The tragedies of this world take on their full meaning when one looks at life from a realistic point of view... We should not struggle against what has been decided by God. Men are only instruments, and if this seems obscure to those living in the world, it is not so for those who must share in this work of mercy. Certainly, it is not easy, and we must endure a very painful ordeal, but with the trial come graces, and then sadness is turned into joy.
Believe me, Mama, there is no injustice willingly accepted that does not bear fruit a hundredfold, and receive its just reward, prodigal beyond our comprehension. Do not think that all the sorrows that have overwhelmed our family in recent years are useless. On the contrary, they are necessary, in order that just reparation may be made, and that through this the love of Christ may be given us in all its fullness. The law of life is that some pay for others, young branches full of sap are cut back and old, unproductive boughs left in their place. This seems unjust, and it would be, if compensation far outweighing anything life could offer were not given to these victims, who are by the very fact privileged. Joy, then, not sadness! If life is worth living and if you feel weary and exhausted to the point of death, it is because your soul is famished for the life-giving nourishment which will yield unending joy.
It is only recently that I have come to understand the meaning of the cross. It is at once prodigious and atrocious: prodigious because it gives us life, and atrocious because if we do not accept to be crucified all life is denied us. This is a great mystery, and blessed are the persecuted.
--Jacques Fesch
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Villain, elle?, Daniel Gibbons
I am a burning book, a book of flame:
pale letters glow on skin-thin ash
an instant as your hand crumbles cinders, same.
If a book burns in the forest, without reader or name,
Is it no book, a glob of marks?—In its pages stashed:
“I am a burning book, a book of flame!”
Can I remember Sarajevo, who to blame
for a snow of black pages, a tabernacle hammered into trash,
even for an instant as I crumble cinders, same?
Whether in Caesar’s, Theophilus’, or Omar’s name,
In the slow grace of towers crumbling under some Alexander’s lash,
I am a burning book, a book of flame.
When a human burns in the salt womb (who’s to blame?)
of history, who among us will cast the first penitent ash
from an infant’s hand that has crumbled into cinders—same?
Haunted into sterile rooms, who will sign their names?
In quiet abattoirs, over mute cries with no past—shhh…
“I am a burning book, a book of flame
an instant, until my hand crumbles… cinders…”
Monday, June 4, 2012
The Tale of Two Cities
"I would ask you, dearest, to be very generous with him always, and very
lenient on his faults when he is not by. I would ask you to believe
that he has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are
deep wounds in it. My dear, I have seen it bleeding."
-The Tale of Two Cities, Book the Second: The Golden Thread, Chapter 20: A Plea
"There is nothing more to do," said he, glancing upward at the moon, "until to-morrow. I can't sleep."
It was not a reckless manner, the manner in which he said these words aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more expressive of negligence than defiance. It was the settled manner of a tired man, who had wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into his road and saw its end.
-The Tale of Two Cities, Book the Third: The Track of a Storm, Chapter 9: The Game Made
"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die."
Now, that the streets were quiet and the night wore on, the words were in the echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and steady, he sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he heard them always.
The night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to the water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the picturesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in the light of the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the sky. Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and died, and for a little while it seemed as if Creation were delivered over to Death's dominion.
But, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that burden of the night straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light appeared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled under it.
-The Tale of Two Cities, Book the Third: The Track of a Storm, Chapter 9: The Game Made
"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known."
-The Tale of Two Cities, Book the Third: The Track of a Storm, Chapter 15: The Footsteps Die Out For Ever
-The Tale of Two Cities, Book the Second: The Golden Thread, Chapter 20: A Plea
"There is nothing more to do," said he, glancing upward at the moon, "until to-morrow. I can't sleep."
It was not a reckless manner, the manner in which he said these words aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more expressive of negligence than defiance. It was the settled manner of a tired man, who had wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into his road and saw its end.
-The Tale of Two Cities, Book the Third: The Track of a Storm, Chapter 9: The Game Made
"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die."
Now, that the streets were quiet and the night wore on, the words were in the echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and steady, he sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he heard them always.
The night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to the water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the picturesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in the light of the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the sky. Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and died, and for a little while it seemed as if Creation were delivered over to Death's dominion.
But, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that burden of the night straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light appeared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled under it.
-The Tale of Two Cities, Book the Third: The Track of a Storm, Chapter 9: The Game Made
"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known."
