippine establish a new mission at Sugar Creek, Kansas among the Potawatomi Indians -- even though she was 72 years old! She never did learn their difficult language, so she never taught, but she sure taught by example, spending so many hours praying before the Blessed Sacrament that the Indians called her Quah-kah-ka-num-ad, or "Woman-who-prays-always." Amen.
When she died in peace on this day in 1852, she engendered a huge outpouring of love and admiration. Many, many folks attended her funeral -- including many Protestants.
During the ritual exhumation three years later -- to move her body to the oratory from the garden cemetery in St. Charles, Missouri -- it was discovered that her body was perfectly incorrupt. This being now the age of photography, a picture was taken, showing her in perfect repose. Her body has since become just bones and dust. She was beatified in 1940 and canonized in 1988. St. Philippine Duchesne, pray for us.
But Philippine's age-defying accomplishments were not ended. She and four other sisters headed off to America from France, and endured many years of hardship in the wilderness, including poverty, vermin, and freezing cold. Often the milk froze in the bucket from the barn to the house. But she endured it all -- even spiritual privations, such as the lack of priests. "Be ready for all," said her bishop. "One must plow before one raises a crop." True.
She was always friendly and selflessly charitable (including providing food and clothing) to the intrepid Jesuits of the Missouri mission (including the explorer Father de Smet). So the priest in charge there agreed to let Mother Philippine establish a new mission at Sugar Creek, Kansas among the Potawatomi Indians -- even though she was 72 years old! She never did learn their difficult language, so she never taught, but she sure taught by example, spending so many hours praying before the Blessed Sacrament that the Indians called her Quah-kah-ka-num-ad, or "Woman-who-prays-always." Amen.
When she died in peace on this day in 1852, she engendered a huge outpouring of love and admiration. Many, many folks attended her funeral -- including many Protestants.
During the ritual exhumation three years later -- to move her body to the oratory from the garden cemetery in St. Charles, Missouri -- it was discovered that her body was perfectly incorrupt. This being now the age of photography, a picture was taken, showing her in perfect repose. Her body has since become just bones and dust. She was beatified in 1940 and canonized in 1988. St. Philippine Duchesne, pray for us.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Today November 17
Today is the feast of Henriette Delille, (1813 - 1862). She was what was known as an "octoroon" (the South had its own language and laws concerning race and its mixing); that is, a third generation child of a white man and a black woman. These illegitimate children (and they must be, because pre-Civil War, marriage was disallowed for white and black, even between blacks) were free, by virtue of their free white (grand)fathers. Henriette was from one of the oldest and most established free black families in New Orleans. She could have been a schoolteacher or, even more comfortably, a concubine. But she threw it all over to become a nun.
In priest-poor New Orleans, most Catholics, whether black or white, were ignorant of their faith, and Henriette was no exception. But despite the law against educating blacks, a brave French nun, Sister St. Marthe Fontier, taught Henriette her catechism (she learned French, music and etiquette at home) and inspired in her a desire to offer her life to God. Henriette herself was very brave. Refusing to "pass as white," she not only embraced her heritage, she resolved to start an order of black nuns serving blacks right in the heart of the slave community. It would have been easier to go to France where she would have been welcomed (think "Lost Generation"), and where the religious orders were integrated, but she refused.
Three times she tried to (help) start an order -- first, Sister St. Marthe's group, enthusiastically supported by the bishop, failed; then, Miss Marie Aliquuot (a French whitewoman whose life had been saved by a black man) tried -- with Henriette -- and also "quietly failed." Finally, she tried again with her friend, Juliette Gaudine, another free black woman. Although Father Etienne Rousselon first cautioned patience (during which time she and Juliette effectively acted as a lay order, quietly getting blacks' marriages blessed in the Church -- highly illegal at the time), on November 21, 1842, the Sisters of the Holy Family were finally founded -- a black order for service among the blacks. They taught slave children and performed many works of charity, especially establishing the Hospice of the Holy Family. A lay association (Association of the Holy Family) was formed, in which free blacks met, prayed and financially and physically supported the work of the nuns. Because of extreme prejudice, the sisters wore no habit, kept nothing in writing, and endured ridicule and poverty. Other orders (notably the Ursulines and the Madames of the Sacred Heart) opened their facilities to them and helped them get a leg up. Sister Henriette's order still maintains schools and nursing homes in several states and in South America. Her motto for her little order was: "It is better to please God than man." Praise God. Sister Henriette Delille, pray for us.
In priest-poor New Orleans, most Catholics, whether black or white, were ignorant of their faith, and Henriette was no exception. But despite the law against educating blacks, a brave French nun, Sister St. Marthe Fontier, taught Henriette her catechism (she learned French, music and etiquette at home) and inspired in her a desire to offer her life to God. Henriette herself was very brave. Refusing to "pass as white," she not only embraced her heritage, she resolved to start an order of black nuns serving blacks right in the heart of the slave community. It would have been easier to go to France where she would have been welcomed (think "Lost Generation"), and where the religious orders were integrated, but she refused.
Three times she tried to (help) start an order -- first, Sister St. Marthe's group, enthusiastically supported by the bishop, failed; then, Miss Marie Aliquuot (a French whitewoman whose life had been saved by a black man) tried -- with Henriette -- and also "quietly failed." Finally, she tried again with her friend, Juliette Gaudine, another free black woman. Although Father Etienne Rousselon first cautioned patience (during which time she and Juliette effectively acted as a lay order, quietly getting blacks' marriages blessed in the Church -- highly illegal at the time), on November 21, 1842, the Sisters of the Holy Family were finally founded -- a black order for service among the blacks. They taught slave children and performed many works of charity, especially establishing the Hospice of the Holy Family. A lay association (Association of the Holy Family) was formed, in which free blacks met, prayed and financially and physically supported the work of the nuns. Because of extreme prejudice, the sisters wore no habit, kept nothing in writing, and endured ridicule and poverty. Other orders (notably the Ursulines and the Madames of the Sacred Heart) opened their facilities to them and helped them get a leg up. Sister Henriette's order still maintains schools and nursing homes in several states and in South America. Her motto for her little order was: "It is better to please God than man." Praise God. Sister Henriette Delille, pray for us.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Today November 16
Today is the feast of another laywoman, Margaret of Scotland (1046 -1093). She and her mother, brother and sister were exiled from England, where they'd lived at the royal court of their kinsman St. Edward the Confessor up until the Normal Invasion of 1066. They sought refuge in Scotland and though Scotland was technically at war with England at the time, King Malcolm gave them asylum. He fell in love with the beautiful Margaret -- as well he might; she was a heck of a woman: young, strong, prayerful, well-educated and talented in many ways. They were wed in 1070 in the great castle of Dunfermline and lived a long and happy marriage, blessed with 8 children: 6 boys and 2 girls. And credit must be given to Malcolm. He was not too proud to be led by Margaret -- he improved his manners and directed all to do so as well, in her presence. He was not insecure in that his wife was smarter than he; if anything, his great respect for her made him love and treasure her more. I really picture them living out a real-life "Beauty and the Beast" tale: her teaching him to soften his temper, behave in church and use a napkin! She taught him to read, as she was very well-read and fond of reading the Gospels (a well-worn copy of hers is preserved in the Bodleian Library in Oxford.) He on his part supported her in every way; he was her "rock." Together with him she founded a church at Dunfermline, and she took care to stamp out evils in church practice, including usury, simony and incestuous marriages. She called synods of bishops and got them to conform their practices to those of Rome and the universal Church. We need a woman like that today!
