Saint Lawrence of Brindisi was born in 1559 in southern Italy. As a young boy, he was heavily influenced by local Capuchins and became a friar in their order at age 16. Languages came supernaturally to him as he mastered Syriac, Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Italian, German, and French. Because of this, he influenced a breadth of people including; Rabbis, German reformists, and emerging Christians. Steeped in the spirit of Franciscan preaching, he layered practical teachings, a witness to life, upon his mastery of Sacred Scripture and theology. Able to balance Church and State; he was professor of theology, novice master and minister general in his Order as well as an envoy for peace for various diplomatic missions. This theological maturity was captured in his numerous writings and as such Saint Lawrence of Brindisi was declared a Doctor of the Church in 1959 by Pope John XXIII.

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Be perfect, You say.
“Be perfect, as the Father is perfect.”

“Perfection” is held before our eyes,
Hung in the heavens, like a star,
Like a luminous star,
As a star going before us,
Beckoning to us,
Inviting, “Come follow me.”

In the dark of Your Mystery,
We make ready,
We journey forth,
Answering a call,
A call written on the heart,
Engraved, as by prophetic fathers,
Beyond imagining,
More certain than Death’s curtain,
Far, far, greater than the cost.

“Perfection” begins life as a babe,
Bound in swaddling,
A law conceived in the soul,
Bidding trust,
Coaxing obedience.
“Come, follow Me”

Journey through the Night.
When you have done all,
Spent all,
Lay down your dreams,
Your treasure,
For the rest lies with the Heavenly Host.

Touching the earth once more
In celestial wonderment,
With a loving caress,
And a word of command,
Fulfilled, as it is spoken,
“Be perfect, as the Father is perfect”,
Angels whisper you home.

Sun Upon a Meadow

Sitting in the sunshine of Your Love,
I lift my heart,
That elevated by caring Angels,
As the arms of Moses by Aaron and Hur,
The battle for my soul,
May be won by grace.

Bathed in the perpetual rays of Mercy,
Streaming from Your Sacred Heart,
Held aloft in holy prayer,
With the memory,
And succor of Mother Mary,
I radiate all that I receive.

Source and summit of my being,
Deem to vouchsafe,
In gracious condescension,
The Image of Your Jesus,
Here to hallow, hold and share,
As Sun upon a meadow.

© 2016 Joann Nelander