Ignatian spirituality tries to find God in all things. Many take issue with that premise, especially when stuck knee deep in the mire of day-to-day problems. I don't claim to be Ignatian in my outlook (nor Franciscan, Benedictine, etc) on events or things. As a Catholic, I'm a little bit of all of those charisms, and more. But I do believe God works through the secular, just as I have faith that all things work for the good.
Today is the Feast of St. Michael and the Archangels, also known as Michaelmas. I like the sound of that calendar name for today's feast and the knowledge that this day used to be a huge festival marking the beginning of Autumn (which is my favorite season). I actually hope that this day is still celebrated extravagantly somewhere on the planet. Next year, send me an invitation, or some Michaelmas recipes (and history!) or something.
Why do I believe in angels? Because they are real. See, Our Lord said so, and he never told a fib. What follows is a brief poem penned by a favorite of mine to help me get into the spirit of this day.
St. Michael in Time of Peace, by G.K. Chesterton
Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning,
Michael of the Army of the Lord,
Stiffen thou the hand upon the still sword, Michael,
Folded and shut upon the sheathed sword, Michael,
Under the fullness of the white robes falling,
Gird us with the secret of the sword.
When the world cracked because of a sneer in heaven,
Leaving out for all time a scar upon the sky,
Thou didst rise up against the Horror in the highest,
Dragging down the highest that looked down on the Most High:
Rending from the seventh heaven the hell of exaltation
Down the seven heavens till the dark seas burn:
Thou that in thunder threwest down the Dragon
Knowest in what silence the Serpent can return.
Down through the universe the vast night falling
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning!)
Far down the universe the deep calms calling
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Sword!)
Bid us not forget in the baths of all forgetfulness,
In the sigh long drawn from the frenzy and the fretfulness
In the huge holy sempiternal silence
In the beginning was the Word.
When from the deeps of dying God astounded
Angels and devils who do all but die
Seeing Him fallen where thou couldst not follow,
Seeing Him mounted where thou couldst not fly,
Hand on the hilt, thou hast halted all thy legions
Waiting the Tetelestai and the acclaim,
Swords that salute Him dead and everlasting
God beyond God and greater than His Name.
Round us and over us the cold thoughts creeping
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the battle-cry!)
Round us and under us the thronged world sleeping
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Charge!)
Guard us the Word; the trysting and the trusting
Edge upon the honour and the blade unrusting
Fine as the hair and tauter than the harpstring
Ready as when it rang upon the targe.
He that giveth peace unto us; not as the world giveth:
He that giveth law unto us; not as the scribes:
Shall he be softened for the softening of the cities
Patient in usury; delicate in bribes?
They that come to quiet us, saying the sword is broken,
Break man with famine, fetter them with gold,
Sell them as sheep; and He shall know the selling
For He was more than murdered. He was sold.
Michael, Michael: Michael of the Mustering,
Michael of the marching on the mountains of the Lord,
Marshal the world and purge of rot and riot
Rule through the world till all the world be quiet:
Only establish when the world is broken
What is unbroken is the word.
Likes Michaelmas
Roast Goose!
That ol' Chesterton sure could wield a mighty pen.
Now, this feast day would not be complete without a prayer asking St. Michael the Archangel to pray for us and for the Church. Happily, I also found this excellent video presentation of Pope Leo XIII's original prayer to St. Michael. Composed sometime between 1884 -1898 (I couldn't find the definitive date), the original prayer is both longer and more soul satisfying than the short version that I am used to seeing.
I'd be much obliged if you would pray it along with me now with a special intention for my brother in Christ, Pastor Youcef Nadarkhani.
I love this photograph of Fr. Abram J. Ryan. Maybe it's his hair, or perhaps it's his stare. He has that look about him that says "I don't care who you are, here comes the goods." Last summer I shared hisSong of the Mystic, and his background information, in this space. There's a connection between him and me because (for a time) he was the pastor of the parish where I attend daily Mass. I bet he was a great preacher too.