-The Tale of Two Cities, Book the Third: The Track of a Storm, Chapter 15: The Footsteps Die Out For Ever
Sunday, April 1, 2012
The Veil of the Temple
Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh
...and Lord Marchmain made the sign of the cross. Then I knew that the sign I had asked for was not a little thing, not a passing not of recognition, and a phrase came back to me from my childhood of the veil of the temple being rent from top to bottom.
...and Lord Marchmain made the sign of the cross. Then I knew that the sign I had asked for was not a little thing, not a passing not of recognition, and a phrase came back to me from my childhood of the veil of the temple being rent from top to bottom.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Death and Resurrection
On account of the Lord's resurrection, the whole condition of death has been rendered insignificant.
Saint Peter Chrysologus
Saint Peter Chrysologus
Friday, December 23, 2011
Revelations 12:10-12
"Now have salvation and power come,
and the Kingdom of our God
and the authority of his Anointed.
For the accuser of our brothers is cast out,
who accuses them before our God day and night.
They conquered him by the Blood of the Lamb
and by the word of their testimony;
love for live did not deter them from death.
Therefore, rejoice, you heavens,
and you who dwell in them."
and the Kingdom of our God
and the authority of his Anointed.
For the accuser of our brothers is cast out,
who accuses them before our God day and night.
They conquered him by the Blood of the Lamb
and by the word of their testimony;
love for live did not deter them from death.
Therefore, rejoice, you heavens,
and you who dwell in them."
Monday, December 5, 2011
Where is your victory?
Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting? (1 Cor 15:55)
Easter
Where, O death, is your sting? (1 Cor 15:55)
Easter
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Philippians 2:6-11
Brothers and sisters:
Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God something to be grasped.
Rather, he emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
coming in human likeness;
and found human in appearance,
he humbled himself,
becoming obedient to death,
even death on a cross.
Because of this, God greatly exalted him
and bestowed on him the name
that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bend,
of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that
Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God something to be grasped.
Rather, he emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
coming in human likeness;
and found human in appearance,
he humbled himself,
becoming obedient to death,
even death on a cross.
Because of this, God greatly exalted him
and bestowed on him the name
that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bend,
of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that
Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
Suffering
When Peter objected to Jesus' prediction of his passion, he did not yet know the end of the story. Our faith, illuminated by the resurrection, is challenged to see the cross not as death but life, not as defeat but victory, not as tragedy but triumph. We can see that transformation in Jesus' story. Can we trust that it lies at the heart of our own?
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Stabat Mater
At the cross her station keeping,
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.
Through her heart, his sorrow sharing,
All his bitter anguish bearing,
Now at length the sword had passed.
Oh, how sad and sore distressed
Was that Mother highly blessed
Of the sole begotten One!
Christ above in torment hangs,
She beneath beholds the pangs
Of her dying, glorious Son.
Is there one who would not weep,
'Whelmed in miseries so deep,
Christ's dear Mother to behold?
Can the human heart refrain
From partaking in her pain,
In that mother's pain untold?
Bruised, derided, cursed, defiled,
She beheld her tender Child,
All with bloody scourges rent.
For the sins of his own nation
Saw him hang in desolation
Till his spirit forth he sent.
O sweet Mother! font of love,
Touch my spirit from above,
Make my heart with yours accord.
Make me feel as you have felt;
Make my soul to glow and melt
With the love of Christ, my Lord.
Holy Mother, pierce me through,
In my heart each wound renew
Of my Savior crucified.
Let me share with you his pain,
Who for all our sins was slain,
Who for me in torments died.
Let me mingle tears with you,
Mourning him who mourned for me,
All the days that I may live.
By the cross with you to stay,
There with you to weep and pray,
Is all I ask of you to give.
Virgin of all virgins blest!
Listen to my fond request:
Let me share your grief divine.
Let me to my latest breath,
In my body bear the death
Of that dying Son of thine.
Wounded with his every wound,
Steep my soul till it has swooned
In his very Blood away.
Be to me, O Virgin, nigh,
Lest in flames I burn and die,
In his awful judgment day.
Christ, when you shall call me hence,
Be your Mother my defense,
Be your cross my victory.
While my body here decays,
May my soul your goodness praise,
Safe in heaven eternally.
Amen.
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.
Through her heart, his sorrow sharing,
All his bitter anguish bearing,
Now at length the sword had passed.
Oh, how sad and sore distressed
Was that Mother highly blessed
Of the sole begotten One!
Christ above in torment hangs,
She beneath beholds the pangs
Of her dying, glorious Son.
