The pure eye for the true vision of another's claims can only go with the loving heart. The man who hates can hardly be delicate in doing Justice, say to his neighbor's love, to his neighbor's predilections and peculiarities. It is hard enough to be just to our friends; and how shall our enemies fare with us?
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Commemoration of Douglas Downes, Founder of the Society of Saint Francis, 1957 Who seeks for heaven alone to read more
Commemoration of Douglas Downes, Founder of the Society of Saint Francis, 1957 Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul May keep the path, but will not reach the goal; While he who walks in love may wander far, Yet God will bring him where the blessed are.
In the Bible, faith is a mixture of trust and trustworthiness. To have complete confidence in God makes a man read more
In the Bible, faith is a mixture of trust and trustworthiness. To have complete confidence in God makes a man reliable. And, when someone never lets you down, you look instinctively for a deeper relationship.
It is important that those who read this book should not try to take an indecent advantage of Catholic self-criticism. read more
It is important that those who read this book should not try to take an indecent advantage of Catholic self-criticism. When we are willing to bring some honest criticism to our own positions, the lumbering Institution will become a Movement again, and we shall rediscover the Pilgrim Church.
The world is not divine sport, it is divine destiny. There is a divine meaning of the world, of man, read more
The world is not divine sport, it is divine destiny. There is a divine meaning of the world, of man, of human persons, of you and me.
The Gospels cannot explain the Resurrection; it is the Resurrection which alone explains the Gospels.
The Gospels cannot explain the Resurrection; it is the Resurrection which alone explains the Gospels.
Feast of Richard Hooker, Priest, Anglican Apologist, Teacher, 1600 Commemoration of Martin of Porres, Dominican Friar, 1639 It is, read more
Feast of Richard Hooker, Priest, Anglican Apologist, Teacher, 1600 Commemoration of Martin of Porres, Dominican Friar, 1639 It is, of course, impossible to exaggerate the importance of the historicity of what is commonly known as the Resurrection. If, after all His claims and promises, Christ had died and merely lived on as a fragrant memory, He would only be revered as an extremely good but profoundly mistaken man. His claims to be God, His claims to be Himself the very principle of life, would be mere self-delusion. His authoritative pronouncements on the nature of God and Man and Life would be at once suspect. Why should He be right about the lesser things, if He was proved to be completely wrong in the greater?
Feast of Etheldreda, Abbess of Ely, c.678 O for a closer walk with God, A calm and heavenly frame, read more
Feast of Etheldreda, Abbess of Ely, c.678 O for a closer walk with God, A calm and heavenly frame, A light to shine upon the road That leads me to the Lamb Return, O holy Dove, return, Sweet messenger of rest! I hate the sins that made Thee mourn And drove Thee from my breast The dearest idol I have known, Whate'er that idol be, Help me to tear it from Thy throne, And worship only Thee. So shall my walk be close with God, Calm and serene my frame; So purer light shall mark the road That leads me to the Lamb.
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.
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Feast of Stephen, Deacon, First Martyr The Mother sits by the rough-hewn byre where her Baby smiles, and the secret fire shines on her face. Her hand rests by an iron spike from the wood thrust high ("The nails in His hands!" ) An open chink in the rude, cold shed lets in the sky, and the Star that led shepherds and kings pours down its light: a silver shaft through the frosty night ("The spear in His side!") Her hands reach out, as to push away the cross-crowned hill and the bloody day; they touch a rough, unyielding wall: the stable side, of stone piled tall ("The stone -- rolled away!").