Of course she taught her children their faith -- herself, not leaving it to tutors, as was the overwhelmingly more common custom. She herself was what one might call "preoccupied with God." Her very confessor, who wrote a biography of her, said, "I may say, in short, every word that she uttered, every act that she performed, showed that she was meditating on the things of heaven." - Turgot.
When her son came back from a battle where he'd fought alongside her husband and son and she asked how they were, her son said "Fine." She exclaimed, "I know how it is!" Basically: "Don't think you can fool me. Don't spare me from the truth!" Indeed, they had both been killed. She wailed aloud and said, "Perhaps this day a greater evil hath befallen Scotland than ever before!" She mourned the loss of her beloved and son, and died herself only 4 days later. Her last words were: "O Jesus Christ, who by thy death hast given life to the world, deliver me from evil!" St. Margaret, pray for us.
Of course she taught her children their faith -- herself, not leaving it to tutors, as was the overwhelmingly more common custom. She herself was what one might call "preoccupied with God." Her very confessor, who wrote a biography of her, said, "I may say, in short, every word that she uttered, every act that she performed, showed that she was meditating on the things of heaven." - Turgot.
When her son came back from a battle where he'd fought alongside her husband and son and she asked how they were, her son said "Fine." She exclaimed, "I know how it is!" Basically: "Don't think you can fool me. Don't spare me from the truth!" Indeed, they had both been killed. She wailed aloud and said, "Perhaps this day a greater evil hath befallen Scotland than ever before!" She mourned the loss of her beloved and son, and died herself only 4 days later. Her last words were: "O Jesus Christ, who by thy death hast given life to the world, deliver me from evil!" St. Margaret, pray for us.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Today November 15
Today is the feast of St. Albert the Great (1206 - 1280). I think this great teacher and scientist, bishop of Ratisbon and Regensburg, champion of reason, should be made "patron of the Internet." And I'll tell you why. I think not only because he had encyclopedic -- one might even say "wikipedic" :) -- knowledge, but he had a sudden and inexplicable loss of memory! Reboot!
He did, in fact, have a prodigious gift of intellect and ability. He wrote 38 books -- akin to textbooks -- and was an authority on physics, geography, astronomy, mineralogy, alchemy, biology -- including botany and physiology -- and demonstrated categorically that the earth is round. (And this 600 years before Columbus!) He was above all a philosopher. He understood, taught and wrote about math (then part of philosophy), logic, ethics and metaphysics as well. And this all while he was running (and reforming) his diocese!
His most famous student, of course, was St. Thomas of Aquinas, whom he recognized early and defended all his life. He outlived St. Thomas (which broke his heart, he loved that great man so), and hurried to defend him even when he was old and sick. He went to Paris to confront the bishop there (Stephen Tempier) and offered to debate him on any issue relating to the thought and teaching of his great student. He wasn't taken up on it. Not long afterward, in 1278, he completely lost his memory. He lived for two more years suffering in an Alzheimer's-like state, and he died in peace, sitting in his chair among his brethren. The date was November 15, 1280.
He struggled with school as a young man, but he persevered -- boy, did he persevere! -- he was always tempted with the secular life, too, but fought it. He had a great devotion to Our Lady (whom he saw in a vision as a young man), and strove to live a blameless life as a priest, bishop and Dominican. He outshone his colleagues and engendered all kinds of jealousy, but that didn't stop him. He never "dumbed it down" in order to be liked, but told it like it was, and endeavored to learn and share as much knowledge as was humanly possible!
He was one of those rare people -- if not unique -- who was made a doctor BEFORE he was even canonized! He wasn't beatified until 1622. And he wasn't made a doctor til 1931 ("thereby equivalently declaring him to be a saint" - Butler's Lives). But he enjoyed the people's devotion (especially in Germany -- the bishops there constantly petitioned for his canonization) and admiration from students everywhere. Good St. Albert. pray for us.
He did, in fact, have a prodigious gift of intellect and ability. He wrote 38 books -- akin to textbooks -- and was an authority on physics, geography, astronomy, mineralogy, alchemy, biology -- including botany and physiology -- and demonstrated categorically that the earth is round. (And this 600 years before Columbus!) He was above all a philosopher. He understood, taught and wrote about math (then part of philosophy), logic, ethics and metaphysics as well. And this all while he was running (and reforming) his diocese!
His most famous student, of course, was St. Thomas of Aquinas, whom he recognized early and defended all his life. He outlived St. Thomas (which broke his heart, he loved that great man so), and hurried to defend him even when he was old and sick. He went to Paris to confront the bishop there (Stephen Tempier) and offered to debate him on any issue relating to the thought and teaching of his great student. He wasn't taken up on it. Not long afterward, in 1278, he completely lost his memory. He lived for two more years suffering in an Alzheimer's-like state, and he died in peace, sitting in his chair among his brethren. The date was November 15, 1280.
He struggled with school as a young man, but he persevered -- boy, did he persevere! -- he was always tempted with the secular life, too, but fought it. He had a great devotion to Our Lady (whom he saw in a vision as a young man), and strove to live a blameless life as a priest, bishop and Dominican. He outshone his colleagues and engendered all kinds of jealousy, but that didn't stop him. He never "dumbed it down" in order to be liked, but told it like it was, and endeavored to learn and share as much knowledge as was humanly possible!
He was one of those rare people -- if not unique -- who was made a doctor BEFORE he was even canonized! He wasn't beatified until 1622. And he wasn't made a doctor til 1931 ("thereby equivalently declaring him to be a saint" - Butler's Lives). But he enjoyed the people's devotion (especially in Germany -- the bishops there constantly petitioned for his canonization) and admiration from students everywhere. Good St. Albert. pray for us.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Today November 14
Today is the feast of St. Lorcan Ua Tuathail, known to the world as Laurence O'Toole, (1128 - 1180). He could be the patron saint of kidnap victims, since he was held for ransom for two whole years by the rival MacMurroughs (kind of like the Hatfields to the O'Toole's McCoys). But the difference was -- his father Maurice O'Toole had handed him over to them! He was forced, but still. Laurence was only 10 years old. At first he was treated well and lived in their castle, but later he was taken far away to a hut in a "desert, stony place" and nearly starved to death. Finally, Maurice negotiated his release. Apparently he felt he'd made a deal with God, because when Laurence got home, Maurice announced ominously that one of his four sons was going to be given to God for the priesthood and the boys were going to have to draw lots and the one who got the short straw had to be a priest. Laurence just burst out laughing. (It's good to see a saint laughing.) He said lots weren't necessary, as he'd already decided to be a priest!
He went to the monastery in Glendalough, Ireland, to take his training and remained there as a monk-priest, eventually being elected abbot. Even after he'd been made archbishop of Dublin (the first native Irishman to be so), he returned year after year to that lovely valley to make a 40-day retreat.
Laurence's troubles were only just begun when he assumed the archbishopric. He was cursed to live in interesting times. The blood feud between the O'Tooles and the MacMurroughs had ended with the marriage of Laurence's sister with Dermot MacMurrough. But their troubles hadn't ended there. He beat her -- and worse -- he cheated on her. And not with just anyone, but with another man's wife: Dervorgilla, wife of Tiernan O'Rourke, prince of Breffni. It was enough to cause an invasion of Ireland by the English (the Anglo-Norman invasion). The country was once again torn by war, but once again it was resolved with a felicitous marriage: Eva (Laurence's niece) was married to Richard "Strongbow", leader of the invaders.
