There is a delicacy of old
With which men speak to one another.
Though, approaching from the farthest ends,
Never meeting in the middle,
Yet, do they honor one another,
In their humanity.They offer the gift of presence,
Gifting to the other
An open ear
That wills to hear.To do the Good
For the sake of Good,
To forge the best of thought
For presentation at the gate
Is the beginning of our holy end.Though all men be wrong
In varying degrees,
There is something right
In putting down one’s arms
To meet as warring friends,
In hope and trust
That they serve a higher call,
When men do speak of peace.Who is honored by this respect,
If not the Maker of all Men,
Who alone can change
Hearts of stone to flesh,
Making them like unto His own.By Joann Nelander
Tag Archives: Catholic
Prayer and the Indwelling Christ
Your gaze have made it very easy,
praying that is.
Yet, for such as me,
it’s still very hard,
not seeing You across the table.Your eyes follow me.
I know You hear me.
“It’s not You, it’s me”,
as faulting lovers say.Your gaze never leaves me,
I can feel it
in the depths of my being.
I am never alone.You wait,
as I turn to trifles,
or beat down troublesome giants.
You dwell upon my last words,
feeling my joy or pain
through every season of my soul.Though my words can stop mid-sentence
or conversation cease,
still You know the whole.
With the patience of eternity, my God waits.Eventually, I turn back to You.
Your eyes sear my soul,
O, that my heart could return that gaze.On the best of days,
unless You bind me to You, I flit.
A thousand trumpets vie for my ear
and I am torn.New love has a magic,
erasing the world, and becoming all.
Re-ignite that flame in me
To shut out causes, fears and strife.Your Presence felt is strength and consolation,
Your tug is joy
and Your conversation sweetness.
If pain be the messenger
that draws me back to You,
so be it.
Better the torment of an earthly purgatory
than the foretaste of hell.If it seems I sit at our table alone,
the note of sadness betrays the truth.
I miss you and the missing is from You.
You beckon anew.Sup with me.
Dwell with me.
Gaze on me.
I am not alone.
My Christ is with me.By Joann Nelander
Being
Hide me, hold me, help me,
Living Rock of my being.
You, Truest Truth,
No mere symbol,
But Holy Being,
Are Ground of my being.
Creating with a word, the world,
You speak my name,
And, moment by moment,
Sustain my being.
Christ, my Rock,
May I forever be in Thee.
© 2015 Joann Nelander
Your Face
Your Face
You sought solitude and prayer.
In silence, I seek You.
You sought communion with Your Father
I long to see His Face.
You, my Jesus, are that Holy Face.
I set You before the eyes of my heart.
Copyright 2015 Joann Nelander
Heart Afire
Jesus, Heart Afire,
Furnace blazing,
Fueled by Love,
Burning without consuming,
Radiant heat,
And all pervading.
Soul, drawn to escape
The hell of Darkness,
With an exchange
Of holy vows.
Free to flee,
Though enraptured
By superior desire.
Created One,
Of two natures,
Once at peace,
Fallen, then to warring,
Barred from Eden’s gate.
Blazing Promise
And Redemption,
Offering Sin’s undoing,
Constant in Your wooing.
Creat anew,
As once in Paradise,
Purified and restored
Exceeding recognition.
Raised beyond perfection,
Melted, purged,
Merged, and welded,
Seamless life as Mother’s garment.
To live now
In Thee,
For Thee,
Through Thee.
Knowing All
In knowing Thee.
Two natures,
Now at Peace
Both lost,
And found,
In Loving Thee.
Copyright Joann Nelander 2011
All rights reserved
Invite the Angels and Saints
I’ll be headed out the door in a few minutes to attend the Mass. It amazes me that year after year I have been given the grace to participate in daily mass. It is a great blessing especially since I am no saint. I’m slogging it out here below hoping one day that Jesus will call me and bid me come to Him that with angels and saints I might be with Him forever.
Sometimes at communion, I am overjoyed but most often my feelings are like those expressed by the Little Flower. Would that my response also be as hers.
What can I tell you, dear Mother, about my thanksgivings after Communion? There is no time when I taste less consolation. But this is what I should expect. I desire to receive Our Lord, not for my own satisfaction, but simply to give Him pleasure. I picture my soul as a piece of waste ground and beg Our Blessed Lady to take away my imperfections–which are as heaps of rubbish–and to build upon it a splendid tabernacle worthy of Heaven, and adorn it with her own adornments. Then I invite all the Angels and Saints to come and sing canticles of love, and it seems to me that Jesus is well pleased to see Himself received so grandly, and I share in His joy. But all this does not prevent distractions and drowsiness from troubling me, and not unfrequently I resolve to continue my thanksgiving throughout the day, since I made it so badly in choir. You see, dear Mother, that my way is not the way of fear; I can always make myself happy, and profit by my imperfections, and Our Lord Himself encourages me in this path.”
Be Holy! 