Is there one who would not weep,
'Whelmed in miseries so deep,
Christ's dear Mother to behold?
Can the human heart refrain
From partaking in her pain,
In that mother's pain untold?
Bruised, derided, cursed, defiled,
She beheld her tender Child,
All with bloody scourges rent.
For the sins of his own nation
Saw him hang in desolation
Till his spirit forth he sent.
O sweet Mother! font of love,
Touch my spirit from above,
Make my heart with yours accord.
Make me feel as you have felt;
Make my soul to glow and melt
With the love of Christ, my Lord.
Holy Mother, pierce me through,
In my heart each wound renew
Of my Savior crucified.
Let me share with you his pain,
Who for all our sins was slain,
Who for me in torments died.
Let me mingle tears with you,
Mourning him who mourned for me,
All the days that I may live.
By the cross with you to stay,
There with you to weep and pray,
Is all I ask of you to give.
Virgin of all virgins blest!
Listen to my fond request:
Let me share your grief divine.
Let me to my latest breath,
In my body bear the death
Of that dying Son of thine.
Wounded with his every wound,
Steep my soul till it has swooned
In his very Blood away.
Be to me, O Virgin, nigh,
Lest in flames I burn and die,
In his awful judgment day.
Christ, when you shall call me hence,
Be your Mother my defense,
Be your cross my victory.
While my body here decays,
May my soul your goodness praise,
Safe in heaven eternally.
Amen.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Thessalonians 5:6-9
But you, brothers and sisters, are not in darkness, for that day to overtake you like a thief. For all of you are children of the light and children of the day. We are not of the night or of darkness. Therefore, let us not sleep as the rest do, but let us stay alert and sober. For God did not destine us for wrath, but to gain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us, so that whether we are awake or asleep we may live together with him. Therefore, encourage one another and build one another up, as indeed you do.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Psalm 49
Why should I fear in evil days
the malice of the foes who surround me,
men who trust in their wealth,
and boast of the vastness of their riches?
For no man can buy his own ransom,
or pay a price to God for his life.
The ransom of his soul is beyond him.
He cannot buy life without end,
nor avoid coming to the grave.
He knows that wise men and fools must both perish
and leave their wealth to others.
Their graves are their homes for ever,
their dwelling place from age to age,
though their names spread wide through the land.
In his riches, man lacks wisdom:
he is like the beasts that are destroyed.
Then do not fear when a man grows rich,
when the glory of his house increases.
He takes nothing with him when he dies,
his glory does not follow him below.
In his riches, man lacks wisdom:
he is like the beasts that are destroyed.
the malice of the foes who surround me,
men who trust in their wealth,
and boast of the vastness of their riches?
For no man can buy his own ransom,
or pay a price to God for his life.
The ransom of his soul is beyond him.
He cannot buy life without end,
nor avoid coming to the grave.
He knows that wise men and fools must both perish
and leave their wealth to others.
Their graves are their homes for ever,
their dwelling place from age to age,
though their names spread wide through the land.
In his riches, man lacks wisdom:
he is like the beasts that are destroyed.
Then do not fear when a man grows rich,
when the glory of his house increases.
He takes nothing with him when he dies,
his glory does not follow him below.
In his riches, man lacks wisdom:
he is like the beasts that are destroyed.
2 Corinthians 4:8-10
We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body.
2 Corinthians 1:8-10a
We were utterly weighed down beyond our strength, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, we had accepted within ourselves the sentence of death, that we might trust not in ourselves but in God who raises the dead. He rescued us from such great danger of death, and he will continue to rescue us.
Receiving the Child, by Mother Elvira Petrozzi
A world that does not love or respect little ones, that does not defend those who are weakest in this life is a world of the dead, a world of truly desperate people. A world that rejects life, which does violence to the life of children, cannot even be called a world. Yet God calls us specifically to love this world, to be carriers of hope and sparks of light and kindness that resurrect humanity.
Today we suffer a deadly cancer: the incapacity to love.If you do not love, you remain in death. You are not truly alive. If you do not authentically love, you do not suffer, struggle, or cry, but you also never rejoice. If you do not love, you are indifferent! Often though, the one who does not know how to love has not known the One true Love. He has not known Him who captures your heart and turns you again towards life, who makes you explode with the will to love. Yes, Love generates love, and today there is an immense need of persons able to generate hope in Love . . .