During the famine that ensued after the invasion, Laurence, like Joseph, fed the people from the Church's stores. He tried to keep the Norman occupying forces from slaughtering the people when the peace treaty was in peril -- and he walked to the front lines to do so. He was always on the side of the Irish through the many ups and downs of British-Norman rule, and went to Henry II in England on behalf of his people. Henry, however, grew less and less willing to talk to him, so Laurence found himself having to chase him all across France. Laurence grew ill at Eu and died there at the abbey of St. Victor, where his remains are still enshrined. His last words were in answer to a request he write a will: "God knows I haven't a penny under the sun to leave anyone." St. Laurence O'Toole, son of Ireland, pray for us.
He went to the monastery in Glendalough, Ireland, to take his training and remained there as a monk-priest, eventually being elected abbot. Even after he'd been made archbishop of Dublin (the first native Irishman to be so), he returned year after year to that lovely valley to make a 40-day retreat.
Laurence's troubles were only just begun when he assumed the archbishopric. He was cursed to live in interesting times. The blood feud between the O'Tooles and the MacMurroughs had ended with the marriage of Laurence's sister with Dermot MacMurrough. But their troubles hadn't ended there. He beat her -- and worse -- he cheated on her. And not with just anyone, but with another man's wife: Dervorgilla, wife of Tiernan O'Rourke, prince of Breffni. It was enough to cause an invasion of Ireland by the English (the Anglo-Norman invasion). The country was once again torn by war, but once again it was resolved with a felicitous marriage: Eva (Laurence's niece) was married to Richard "Strongbow", leader of the invaders.
During the famine that ensued after the invasion, Laurence, like Joseph, fed the people from the Church's stores. He tried to keep the Norman occupying forces from slaughtering the people when the peace treaty was in peril -- and he walked to the front lines to do so. He was always on the side of the Irish through the many ups and downs of British-Norman rule, and went to Henry II in England on behalf of his people. Henry, however, grew less and less willing to talk to him, so Laurence found himself having to chase him all across France. Laurence grew ill at Eu and died there at the abbey of St. Victor, where his remains are still enshrined. His last words were in answer to a request he write a will: "God knows I haven't a penny under the sun to leave anyone." St. Laurence O'Toole, son of Ireland, pray for us.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Today November 13
Today is the feast of Blessed Agostina Pietrantoni (1864 - 1894). She could write a book "Forgiving the Dead Man Walking" . . . or maybe retitle it "Forgiving the Dead Patient Walking." For she was a nurse in a (secularized) Catholic hospital on a notoriously tough and dangerous ward. Patients there were little more than criminals; they swore, they spit, they insulted -- they even assaulted. One time she was quite badly beaten. But this serene sister, from a fairly tough but not particularly poor background, was always praying and had a remarkably progressive outlook: "They are not bad, but they are ill and one must pity them. You must rather help me to help them." Amen, sister!
And she did. She talked about God to them (even though expressly forbidden from doing so by the secular authorities), she gave alms to the patients' families when they visited, she worked extra shifts to help out the others -- and as penance; she said, "We'll rest when we're dead" -- and she always smiled.
She died in a horrible stabbing by a tormented former patient, Giuseppe Romanelli. She died where she fell, forgiving her attacker. He was caught and sentenced to life in prison. He repented before he died and received the last Sacraments. I'm sure Agostina was smiling as he did so. Blessed Agostina, pray for us.
And she did. She talked about God to them (even though expressly forbidden from doing so by the secular authorities), she gave alms to the patients' families when they visited, she worked extra shifts to help out the others -- and as penance; she said, "We'll rest when we're dead" -- and she always smiled.
She died in a horrible stabbing by a tormented former patient, Giuseppe Romanelli. She died where she fell, forgiving her attacker. He was caught and sentenced to life in prison. He repented before he died and received the last Sacraments. I'm sure Agostina was smiling as he did so. Blessed Agostina, pray for us.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Today November 12
Today is the feast of St. Josaphat (born John Kuncevic aka Kuncevyc aka Kuncewycz) (1580 - 1623). He was a real martyr for unity -- although truth be told, unity was forced upon him. Born into the Ruthenian Orthodox Church, he became Catholic when that church united with Rome in 1595. Still proud and traditional, the Ruthenians kept their Slavonic rite even while maintaining absolute loyalty to the pope. John Paul II would have been popular with today's saint, as JPII always said: "The Church breathes with two lungs" meaning the Eastern and the Western rites. Josaphat for his part "could not believe that the traditional devotions and customs of his people, and indeed of the whole Orthodox world, were in any way incompatible with loyalty to a church under the Holy See" - Angelus Book of Saints.
Josaphat was a perfect uniter (indeed he is called the "Apostle of Unity" -- by the Catholics -- though "robber of souls" by the Orthodox!). He was fully loyal to the pope but very much a man of the East: he had been a Basilian monk (before becoming a priest and then bishop of Vitebsk and Pskov), he knew the Byzantine liturgy by heart, he kept every fast in the Byzantine calendar. But unity was strongly opposed by most nobles (who saw it as a threat to their autonomy; Orthodoxy allows for much more state authority than Catholicism does) and by the patriarch of Constantinople and those bishops who supported him. The people, too, were deeply divided by the whole treaty of Brest-Litovsk (uniting Ruthenian and Ukrainian Orthodox Churches with Rome).
A fanatical mob descended on the brave bishop, who would not run. His martyrdom was one of which criminologists would call "overkill": he was beaten with blunt objects, stabbed numerous times. shot, and drowned in a river. The body was submerged for 6 whole days, but when it was fished out, it was found perfectly fresh. In fact, it is still incorrupt. Our great saint's last words were: "I am your shepherd and I should be happy to give my life for you. If it please God that I should die for unity under the earthly headship of St. Peter's successor, so be it. I am ready to die for truth." Strong words. St. Josaphat, pray for us.
Josaphat was a perfect uniter (indeed he is called the "Apostle of Unity" -- by the Catholics -- though "robber of souls" by the Orthodox!). He was fully loyal to the pope but very much a man of the East: he had been a Basilian monk (before becoming a priest and then bishop of Vitebsk and Pskov), he knew the Byzantine liturgy by heart, he kept every fast in the Byzantine calendar. But unity was strongly opposed by most nobles (who saw it as a threat to their autonomy; Orthodoxy allows for much more state authority than Catholicism does) and by the patriarch of Constantinople and those bishops who supported him. The people, too, were deeply divided by the whole treaty of Brest-Litovsk (uniting Ruthenian and Ukrainian Orthodox Churches with Rome).
A fanatical mob descended on the brave bishop, who would not run. His martyrdom was one of which criminologists would call "overkill": he was beaten with blunt objects, stabbed numerous times. shot, and drowned in a river. The body was submerged for 6 whole days, but when it was fished out, it was found perfectly fresh. In fact, it is still incorrupt. Our great saint's last words were: "I am your shepherd and I should be happy to give my life for you. If it please God that I should die for unity under the earthly headship of St. Peter's successor, so be it. I am ready to die for truth." Strong words. St. Josaphat, pray for us.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Homily: Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time: 2007
Brothers and Sisters, today we will look at the remarkable example of the Holy Maccabees. It is in the seventh chapter of the Second Book of Maccabees. Just before it comes the martyrdom of Eleazar, which those of us with gray hair can especially esteem. It contains the immortal line: "But having taken a noble decision worthy of his years and the dignity of his great age and the well-earned distinction of his gray hairs . . . he publicly stated his convictions, telling them to send him at once to Hades. 'Such pretense does not square with our time of life . . . Many young people would suppose old Eleazar had conformed to this way of life because I had played this part for the sake of a paltry brief spell of life might themselves be led astray on my account; I should only bring defilement and disgrace on my old age." (2 Macc. 6:23-25). And so he bravely refused to eat pork -- or even submit to the pretense of eating pork while eating kosher meat instead -- and died under the blows of whips and scourges, a horrible death. "The well-earned distinction of his gray hairs." What a great line. As Bill Cosby says, "Gray hair is God's graffiti."