When, indeed, the artist desires to teach us a great spiritual truth, he invariably expresses it under the form of an allegory or symbol. For the soul dreams 'neath the star-sown sky of symbol. It is spiritually its lisping language—the divine form of its expression.
Our Eastern brethren have been observing the Dormition Fast since the first of August. It continues until August 15th this year and concludes on the Feast of the Dormition, which Western Catholics celebrate as the Feast of the Assumption. In honor of this tradition, I will be sharing some of our Marian posts. This one is from October of last year...
Edward Caswall was another Anglican priest who converted to Catholicism in the mid 1800's. He also joined the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, like his friends Blessed John Henry Newman and Frederick William Farber. And, like them again, he was a prolific poet and hymnist.
Below is one of Caswall's fine poems included in his book of verse entitled The Masque of Mary. This particular poem really resonates with me.
There are stars whose radiance is visible on Earth though they have long been extinct. There are people whose brilliance continues to light the world though they are no longer among the living. These lights are particularly bright when the night is dark. They light the way for humankind. -Hannah Senesh, poet, playwright, and paratrooper (1921-1944)
Interestingly, I missed this video (below) last week when Deacon Greg Kandra ran it over at his place. Maybe there is a reason for that. You see, earlier this week some friends of mine got into a discussion regarding books of the Bible.
Happy Birthday to St. John the Baptist! Here is a little poem I found written by John Keble in honor of this, the greatest of all men.
St. John Baptist's Day
"Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and terrible day of the Lord: and he shall turn the heart of the fathers onto the children, and the heart of the children to the fathers."—Malachi iv. 6, 6.
Twice in her season of decay
The fallen Church hath felt Elijah's eye
Dart from the wild its piercing ray :
Not keener burns, in the chill morning sky,
The herald star,
Whose torch afar
Shadows and boding night-birds fly.
Often times cataclysmic events leave us at a loss. We have feelings and thoughts but struggle to put them into words. Some have been blessed with the gift of the poetic art. These painters of images with words, serve to bring the ineffable into focus in our minds.
A friend of mine shared the following essay with me recently. She knows I'm a baseball fan, but I'm not sure if she realizes I'm a newbie writer. Either way, it's a good little piece written by the fellow you see in the photograph here.
R.A. Dickey, New York Mets
I have been a baseball player for twenty-eight years, the last fifteen of which I have had the blessing of playing professionally.
Thankfully, the scriptures are not one dimensional, like say the characters in an Ayn Rand novel. I've mentioned before how uncanny the readings can be, as well as the timing of selections that are in the Liturgy of the Hours. That is where I ran across today's poetry selection.
Are their inconvenient scriptures? Of course there are.
Yesterday I shared a movie with you about a saint who called himself "God's jackass." Leave it to G.K. Chesterton to write a poem for Palm Sunday from the point of view of the ass. From what I've found out, it was written before he converted officially to Catholicism.
Where did I find this poem? From none other than the good folks over at Universalis. You never know what you will find when praying the LOTH over there.
I am late in coming around to an appreciation of St. Thomas Aquinas. As the old saw goes, better late than never. Jacques Maritain's book The Peasant of the Garonne has pointed me towards learning more about this Doctor of the Church.
And G.K. Chesterton wrote a book about him too. Here are a few of G.K.C.'s words to prime the pump so to speak,
We are called to love one another. A cursory look at the New Testament will show this time after time. But guess what? Love hurts too, and we all know it. Betrayal, denial, loss. These are the pathogens of our brokenness.
The songs in today's MfM set list move through the stages of Love that we all encounter. But we'll be skipping the puppy love sweetness and head straight to the hard stuff.
Because love and forgiveness go together like peas and carrots, wrapped up in the to-go box called the blues.
You've probably never heard of Kenelm Henry Digby. You'll be hearing more about him from me though. I'm currently reading a biography about him.
A while back, I added a slew of his works to the YIMCatholic Bookshelf. Back on All Souls Day, I shared one of his poems with you. Today I'd like you to read a few of Digby's lines of verse about Art. I promise a post about Digby himself in the future (a fascinating conversion story!).