We experience resurrection every day with the lost and dead youth who enter our houses, as well as with their families who have been destroyed by suffering and desperation. We see resurrection in the eyes of the children of our missions, in whom the violence of the streets has left open and bleeding scars. Daily we live an experience of hope that gives life to those from whom life has been stolen. Because of this we believe that in the darkest night it is possible to find light again. Even in the darkest sadness, joy can be rekindled. Even in the bitterest loneliness, a friend's love can pierce a hardened heart. Yes, we want to be witnesses of this hope. We want to announce to this world that the secret of rebirth is to open our hearts to that marvelous Father who waits for each of us as His most precious child.
Mother Elvira Petrozzi is foundress of Comunità Cenà colo, welcoming the lost and desperate in fifty-six houses in fifteen countries.
Today we suffer a deadly cancer: the incapacity to love.If you do not love, you remain in death. You are not truly alive. If you do not authentically love, you do not suffer, struggle, or cry, but you also never rejoice. If you do not love, you are indifferent! Often though, the one who does not know how to love has not known the One true Love. He has not known Him who captures your heart and turns you again towards life, who makes you explode with the will to love. Yes, Love generates love, and today there is an immense need of persons able to generate hope in Love . . .
We experience resurrection every day with the lost and dead youth who enter our houses, as well as with their families who have been destroyed by suffering and desperation. We see resurrection in the eyes of the children of our missions, in whom the violence of the streets has left open and bleeding scars. Daily we live an experience of hope that gives life to those from whom life has been stolen. Because of this we believe that in the darkest night it is possible to find light again. Even in the darkest sadness, joy can be rekindled. Even in the bitterest loneliness, a friend's love can pierce a hardened heart. Yes, we want to be witnesses of this hope. We want to announce to this world that the secret of rebirth is to open our hearts to that marvelous Father who waits for each of us as His most precious child.
Mother Elvira Petrozzi is foundress of Comunità Cenà colo, welcoming the lost and desperate in fifty-six houses in fifteen countries.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Make Us Worthy, Anthony Esolen
"Lord," said the centurion, abashed that Jesus had offered to visit his dying servant, "I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my servant shall be healed." For to enter under a man's roof is to submit to his hospitality, and the centurion -- a Gentile, and a leader of men -- knew that he could provide Jesus nothing to justify such a visit.
"Such faith I have not seen in all Israel!" Jesus exclaimed. "Go, your servant is healed."
We repeat the words of the centurion before receiving the Eucharist at Mass, as we repeat his act of faith, for just as he affirmed the sovereignty of Jesus -- he knew that Jesus did not have to be physically present to heal his servant, for the Lord commands, and his ministers obey -- so we affirm that Christ is present in the sacrament, though we cannot see him by our senses, and that Christ will heal our souls, which otherwise must lie sick unto death. So in the Eucharist Jesus enters under our roofs; but something else happens, more astonishing than that. We enter under his. We are given a foretaste of the wedding feast of the Lamb, the eternal Eucharist of joy and peace.
Won over by Christ
We of all people should know that if we are not worthy to open our homes to Christ, we are surely not worthy that he should open his home, which is Father and Son and the Spirit of Love they breathe, to us, dressed our rags of mortality and sin. But our sense of unworthiness may lead us along one of two paths. We may take the path of pride, disguised as humility, and beg the Lord to ignore us, even to cast us out of the feast into the darkness, where we will be more comfortable, we suppose, wailing and gnashing our teeth. That is, we will take only those gifts we think we deserve, ashamed to accept more. Or, despite our pride, despite even our shame, we will allow ourselves to be won over by Christ, and let him work the great miracle at the heart of the Eucharist. That miracle is not that he should be present to us under the species of bread and wine. It is, finally, that we should be made present to him, as worthy guests, cleansed of sin, well dressed, fit for that wedding feast.
That is the consummate miracle we see performed, quietly, in the final poem of George Herbert's posthumous volume, The Temple. It is well that this poem, simply called "Love," comes last, as if we had proceeded through the church doors and up the aisle, to kneel at last at the communion rail of death, or of that first moment beyond death, when we see the face of the Beloved. So Herbert imagines himself greeted by Love, and his reaction -- in full awareness of his sin -- is to hang back to turn aside. We think that mercy is a sweeter and easier thing than justice, but it is not so; for justice takes us as we are, but mercy assaults us and batters at the gates of our heart, demanding that we be made new. Face to face with Love, the speaker in Herbert's poem, torn by both love and shame, wants to retreat, to go to that place more deserving of his sins. Sometimes sorrow is easier than joy, and despair more comforting than hope.