Anyway, in the story of the seven brothers (and their intrepid mother) who were viciously martyred by Antiochus Epiphanes in the time of the Seleucid kings, about 175 - 134 BC. They were, one by one, tortured and killed for their refusal to eat pork and thus violate Jewish law. And I think their wonderful and harrowing story, which we just heard, can give us three lessons.
1) The importance of praying for our faithful departed. This month of November we especially remember and pray for those who have gone before us, especially our friends and family, and make sacrifice for them if they are still in Purgatory. For thus it says in the Book of Maccabees: concerning Judas' collection and donation to the Temple (for those soldiers who had died and were ostensibly guilty of wearing tokens of idols), an action which was "altogether fine and noble, in which he took full account of the resurrection. For if he had not expected the fallen to rise again it would have been superfluous and foolish to pray for the dead, whereas if he had in view the splendid recompense reserved for those who make a pious end, the thought was holy and devout." (2 Macc. 12:44-45).
2) The importance of praying TO our faithful departed. It is a tenet of our Catholic faith that the souls in Purgatory, known also as the Holy Souls or the Poor Souls or collectively as "The Church Suffering," can pray for and aid us, even though they cannot do so for themselves. And in fact their prayers are very powerful. We should turn to them when we have difficult intentions and they will understand and bring them to the altar of the Lord for us.
3) The importance of imitating the faithful departed, in this case, the Holy Maccabees. The Church celebrates these heroic Jewish martyrs with their own feast on August 1st. In fact all the great Jewish saints are celebrated in our Church, in the East even more observantly than in the West. And what can we learn from them? The importance of faithfulness, to be sure, and also the courage of our convictions. We should be ready to defend -- with our lives, if necessary -- the doctrines and dogmas of our Catholic faith. Another thing here is clear. We don't always get to pick our battles. What I mean is, we don't always get to defend the particular aspect of our faith we may want to at the time. The Maccabees may have wanted to defend the doctrine of the oneness of God, or the omnipotence of God, or the truth of the Ten Commandments, but that wasn't called into question, at least not directly. It was the discipline of not eating pork (a discipline we don't share). And it may have seemed like a minor thing, but the Maccabees saw it all as a seamless garment, as it were, and died defending their faith whole and entire.
It may seem that we Catholics spend an inordinate amount of time defending the Church's teaching on so-called "pelvic issues" -- sexual, reproductive and life issues -- but that's just because that is what's being attacked right now: the sanctity of life (especially the right to life of the unborn), the wrongness of premarital or homosexual sex, the evil of contraception. You may prefer to spend your time and ink -- it hasn't yet come to blood -- defending the Incarnation or the action of the Holy Spirit, but this is what is being attacked right now. May we all have the courage and honor of the Holy Maccabees in that struggle.
[pause]
Let us now profess our faith . . .
Anyway, in the story of the seven brothers (and their intrepid mother) who were viciously martyred by Antiochus Epiphanes in the time of the Seleucid kings, about 175 - 134 BC. They were, one by one, tortured and killed for their refusal to eat pork and thus violate Jewish law. And I think their wonderful and harrowing story, which we just heard, can give us three lessons.
1) The importance of praying for our faithful departed. This month of November we especially remember and pray for those who have gone before us, especially our friends and family, and make sacrifice for them if they are still in Purgatory. For thus it says in the Book of Maccabees: concerning Judas' collection and donation to the Temple (for those soldiers who had died and were ostensibly guilty of wearing tokens of idols), an action which was "altogether fine and noble, in which he took full account of the resurrection. For if he had not expected the fallen to rise again it would have been superfluous and foolish to pray for the dead, whereas if he had in view the splendid recompense reserved for those who make a pious end, the thought was holy and devout." (2 Macc. 12:44-45).
2) The importance of praying TO our faithful departed. It is a tenet of our Catholic faith that the souls in Purgatory, known also as the Holy Souls or the Poor Souls or collectively as "The Church Suffering," can pray for and aid us, even though they cannot do so for themselves. And in fact their prayers are very powerful. We should turn to them when we have difficult intentions and they will understand and bring them to the altar of the Lord for us.
3) The importance of imitating the faithful departed, in this case, the Holy Maccabees. The Church celebrates these heroic Jewish martyrs with their own feast on August 1st. In fact all the great Jewish saints are celebrated in our Church, in the East even more observantly than in the West. And what can we learn from them? The importance of faithfulness, to be sure, and also the courage of our convictions. We should be ready to defend -- with our lives, if necessary -- the doctrines and dogmas of our Catholic faith. Another thing here is clear. We don't always get to pick our battles. What I mean is, we don't always get to defend the particular aspect of our faith we may want to at the time. The Maccabees may have wanted to defend the doctrine of the oneness of God, or the omnipotence of God, or the truth of the Ten Commandments, but that wasn't called into question, at least not directly. It was the discipline of not eating pork (a discipline we don't share). And it may have seemed like a minor thing, but the Maccabees saw it all as a seamless garment, as it were, and died defending their faith whole and entire.
It may seem that we Catholics spend an inordinate amount of time defending the Church's teaching on so-called "pelvic issues" -- sexual, reproductive and life issues -- but that's just because that is what's being attacked right now: the sanctity of life (especially the right to life of the unborn), the wrongness of premarital or homosexual sex, the evil of contraception. You may prefer to spend your time and ink -- it hasn't yet come to blood -- defending the Incarnation or the action of the Holy Spirit, but this is what is being attacked right now. May we all have the courage and honor of the Holy Maccabees in that struggle.
[pause]
Let us now profess our faith . . .
Today November 11
Today is Veteran's Day ("At the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, the armistice was signed." The "eleventh hour" was supposed to be a warning, The "war to end all wars" never lived up to its name. I guess we wouldn't let it.) Today we celebrate one of the Catholic Church's greatest veterans: St. Martin of Tours (336 - 397). It's kind of ironic that St. Martin is called the "soldier saint," because he was both a draftee and a conscientious objector! He it was who famously said, "I am a soldier of Christ; it is not lawful for me to serve." He was charged with cowardice. Not liking his character challenged, he immediately responded in a typically over-the-top way: he offered to stand weaponless at the frontlines of the ensuing battle. His sacrifice wasn't necessary, as the barbarians surrendered to the Roman forces there at Amiens the next day. He was, however, released from service and allowed to retire as a hermit. He still had a job, though, and an interesting one it was, at least to modern readers: he was commissioned as an exorcist by the bishop of Poitiers (St. Hilary). And indeed he released many people from demons, including a boy in the household of a man named Tetradius. And Martin had to power to recognize the devil, even when he came in the guise of Jupiter, Mercury, Minerva or even Christ himself. The devil said: "Martin, you see me. Acknowledge me. I am Christ. I am about to come down to earth and I wished first to manifest myself to you." Martin said nothing. The devil repeated: "I am Christ. Martin, why are you so slow to believe?" And Martin boldly replied, "The Lord Jesus did not say that he would come in a purple robe and glittering diadem. I will only believe in a Christ who comes in the garments of His passion, bearing upon Him the wounds of the cross." Immediately the devil left him, leaving behind an immensely foul odor.
