As a child,
Gathering flowers in a meadow,
I spend these hours
By your side, dear Mother.
Happily, you kiss each bloom,
I offer, playfully, to our lips.
Bunching them as a bouquet,
I press them into your hands,
And you, as mother’s do,
Press them to your heart.
Copyright 2014 Joann Nelander
In prayer,
I dig my well deeper.
I count it all joy,
Though sorrow may seep
Through my walls.
Bubbling up,
Through muddy ground,
Pure and fresh
With hope,
Pure water emerges,
Gladdening as an eternal spring..
I am become,
A drink of water,
Drawn by the stranger,
Who meets me in his thirst.
Copyright 2014 Joann Nelander
http://www.discerninghearts.com/?p=12521
Joann Nelander
lionessblog.com
From the homily at the canonization of the martyrs of Uganda by Pope Paul VI
The glory of the martyrs—a sign of rebirthThe African martyrs add another page to the martyrology — the Church’s roll of honor — an occasion both of mourning and of joy. This is a page worthy in every way to be added to the annals of that Africa of earlier which we, living in this era and being men of little faith, never expected to be repeated.
In earlier times there occurred those famous deeds, so moving to the spirit, of the martyrs of Scilli, of Carthage, and of that “white robed army” of Utica commemorated by Saint Augustine and Prudentius; of the martyrs of Egypt so highly praised by Saint John Chrysostom, and of the martyrs of the Vandal persecution. Who would have thought that in our days we should have witnessed events as heroic and glorious?
Who could have predicted to the famous African confessors and martyrs such as Cyprian, Felicity, Perpetua and—the greatest of all—Augustine, that we would one day add names so dear to us as Charles Lwanga and Matthias Mulumba Kalemba and their twenty companions? Nor must we forget those members of the Anglican Church who also died for the name of Christ.
These African martyrs herald the dawn of a new age. If only the mind of man might be directed not toward persecutions and religious conflicts but toward a rebirth of Christianity and civilization!
Africa has been washed by the blood of these latest martyrs, the first of this new age (and, God willing, let them be the last, although such a holocaust is precious indeed). Africa is reborn free and independent.The infamous crime by which these young men were put to death was so unspeakable and so expressive of the times. It shows us clearly that a new people needs a moral foundation, needs new spiritual customs firmly planted, to be handed down to posterity. Symbolically, this crime also reveals that a simple and rough way of life—enriched by many fine human qualities yet enslaved by its own weakness and corruption—must give way to a more civilized life wherein the higher expressions of the mind and better social conditions prevail.
It’s time once again for Sunday Snippets. We are Catholic bloggers sharing weekly our best posts with one another. Join us to read and/or contribute. To participate, go to your blog and create a post titled Sunday Snippets–A Catholic Carnival. Make sure that the post links back to here, and leave a link to your snippets post on our host, RAnn’s, site, This, That and the Other Thing.
My Posts for the week:
EASTER MORN
Holy Mother Mary,
I invite Your presence in my life.
As you look on my days,
Listen to my prayers,
Watch my growth through the years,
Touch me with the graces
Of.your Motherly prerogative,
You who walked the way of the Cross
With your Holy Son,
From the instant of His Incarnation
In your sacred womb,
Be beside me
In my every moment.
Meet me in my joys and sorrows
And impart your maternal blessing.
May my soul grow holy,
As you rush to lift me,
When I fall,
Just as you interceded
For Jesus in His Passion.
He fell under the weight of my sins,
And you cried out to heaven.
Hear now my heart
Beseeching thee.
Standing by His Cross,
See me in His Suffering
And receive me as your own.
Take the moments,
And all the years,
Of my existence,
In your arms,
As you did the Body of your Son,
When He was lowered from His Cross.
He wrought my Salvation
In that fearsome Hour.
Wrap my years in His shroud
And when I wake,
Rejoice in this,
My Easter morn.