The feast of Love
But Jesus will not let us go! He who sweat blood in Gethsemane, who was flogged and crowned with thorns, who carried the bitter cross up Calvary, who hung there till his heart burst, who was pierced with a lance for our offenses -- he is going to yield because we are shy? Not so. He took the initiative then, and takes the initiative now. He comes to us before we come to him. He takes us by the hand. He clears our eyes that we may see. He shuts fast the gates of hell so that we may not run away to hide there. He wants us to serve him always by allowing him to serve us, even with that food which is himself. He wants us to enjoy the feast of Love, because that is what he is, and what he would have us be:
Love bade me welcome, but my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here."
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and, smiling, made reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord, but I have marred them -- let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
And that is all, in language so simple a child could understand. But children know they are little, and feel neither pride nor shame in the presence of love. Let us be made such worthy children, to join the feast of the Lamb.
Anthony Esolen is a professor of English at Providence College, and a senior editor of Touchstone Magazine, and a regular contributor to Magnificat. He is the translator and editor of Dante's Divine Comedy, and the author of Ironies of Faith.
"Such faith I have not seen in all Israel!" Jesus exclaimed. "Go, your servant is healed."
We repeat the words of the centurion before receiving the Eucharist at Mass, as we repeat his act of faith, for just as he affirmed the sovereignty of Jesus -- he knew that Jesus did not have to be physically present to heal his servant, for the Lord commands, and his ministers obey -- so we affirm that Christ is present in the sacrament, though we cannot see him by our senses, and that Christ will heal our souls, which otherwise must lie sick unto death. So in the Eucharist Jesus enters under our roofs; but something else happens, more astonishing than that. We enter under his. We are given a foretaste of the wedding feast of the Lamb, the eternal Eucharist of joy and peace.
Won over by Christ
We of all people should know that if we are not worthy to open our homes to Christ, we are surely not worthy that he should open his home, which is Father and Son and the Spirit of Love they breathe, to us, dressed our rags of mortality and sin. But our sense of unworthiness may lead us along one of two paths. We may take the path of pride, disguised as humility, and beg the Lord to ignore us, even to cast us out of the feast into the darkness, where we will be more comfortable, we suppose, wailing and gnashing our teeth. That is, we will take only those gifts we think we deserve, ashamed to accept more. Or, despite our pride, despite even our shame, we will allow ourselves to be won over by Christ, and let him work the great miracle at the heart of the Eucharist. That miracle is not that he should be present to us under the species of bread and wine. It is, finally, that we should be made present to him, as worthy guests, cleansed of sin, well dressed, fit for that wedding feast.
That is the consummate miracle we see performed, quietly, in the final poem of George Herbert's posthumous volume, The Temple. It is well that this poem, simply called "Love," comes last, as if we had proceeded through the church doors and up the aisle, to kneel at last at the communion rail of death, or of that first moment beyond death, when we see the face of the Beloved. So Herbert imagines himself greeted by Love, and his reaction -- in full awareness of his sin -- is to hang back to turn aside. We think that mercy is a sweeter and easier thing than justice, but it is not so; for justice takes us as we are, but mercy assaults us and batters at the gates of our heart, demanding that we be made new. Face to face with Love, the speaker in Herbert's poem, torn by both love and shame, wants to retreat, to go to that place more deserving of his sins. Sometimes sorrow is easier than joy, and despair more comforting than hope.
The feast of Love
But Jesus will not let us go! He who sweat blood in Gethsemane, who was flogged and crowned with thorns, who carried the bitter cross up Calvary, who hung there till his heart burst, who was pierced with a lance for our offenses -- he is going to yield because we are shy? Not so. He took the initiative then, and takes the initiative now. He comes to us before we come to him. He takes us by the hand. He clears our eyes that we may see. He shuts fast the gates of hell so that we may not run away to hide there. He wants us to serve him always by allowing him to serve us, even with that food which is himself. He wants us to enjoy the feast of Love, because that is what he is, and what he would have us be:
Love bade me welcome, but my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here."
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and, smiling, made reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord, but I have marred them -- let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
And that is all, in language so simple a child could understand. But children know they are little, and feel neither pride nor shame in the presence of love. Let us be made such worthy children, to join the feast of the Lamb.
Anthony Esolen is a professor of English at Providence College, and a senior editor of Touchstone Magazine, and a regular contributor to Magnificat. He is the translator and editor of Dante's Divine Comedy, and the author of Ironies of Faith.
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