He had other remarkable powers besides. He cured a mute 12--year-old girl by pouring sacred oil in her mouth, praying over her, and touching her tongue with his fingers. He converted one of two hoodlums who had kidnapped him with intent to rob and kill. His great courage -- and his wise decision to engage them in conversation about God and salvation -- led to the conversion of one of his captors. He cured a leper at the North Gate in Paris (now called the Porte St. Martin) with a kiss. He cured a woman suffering a what they call an "issue of blood," or continual menstruation. And he raised three people from the dead (in fact, in old books he is designated as Trium mortuorum Suscitator). The first was when he was a priest -- not yet bishop of Tours -- at the monastery he founded: Liguge, the first Western monastery. A young pagan man came to him for instruction in the Catholic faith. Martin started him in lessons and then had to leave, leaving him there in the care of the brothers. He died of fever and was three days dead when Martin returned. Martin ordered the mourning monks out of the room and prayed over the body for two hours. The limbs began moving, the man's eyes opened and Martin shouted for joy. This man received instruction and baptism and lived for another 5 years! (Interestingly, the man recounted a judgment scene. He had been led before a judge and was to be consigned to the outer darkness but two angels appeared and said this was the man Martin was praying for. They very gently led the man back to his body just before he was restored to life.)
The second person Marin raised was a servant of a man by the name of Lupicinus. This servant had hung himself and the whole household was crying and mourning. Once again, Martin dismissed the crowd, went in to where the body had been laid out and prayed over it a long time. Slowly the eyes opened and the man took Martin's hand. He then walked out to the amazement of the people.
And the third person was the dead baby of a pagan woman. She was in a crowd of curious pagans who had come but to see the Bishop at Vendome. She pushed her way to the front of the crowd and tearfully begged him: "You are God's friend, we know. Give me back my son! He is my only son!" Martin gently took the child's body, knelt down and prayed. When he arose, the child was alive. Pandemonium broke out and many accepted Christ that day.
There are many, many more stories about Martin, all well-attested to and all written by contemporaries. We are lucky to have such a wealth of information on this great saint. When he finally was dying, he prayed aloud: "Lord, if thy people still need me, I will not shirk the toil. Thy will be done." The sacrifice was not required and he died November 8, 397. He was buried at Tours on November 11, the feast day we've kept ever since. I have sympathy as well as admiration for the man, for as his friend described him: "No one ever saw him angered, no one saw him excited, none saw him grieving, none saw him laughing." - Sulpice Severe, Vie de Saint Martin. And so I think he was, all in all, a wise and sensitive person, a man of great sorrow, but also a rock, a person one could count on. St. Martin, pray for us.
He had other remarkable powers besides. He cured a mute 12--year-old girl by pouring sacred oil in her mouth, praying over her, and touching her tongue with his fingers. He converted one of two hoodlums who had kidnapped him with intent to rob and kill. His great courage -- and his wise decision to engage them in conversation about God and salvation -- led to the conversion of one of his captors. He cured a leper at the North Gate in Paris (now called the Porte St. Martin) with a kiss. He cured a woman suffering a what they call an "issue of blood," or continual menstruation. And he raised three people from the dead (in fact, in old books he is designated as Trium mortuorum Suscitator). The first was when he was a priest -- not yet bishop of Tours -- at the monastery he founded: Liguge, the first Western monastery. A young pagan man came to him for instruction in the Catholic faith. Martin started him in lessons and then had to leave, leaving him there in the care of the brothers. He died of fever and was three days dead when Martin returned. Martin ordered the mourning monks out of the room and prayed over the body for two hours. The limbs began moving, the man's eyes opened and Martin shouted for joy. This man received instruction and baptism and lived for another 5 years! (Interestingly, the man recounted a judgment scene. He had been led before a judge and was to be consigned to the outer darkness but two angels appeared and said this was the man Martin was praying for. They very gently led the man back to his body just before he was restored to life.)
The second person Marin raised was a servant of a man by the name of Lupicinus. This servant had hung himself and the whole household was crying and mourning. Once again, Martin dismissed the crowd, went in to where the body had been laid out and prayed over it a long time. Slowly the eyes opened and the man took Martin's hand. He then walked out to the amazement of the people.
And the third person was the dead baby of a pagan woman. She was in a crowd of curious pagans who had come but to see the Bishop at Vendome. She pushed her way to the front of the crowd and tearfully begged him: "You are God's friend, we know. Give me back my son! He is my only son!" Martin gently took the child's body, knelt down and prayed. When he arose, the child was alive. Pandemonium broke out and many accepted Christ that day.
There are many, many more stories about Martin, all well-attested to and all written by contemporaries. We are lucky to have such a wealth of information on this great saint. When he finally was dying, he prayed aloud: "Lord, if thy people still need me, I will not shirk the toil. Thy will be done." The sacrifice was not required and he died November 8, 397. He was buried at Tours on November 11, the feast day we've kept ever since. I have sympathy as well as admiration for the man, for as his friend described him: "No one ever saw him angered, no one saw him excited, none saw him grieving, none saw him laughing." - Sulpice Severe, Vie de Saint Martin. And so I think he was, all in all, a wise and sensitive person, a man of great sorrow, but also a rock, a person one could count on. St. Martin, pray for us.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Today November 10
Today is the feast of Pope St. Leo the Great (400 - 461). Of him it was said, "Peter has spoken by Leo!", the assembled bishops spontaneously showing their appreciation of "The Tome of Leo." This work adequately explained the dual nature of Christ, called into question by Dioscorus at a synod in Ephesus (dubbed "the robber synod" by Leo himself, who wasn't there but heard about it from St. Flavian and from his own legates). This Dioscorus and his followers were Monophysites, who denied two natures in Jesus. Their heresy was in opposition to Nestorianism. All of which goes to prove G. K. Chesterton's statement: "There are many angles at which a man may fall, but only one at which he stands upright."
And Leo, whose reign was marked not only by schisms and heresies from within, but violent attacks by barbarians from without (and being "the one strong man" in Rome -- Butler's Lives, he himself met Attila the Hun on the plain outside the city [at Peschiera] and convinced him NOT to sack Rome), wrote these peaceful words:
"Christian, remember your dignity, and now that you share in God's own nature, do not return by sin to your former base condition. Bear in mind who is your Head and of whose Body you are a member." - First Sermon on Christmas.
He had a lot of balls to juggle, did Leo. For his defense of the faith (especially the doctrine of the incarnation), his defense of the primacy of the papacy, and his brave physical defense of the capital (not once, but twice -- also negotiating with the cruel Vandal Genseric, who DID invade, but didn't rape or burn down, thanks to Leo), he is called the Great. And for his lucid statements of doctrine, he was made a doctor of the Church, a mere 1293 years after his death! The Church moves slowly sometimes. St. Leo the Great, pray for us.
And Leo, whose reign was marked not only by schisms and heresies from within, but violent attacks by barbarians from without (and being "the one strong man" in Rome -- Butler's Lives, he himself met Attila the Hun on the plain outside the city [at Peschiera] and convinced him NOT to sack Rome), wrote these peaceful words:
"Christian, remember your dignity, and now that you share in God's own nature, do not return by sin to your former base condition. Bear in mind who is your Head and of whose Body you are a member." - First Sermon on Christmas.
