Whoever strives to withdraw from obedience, withdraws from grace.

Whoever strives to withdraw from obedience, withdraws from grace.

Feast of Joseph of Nazareth O Lord our God, Who has called us to serve You, In the read more

Feast of Joseph of Nazareth O Lord our God, Who has called us to serve You, In the midst of the world's affairs, When we stumble, hold us; When we fall, lift us up; When we are hard pressed with evil, deliver us; When we turn from what is good, turn us back; And bring us at last to Your glory.

Life is an adventure in forgiveness.

Life is an adventure in forgiveness.

Feast of Leo the Great, Bishop of Rome, 461 How wonderful it is -- is it not? -- read more

Feast of Leo the Great, Bishop of Rome, 461 How wonderful it is -- is it not? -- that literally only Christianity has taught us the true place and function of suffering. The Stoics tried the hopeless little game of denying its objective reality, or of declaring it a good in itself (which it never is); and the Pessimists attempted to revel in it, as a food to their melancholy, and as something that can no more be transformed than it can be avoided or explained. But Christ came, and He did not really explain it; He did far more: He met it, willed it, transformed it; and He taught us to do all this -- or, rather, He Himself does it within us, if we do not hinder the all-healing hands.

Yet still a sad, good Christian at the heart.

Yet still a sad, good Christian at the heart.

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 A Better Resurrection I have no wit, no words, no tears; My heart read more

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 A Better Resurrection I have no wit, no words, no tears; My heart within me like a stone Is numbed too much for hopes or fears. Look right, look left, I dwell alone; I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief No everlasting hills I see; My life is in the falling leaf: O Jesus, quicken me. My life is like a faded leaf, My harvest dwindled to a husk: Truly my life is void and brief And tedious in the barren dusk; My life is like a frozen thing, No bud nor greenness can I see: Yet rise it shall--the sap of spring; O Jesus, rise in me. My life is like a broken bowl, A broken bowl that cannot hold One drop of water for my soul Or cordial in the searching cold; Cast in the fire the perished thing; Melt and remould it, till it be A royal cup for Him, my King: O Jesus, drink of me.

Commemoration of Albrecht Dürer, artist, 1528, and Michelangelo Buonarrotti, artist, spiritual writer, 1564 It is my opinion that art read more

Commemoration of Albrecht Dürer, artist, 1528, and Michelangelo Buonarrotti, artist, spiritual writer, 1564 It is my opinion that art lost its basic creative drive the moment it was separated from worship. It severed an umbilical cord... In former days the artist remained unknown and his work was to the glory of God... Today the individual has become the highest form and the greatest bane of artistic creation.

Forgiveness is the economy of the heart... forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, the waste of read more

Forgiveness is the economy of the heart... forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, the waste of spirits.

Feast of Agnes, Child Martyr at Rome, 304 Love is careful of little things, of circumstances and measures, and read more

Feast of Agnes, Child Martyr at Rome, 304 Love is careful of little things, of circumstances and measures, and of little accidents; not allowing to itself any infirmity which it strives not to master, aiming at what it cannot yet reach, desiring to be of an angelic purity, and of a perfect innocence, and a seraphical fervor, and fears every image of offense; is as much afflicted at an idle word as some at an act of adultery, and will not allow to itself so much anger as will disturb a child, nor endure the impurity of a dream. And this is the curiosity and niceness of divine love: this is the fear of God, and is the daughter and production of love.