Christmas Eve High o'er the lonely hills black turns to gray, Bird-song the valley fills, mists fold away Gray wakes read more

Christmas Eve High o'er the lonely hills black turns to gray, Bird-song the valley fills, mists fold away Gray wakes to green again, Beauty is seen again, Gold and serene again dawneth the day. So, o'er the hills of life, stormy, forlorn, Out of the cloud and strife sunrise is born; Swift grows the light for us, Ended is night for us, Soundless and bright for us breaketh God's morn. Hear we no beat of drums, fanfare, nor cry, When Christ the herald comes quietly nigh; Splendor He makes on earth; Color awakes on earth; Suddenly breaks on earth light from the sky. Bid then farewell to sleep: rise up and run! What though the hill be steep? Strength's in the sun. Now you shall find at last Night's left behind at last, And for mankind at last, Day has begun!

Repentance is but a kind of table-talk, till we see so much of the deformity of our inward nature as read more

Repentance is but a kind of table-talk, till we see so much of the deformity of our inward nature as to be in some degree frightened and terrified at the sight of it... A plausible form of an outward life, that has only learned rules and modes of religion by use and custom, often keeps the soul for some time at ease, though all its inward root and ground of sin has never been shaken or molested, though it has never tasted of the bitter waters of repentance and has only known the want of a Saviour by hearsay. But things cannot pass thus: sooner or later repentance must have a broken and a contrite heart; we must with our blessed Lord go over the brook Cedron, and with Him sweat great drops of sorrow before He can say for us, as He said for Himself: "It is finished.".

Feast of English Saints & Martyrs of the Reformation God is always present, always available. At whatever moment read more

Feast of English Saints & Martyrs of the Reformation God is always present, always available. At whatever moment in which one turns to him the prayer is received, is heard, is authenticated, for it is God who gives our prayer its value and its character, not our interior dispositions, not our fervor, not our lucidity. The prayer which is pronounced for God and accepted by him becomes, by that very fact, a true prayer.

Since such uncultivated and rude simplicity inspires greater reverence for itself than any eloquence, what ought one to conclude except read more

Since such uncultivated and rude simplicity inspires greater reverence for itself than any eloquence, what ought one to conclude except that the force of Sacred Scripture is manifestly too powerful to need the art of words?

We [must not] underestimate the enormity of the claim [made by the Jews]. Again and again in the Pentateuch, the read more

We [must not] underestimate the enormity of the claim [made by the Jews]. Again and again in the Pentateuch, the psalms, the prophets, and the subsequent writings which derive from them, the claim is made that the creator of the entire universe has chosen to live uniquely on a small ridge called Mount Zion, near the eastern edge of the Judean hill-country. The sheer absurdity of this claim, from the standpoint of any other worldview (not least that of Enlightenment philosophy), is staggering. The fact that Assyria, Egypt, Babylon, Persia, Greece, Egypt again, Syria and now Rome had made explicit mockery of the idea did not shake this conviction, but only intensified it. This was what Jewish monotheism looked like on the ground.

Commemoration of Cecilia, Martyr at Rome, c.230 Commemoration of Clive Staples Lewis, Spiritual Writer, 1963 The faint, far-off results read more

Commemoration of Cecilia, Martyr at Rome, c.230 Commemoration of Clive Staples Lewis, Spiritual Writer, 1963 The faint, far-off results of those energies which God's creative rapture implanted in matter when He made the worlds are what we now call physical pleasures; and even thus filtered, they are too much for our present management. What would it be to taste at the fountain-head that stream of which even these lower reaches prove so intoxicating? Yet that, I believe, is what lies before us. As St. Augustine said, the rapture of the saved soul will "flow over" into the glorified body. In the light of our present specialized and depraved appetites, we cannot imagine this [torrent of pleasure], and I warn everyone most seriously not to try. But it must be mentioned, to drive out thoughts even more misleading--thoughts that what is saved is a mere ghost, or that the risen body lives in numb insensibility. The body is made for the Lord, and these dismal fancies are wide of the mark.

Feast of Lawrence, Deacon at Rome, Martyr, 258 Have you stopped seeing great things happen in your life? read more

Feast of Lawrence, Deacon at Rome, Martyr, 258 Have you stopped seeing great things happen in your life? Perhaps you have stopped believing that God can work in a mighty way even in our generation.

Feast of All Saints What changed these very ordinary men (who were such cowards that they did not dare read more

Feast of All Saints What changed these very ordinary men (who were such cowards that they did not dare stand too near the cross in case they got involved) into heroes who would stop at nothing? A swindle? Hallucination? Spooky nonsense in a darkened room? Or Somebody quietly doing what He said He'd do -- walk right through death? What do YOU think?

My windows open to the autumn night, In vain I watched for sleep to visit me, How should sleep dull read more

My windows open to the autumn night, In vain I watched for sleep to visit me, How should sleep dull mine ears, and dim my sight, Who saw the stars, and listened to the sea? Ah, how the City of our God is fair! If, without sea, and starless though it be, For joy of the majestic beauty there, Men shall not miss the stars, nor mourn the sea.