He had a lot of balls to juggle, did Leo. For his defense of the faith (especially the doctrine of the incarnation), his defense of the primacy of the papacy, and his brave physical defense of the capital (not once, but twice -- also negotiating with the cruel Vandal Genseric, who DID invade, but didn't rape or burn down, thanks to Leo), he is called the Great. And for his lucid statements of doctrine, he was made a doctor of the Church, a mere 1293 years after his death! The Church moves slowly sometimes. St. Leo the Great, pray for us.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Today November 9
While today is the feast of the dedication of the Archbasilica of the Most Holy Savior, commonly called St. John Lateran, head of all the churches in the City and in the World -- wow, what a title! -- we are going to go with the feast of St. Theodore, who died in 306 AD. As the daughter of a soldier, I favor the veteran saints, such as the three "warrior saints" of the East: St. George (the dragonslayer), St. Demetrius, and today's saint. He could be called the recruit's patron, since his surname was Tiro, meaning recruit. (It also has a connotation of amateur or philistine -- one who is new at, and presumably weak at, some endeavor.) He also was one of the early conscientious objectors, or CO's, because though bound by military duty while in winter quarters at Pontus in Asia Minor to offer sacrifice to the gods and the emperor, he refused to serve, citing his conscience. "I know not your gods," he said. He was apprehended, but later released on his own recognizance.
And I suppose St. Theodore could also be called a patron of political activists. He didn't burn a draft card or the selective service office, but he DID go out and burn down a pagan temple, as his protest against forcing people to engage in what he saw as flagrant idolatry. I guess he engaged in this activity to prove he was serious and bring attention to the problem and let the chips fall where they may. They fell on him, of course; first he was cajoled with promises, then threatened with bodily harm, but he could not be moved. He was scourged and thrown in prison, but he kept his spirits up. Finally, dragged before the judge once more and intractable in his resistance, he was sentenced to death. He was burned to death in a fiery furnace. His ashes were collected by a platonic female friend, Eusebia; she buried them at Euchaita, where the church was renamed St. Theodore in his honor. I think St. Theodore could be a real "saint of the sixties." St. Theodore, pray for us.
And I suppose St. Theodore could also be called a patron of political activists. He didn't burn a draft card or the selective service office, but he DID go out and burn down a pagan temple, as his protest against forcing people to engage in what he saw as flagrant idolatry. I guess he engaged in this activity to prove he was serious and bring attention to the problem and let the chips fall where they may. They fell on him, of course; first he was cajoled with promises, then threatened with bodily harm, but he could not be moved. He was scourged and thrown in prison, but he kept his spirits up. Finally, dragged before the judge once more and intractable in his resistance, he was sentenced to death. He was burned to death in a fiery furnace. His ashes were collected by a platonic female friend, Eusebia; she buried them at Euchaita, where the church was renamed St. Theodore in his honor. I think St. Theodore could be a real "saint of the sixties." St. Theodore, pray for us.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Today November 8
Today is the feast of the strong-willed Blessed Elizabeth of the Trinity, (1880 - 1906). I didn't know the name Elizabeth means "House of God." Elizabeth herself didn't know until a kindly nun told her on her First Communion day when she was 11. It made a deep impression on her and was in a way a herald of things to come. She worked hard even then to tame her impetuosity and anger and so to quiet and open her soul so that God, the Holy Trinity, might dwell there.
She was a very pretty woman, bright and sensitive, and had many offers of marriage -- all of which she turned down. Her thoughts drifted up to God constantly. She so thought of only "Him" you could say she was preoccupied by God. But still her mother wouldn't let her go into religious life. She subjected her daughter to the whole round of social appearances and obligations she felt necessary to one in her station in life. Elizabeth went, but her heart wasn't in it. She did, however, love music and had a natural gift for the piano, especially classical pieces (Benedict XVI and she would have gotten along famously, I think.) "No one interprets the great masters as she does," said a friend. There are pictures of her at the piano and in the garden, glowing with happiness and chaste pride. She was a normal girl -- and yet there was something special about her.
She told a priest she had the experience of "being dwelt in." The sympathetic man said it was not a fiction -- it was real: the Holy Trinity dwelt in her soul through Baptism, and this mystical experience was the "full flowering" of it. It was a turning point in her life. Shortly after that, her mother let her go to the Carmel at Dijon. She entered and was given the name Elizabeth of the Trinity -- how appropriate.
From then on, she not only walked on the road to holiness; she ran, she flew. "I have passed into the soul of Christ," she said. "I want to make Him loved by the whole world. I love 'til I could die of love." (In this she sounds like her spiritual sister, St. Therese of Lisieux.) And so she soon would, it seemed. She entered the infirmary in March of '06 and died in November of the same year, after barely 5 years in the convent. But thanks be to God, her prioress had her write down her thoughts and so she did out of obedience, making particular use of the time she had during the long sleepless nights. So we now have some of her lovely, simple and direct writing of the Divine Indwelling. Blessed Elizabeth of the Trinity, pray for us.
She was a very pretty woman, bright and sensitive, and had many offers of marriage -- all of which she turned down. Her thoughts drifted up to God constantly. She so thought of only "Him" you could say she was preoccupied by God. But still her mother wouldn't let her go into religious life. She subjected her daughter to the whole round of social appearances and obligations she felt necessary to one in her station in life. Elizabeth went, but her heart wasn't in it. She did, however, love music and had a natural gift for the piano, especially classical pieces (Benedict XVI and she would have gotten along famously, I think.) "No one interprets the great masters as she does," said a friend. There are pictures of her at the piano and in the garden, glowing with happiness and chaste pride. She was a normal girl -- and yet there was something special about her.
She told a priest she had the experience of "being dwelt in." The sympathetic man said it was not a fiction -- it was real: the Holy Trinity dwelt in her soul through Baptism, and this mystical experience was the "full flowering" of it. It was a turning point in her life. Shortly after that, her mother let her go to the Carmel at Dijon. She entered and was given the name Elizabeth of the Trinity -- how appropriate.
From then on, she not only walked on the road to holiness; she ran, she flew. "I have passed into the soul of Christ," she said. "I want to make Him loved by the whole world. I love 'til I could die of love." (In this she sounds like her spiritual sister, St. Therese of Lisieux.) And so she soon would, it seemed. She entered the infirmary in March of '06 and died in November of the same year, after barely 5 years in the convent. But thanks be to God, her prioress had her write down her thoughts and so she did out of obedience, making particular use of the time she had during the long sleepless nights. So we now have some of her lovely, simple and direct writing of the Divine Indwelling. Blessed Elizabeth of the Trinity, pray for us.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Today November 7
Today is the feast of St. Engelbert (d. 1225). If there's hope for this guy, there's hope for us all. After all, he was excommunicated! He lived a dissolute life -- even while enjoying the income of four churches (St. Mary's at Aachen, St. George's, St. Severinus', and the cathedral of Cologne) -- all while he was still a boy and adolescent! He was excommunicated, not for drinking and debauching, but for taking arms against the "Holy Roman Emperor" Otto IV, who was supported by the pope. But he kind of sent mixed messages to Rome, because he also fought the Albigensians. (No one seems to consider the possibility that he may have disagreed with BOTH the emperor and the heretics!) By playing one side against the other, he managed to secure the bishopric of Cologne, a choice see. But he did take his ordination to the office seriously, exercising it with judgment and prudence. His excommunication lifted, he lived his personal life blamelessly. The people loved him for his generosity, despite his firmness. He encouraged peace and discouraged war. He welcomed the establishment of the Franciscans and Dominicans in his see. He supported the rightful king, and even ran the empire (Hohenstaufen) during the minority of King Henry when his father, Emperor Frederick II was away.
