As the genuine religious impulse becomes dominant, adoration more and more takes charge. "I come to seek God because I read more

As the genuine religious impulse becomes dominant, adoration more and more takes charge. "I come to seek God because I need Him", may be an adequate formula for prayer. "I come to adore His splendour, and fling myself and all that I have at His feet", is the only possible formula for worship.

Feast of Luke the Evangelist He is my Altar, I His holy place; I am His guest, and He my read more

Feast of Luke the Evangelist He is my Altar, I His holy place; I am His guest, and He my living food; I'm His by penitence, He is mine by grace; I'm His by purchase, He is mine by blood; He's my supporting elm, and I His vine: Thus I my Best-beloved's am; thus He is mine.

Commemoration of Swithun, Bishop of Winchester, c.862 Commemoration of Bonaventure, Franciscan Friar, Bishop, Peacemaker, 1274 The Christ of God read more

Commemoration of Swithun, Bishop of Winchester, c.862 Commemoration of Bonaventure, Franciscan Friar, Bishop, Peacemaker, 1274 The Christ of God was not then first crucified when the Jews brought Him to the Cross; but Adam and Eve were His first real murderers; for the death which happened to them in the day when they did eat of the earthly tree was the death of the Christ of God or the divine life in their souls. For Christ had never come into the world as a second Adam to redeem it, had He not been originally the life and perfection and glory of the first Adam.

[Johannes] Brahms chose his own texts [for his German Requiem] from Luther's Bible to illustrate the Protestant conviction that man read more

[Johannes] Brahms chose his own texts [for his German Requiem] from Luther's Bible to illustrate the Protestant conviction that man must hear and respond to God's word in man's own language, and that every believer must be free to deal with the Biblical text apart from priestly veto... For the word "German" he would gladly have substituted the word "human" because he was concerned to comment on "the primary text of human existence," finding there, as in the Bible, the universal themes of suffering and joy.

Pardon comes not to the soul alone; or rather, Christ comes not to the soul with pardon only! It is read more

Pardon comes not to the soul alone; or rather, Christ comes not to the soul with pardon only! It is that which He opens the door and enters by, but He comes with a Spirit of life and power.

We say, not lightly but very literally, that the truth has made us free. They say that it makes us read more

We say, not lightly but very literally, that the truth has made us free. They say that it makes us so free that it cannot be the truth. To them it is like believing in fairyland to believe in such freedom as we enjoy. It is like believing in men with wings to entertain the fancy of men with wills. It is like accepting a fable about a squirrel in conversation with a mountain to believe in a man who is free to ask or a God who is free to answer. This is a manly and a rational negation, for which I for one shall always show respect. But I decline to show any respect for those who first of all clip the bird and cage the squirrel, rivet the chains and refuse the freedom, close all the doors of the cosmic prison on us with a clang of eternal iron, tell us that our emancipation is a dream and our dungeon a necessity; and then calmly turn round and tell us they have a freer thought and a more liberal theology.

But, you object, a heart like mine can offer Christ so little -- at best, so poor and pinched and read more

But, you object, a heart like mine can offer Christ so little -- at best, so poor and pinched and stingey a hospitality and such meagre fare; for I have nothing worthy of Him to set before Him, only a kind of affection, real enough at times, but which, at others, can and does so easily forget; only a will, quite unreliable, deplorably unstable; only a faith that is the merest shadow of what His real friends mean when they speak about faith, I know. But, there was once a garret up under the roof, a poor, bare place enough. There was a table in it, and there were some benches, and a water-pot; a towel, and a basin in behind the door, but not much else -- a bare, unhomelike room. But the Lord Christ entered into it. And, from that moment, it became the holiest of all, where souls innumerable ever since have met the Lord God, in High glory, face to face. And, if you give Him entrance to that very ordinary heart of yours, it too He will transform and sanctify and touch with a splendour of glory.

Feast of All Saints No doubt the gospel is quite free, as free as the Victoria Cross, which anyone read more

Feast of All Saints No doubt the gospel is quite free, as free as the Victoria Cross, which anyone can have who is prepared to face the risks; but it means time, and pains, and concentrating all one's energies upon a mighty project. You will not stroll into Christlikeness with your hands in your pockets, shoving the door open with a careless shoulder. This is no hobby for one's leisure moments, taken up at intervals when we have nothing much to do, and put down and forgotten when our life grows full and interesting... It takes all one's strength, and all one's heart, and all one's mind, and all one's soul, given freely and recklessly and without restraint. This is a business for adventurous spirits; others would shrink out of it. And so Christ had a way of pulling up would-be recruits with sobering and disconcerting questions, of meeting applicants -- breathless and panting in their eagerness -- by asking them if they really thought they had the grit, the stamina, the gallantry, required. For many, He explained, begin, but quickly become cowed, and slink away, leaving a thing unfinished as a pathetic monument of their own lack of courage and of staying power.

Commemoration of John Bosco, Priest, Founder of the Salesian Teaching Order, 1888 Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells read more

Commemoration of John Bosco, Priest, Founder of the Salesian Teaching Order, 1888 Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells That the wind sways above a ruined shrine. Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells Hunger that craves immortal Bread and Wine. Light songs we breathe, that perish with our breath, Out of our lips that have not kissed the rod. They shall not live who have not tasted death. They only sing who are struck dumb by God.