Meanwhile, Englebert's cousin, Count Frederick, was raiding the treasury of the convent in Essen. Englebert called him to repentance and restitution, and Frederick didn't take it well. He threatened revenge, and on November 7, 1225, he got it. Englebert was set upon while traveling and left with 47 stab wounds on his body. Cowardly Frederick had attacked him with 50 soldiers. Englebert was declared a martyr by the papal legate, Cardinal von Urach. He was never formally canonized. St. Englebert, pray for us.
Meanwhile, Englebert's cousin, Count Frederick, was raiding the treasury of the convent in Essen. Englebert called him to repentance and restitution, and Frederick didn't take it well. He threatened revenge, and on November 7, 1225, he got it. Englebert was set upon while traveling and left with 47 stab wounds on his body. Cowardly Frederick had attacked him with 50 soldiers. Englebert was declared a martyr by the papal legate, Cardinal von Urach. He was never formally canonized. St. Englebert, pray for us.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Today November 6
Today is the feast of the good knight Illtud, aka Illtyd, (sixth century), one of the greatest of the Welsh saints. He was said to be a cousin of King Arthur and served as a knight in Glamorgan. He married the fair Trynihid, but after a traumatic experience when he witnessed the death of his hunting buddies in an accident, agreed to live in a continent marriage with her. They left their comfortable upper middle-class life to live in a simple hut down by the river Nadafan. They lived together for awhile, then Illtud became a monk and eventually a teacher and abbot at Glamorgan. He and his brother monks worked hard building the monastery (Llantwit Major) from the ground up, farming the land all around, and teaching the children who came to them. Eventually the place became too small, but then a great sign occurred. The land deeded to them was very limited, hemmed in by the sea. But Illtud took his pupils Paul, David, Samson and Gildas, and began praying. And at the sound of their collective "Amen," "behold, the island was made bigger on every side and bright flowers blossomed everywhere." - Life of Gildas.
Was Illtud one of the three knights of Arthur (along with Cadoc and Peredor) who had charge of the Holy Grail? Probably not. But it's an interesting idea. Attempts have been made to identify him with the gallant Sir Galahad. Whether or not he was the famous knight, he was a great saint. St. Illtud, pray for us.
Was Illtud one of the three knights of Arthur (along with Cadoc and Peredor) who had charge of the Holy Grail? Probably not. But it's an interesting idea. Attempts have been made to identify him with the gallant Sir Galahad. Whether or not he was the famous knight, he was a great saint. St. Illtud, pray for us.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Today November 5
Today is the traditional feast of Saints Elizabeth and Zachary, parents of St. John the Baptist. We know a bit about them: Zachary was a priest from a town four miles southwest of Jerusalem, he was in the eighth group under the high priest Abia, he and his wife Elizabeth were childless. They were not "child-free" as my "childless by choice" friend calls it! Yes, you may have more money and more freedom as a childless couple, but you go without a treasure and a blessing no amount of money can buy. "Give me children or I shall die!" says Rachel (Gen. 30:1). Just as one cannot buy love, so one cannot buy children . . . not really. "Were a man to offer all he owns to purchase love, he would be roundly mocked." (Song 8:7) But you can pray for them, and so they prayed for many years.
And so one day, in 7 BC, when all the world was at peace, Zachary went in to the ante-room of the Holy of Holies to offer incense and suddenly there appeared an angel. "Do not be afraid," he said, "Thy prayer has been heard, and thy wife Elizabeth is to bear thee a son, to whom thou shalt give the name of John." (Luke 1:13). The name "John" was itself a sign, meaning "Yahweh has shown mercy." But Zachary demanded a sign, and was one ever given him! He was struck dumb. Although *I* think it's a sign of God's sense of humor, the Angelus Book of Saints says it was "a sign which served also to purify his faith." Then he went home and through the use of sign language and a wax tablet, he related to Elizabeth the good news. Then they awaited the birth of their child. Wait a minute. I think they skipped something there! :)
When the child was born (with the help of the Blessed Virgin Mary who was visiting -- kind of a "working vacation" for her, don't you think?), they were going to name the child after the grandfather (the Jews didn't cotton much to "juniors," to avoid confusion with the fathers). But then Zachary wrote the immortal words: "His name is John." And his tongue was loosed and he gave us the wonderful prayer the "Benedictus." Then he and Elizabeth settled down to watch their beloved son grow "and his spirit achieved strength." Saints Zachary and Elizabeth, pray for us.
And so one day, in 7 BC, when all the world was at peace, Zachary went in to the ante-room of the Holy of Holies to offer incense and suddenly there appeared an angel. "Do not be afraid," he said, "Thy prayer has been heard, and thy wife Elizabeth is to bear thee a son, to whom thou shalt give the name of John." (Luke 1:13). The name "John" was itself a sign, meaning "Yahweh has shown mercy." But Zachary demanded a sign, and was one ever given him! He was struck dumb. Although *I* think it's a sign of God's sense of humor, the Angelus Book of Saints says it was "a sign which served also to purify his faith." Then he went home and through the use of sign language and a wax tablet, he related to Elizabeth the good news. Then they awaited the birth of their child. Wait a minute. I think they skipped something there! :)
When the child was born (with the help of the Blessed Virgin Mary who was visiting -- kind of a "working vacation" for her, don't you think?), they were going to name the child after the grandfather (the Jews didn't cotton much to "juniors," to avoid confusion with the fathers). But then Zachary wrote the immortal words: "His name is John." And his tongue was loosed and he gave us the wonderful prayer the "Benedictus." Then he and Elizabeth settled down to watch their beloved son grow "and his spirit achieved strength." Saints Zachary and Elizabeth, pray for us.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Today November 4
Today is the feast of St. Charles Borromeo (1538 - 1584). This son of a count and nephew of a priest was made a cardinal when he was only 22 . . . and a layman! He was tempted -- encouraged, even -- to stay that way. After all, he had numerous benefices (including Bologna, Romagna and the beautiful Marches of Ancona), enjoyed physical exercise (especially hunting), and playing the cello (it's always amazing when a leader can "do" something, like play an instrument, isn't it?), and kept busy with his family's affairs. But he was also devout and listened to a call to the priesthood, to which he was accepted in 1563. Two months later he was consecrated bishop of Milan but was not allowed to go to his diocese for he was needed in Rome. He was secretary of state for his uncle, Pope Pius IV. And when the new pope, Pope St. Pius V, was chosen, he was obliged to stay longer.
He begged the new Pope to let him leave to attend to his diocese, convinced as he was of the evil of absenteeism, which after he went to his (spiritually) broken-down diocese, he was even more convinced. He entered in honor and triumph, being hailed as a "new Ambrose," both for his piety and power and for his splendid appearance. (And he did cut a handsome figure, clean-shaven and well-groomed as he was. You could not believe how much animosity he endured for insisting that the clergy be clean-shaven, as he felt that beards were a sign of worldliness. The priests and monks, on the other hand, thought a smooth chin was "effeminate" - Butler's Lives. Believe it or not, it was one of the factors contributing to the assassination attempt against him.)
When he took office (never to be completely absent again, although he made his visits to Rome and as "visitor apostolic" to Switzerland), he said: "We begin reform by first reforming ourselves." He took as his motto "To do and to teach." Wearing his cardinals' garb by day and a single, old cassock by night, he did not spare himself as he labored to shape up his lax clergy, dissolute monks and ignorant flock. He was known as "the Apostle of the Council of Trent" for his sheer faithfulness in putting into practice every doctrine and defending every dogma in that great Church council. Although he was wise and learned, he did not think himself too important to discuss theology with mere women, and mere housewives at that! He was vigorous in defense of the purity of the liturgy and especially protected his own Milanese rite (different from -- but not opposed to -- the Roman). He was vigorous in his reform of the Humiliati, an order small in numbers and rich, very rich, in possessions. They didn't like being called to accountability, so one of their number shot him while he was saying evening prayer in his chapel. It was right at the point when he said "It is time therefore that I return to Him that sent me" and you can believe it shook him up. The bullet was deflected by his thick vestments, thank God. He retired to the Carthusian monastery for three days to recover and to pray.
His final end came at home right after he celebrated Mass for All Souls' Day. He knew he was dying, even though it came as somewhat of a shock to others. His final words were "Ecce venio," . . . "Behold I come." Fitting words for a true man of God. St. Charles, pray for us.
He begged the new Pope to let him leave to attend to his diocese, convinced as he was of the evil of absenteeism, which after he went to his (spiritually) broken-down diocese, he was even more convinced. He entered in honor and triumph, being hailed as a "new Ambrose," both for his piety and power and for his splendid appearance. (And he did cut a handsome figure, clean-shaven and well-groomed as he was. You could not believe how much animosity he endured for insisting that the clergy be clean-shaven, as he felt that beards were a sign of worldliness. The priests and monks, on the other hand, thought a smooth chin was "effeminate" - Butler's Lives. Believe it or not, it was one of the factors contributing to the assassination attempt against him.)
When he took office (never to be completely absent again, although he made his visits to Rome and as "visitor apostolic" to Switzerland), he said: "We begin reform by first reforming ourselves." He took as his motto "To do and to teach." Wearing his cardinals' garb by day and a single, old cassock by night, he did not spare himself as he labored to shape up his lax clergy, dissolute monks and ignorant flock. He was known as "the Apostle of the Council of Trent" for his sheer faithfulness in putting into practice every doctrine and defending every dogma in that great Church council. Although he was wise and learned, he did not think himself too important to discuss theology with mere women, and mere housewives at that! He was vigorous in defense of the purity of the liturgy and especially protected his own Milanese rite (different from -- but not opposed to -- the Roman). He was vigorous in his reform of the Humiliati, an order small in numbers and rich, very rich, in possessions. They didn't like being called to accountability, so one of their number shot him while he was saying evening prayer in his chapel. It was right at the point when he said "It is time therefore that I return to Him that sent me" and you can believe it shook him up. The bullet was deflected by his thick vestments, thank God. He retired to the Carthusian monastery for three days to recover and to pray.
His final end came at home right after he celebrated Mass for All Souls' Day. He knew he was dying, even though it came as somewhat of a shock to others. His final words were "Ecce venio," . . . "Behold I come." Fitting words for a true man of God. St. Charles, pray for us.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Today November 3
Although today is the feast of the wonderful Saint Martin de Porres, biracial Dominican brother, a kind of New World St. Francis of Assisi and patron of racial justice, we are going to go with the OTHER, and much more misunderstood saint of the day, St. Malachy (1095 - 1148). I say "misunderstood," because the so-called "prophecies of St. Malachy" are entirely spurious. They were "found" in 1595 by Dom Arnold de Wyon, OSB, and remarkable in their "fulfillment" up to and including the popes of 1590 (including even their Italian family names), but remarkably vague for all the popes thereafter. The prophecies are a list of all the popes from Peter to the so-called "Peter the Roman," the supposed last pope. Now you know. (The "prophecies of St. Malachy" only contain the supposed list of popes and are not universal like the so-called prophecies of Nostradamus. And no, they have nothing to do with our St. Malachy.)
St. Malachy, or Mael Maedoc Ua Morgair in Gaelic, was an introverted child, a gifted student, who, not surprisingly, after the death of his parents, went to live with a hermit. But others recognized his apparent gifts and called him forth to consider being a priest. He heard the call and became a priest a full five years earlier than normal. Heck, he was a full-fledged bishop by the age of 30! He was committed to the charity of reforming a good part of Ireland, starting with his hometown of Armagh. "[He was] setting fire to brambles and thorns and laying the axe to the root of worthless trees." And there were many. The scourge of the invading Danes ravaged both the land the people's faith, so Malachy, armed with a combination of severity and sweetness, sought to clear out the rot and rebuild the remnant.
St. Malachy performed many miracles, for example, the healing of a madwoman from St. Michael's Catholic Church. He also cured a mute girl at Cruggleton, and a cripple who was rolled in to him on a cart and walked home on her own two feet. He healed a crazy boy in Ireland and a prince (Prince Henry, son of King David) in Scotland. And a well-attested miracle involved the raising of a dead woman in Bangor. She was dying, but when she saw St. Malachy, she revived a little, so they put off the Sacrament of the Sick. Not much later, when Malachy happened to be out of the room, the woman died. Malachy blamed himself and prayed, "I beseech Thee, O Lord, for I have acted foolishly. It is I who have sinned, I who have deferred. It was not she; she desired it." So, instead of anointing her with oil, he anointed her with his tears. He advised his disciples to "Watch and pray!" and they stayed up all night with the body. With morning came the miracle: the woman rose, took a deep breath, rubbed and opened her eyes. Not only was she resuscitated; she was healed. She died years later, and had the benefit of the sacraments before she died.
Malachy died in the arms of his great good friend, St. Bernard of Clairvaux on November 2, 1148. St. Bernard, who preached his funeral (and his anniversary Mass, one year later), was so moved by the witness of his friend's life, he wrote a book about him, from which much of our information comes. St. Malachy, pray for us.
St. Malachy, or Mael Maedoc Ua Morgair in Gaelic, was an introverted child, a gifted student, who, not surprisingly, after the death of his parents, went to live with a hermit. But others recognized his apparent gifts and called him forth to consider being a priest. He heard the call and became a priest a full five years earlier than normal. Heck, he was a full-fledged bishop by the age of 30! He was committed to the charity of reforming a good part of Ireland, starting with his hometown of Armagh. "[He was] setting fire to brambles and thorns and laying the axe to the root of worthless trees." And there were many. The scourge of the invading Danes ravaged both the land the people's faith, so Malachy, armed with a combination of severity and sweetness, sought to clear out the rot and rebuild the remnant.
St. Malachy performed many miracles, for example, the healing of a madwoman from St. Michael's Catholic Church. He also cured a mute girl at Cruggleton, and a cripple who was rolled in to him on a cart and walked home on her own two feet. He healed a crazy boy in Ireland and a prince (Prince Henry, son of King David) in Scotland. And a well-attested miracle involved the raising of a dead woman in Bangor. She was dying, but when she saw St. Malachy, she revived a little, so they put off the Sacrament of the Sick. Not much later, when Malachy happened to be out of the room, the woman died. Malachy blamed himself and prayed, "I beseech Thee, O Lord, for I have acted foolishly. It is I who have sinned, I who have deferred. It was not she; she desired it." So, instead of anointing her with oil, he anointed her with his tears. He advised his disciples to "Watch and pray!" and they stayed up all night with the body. With morning came the miracle: the woman rose, took a deep breath, rubbed and opened her eyes. Not only was she resuscitated; she was healed. She died years later, and had the benefit of the sacraments before she died.
Malachy died in the arms of his great good friend, St. Bernard of Clairvaux on November 2, 1148. St. Bernard, who preached his funeral (and his anniversary Mass, one year later), was so moved by the witness of his friend's life, he wrote a book about him, from which much of our information comes. St. Malachy, pray for us.
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