I wait for Him --
we have a rendezvous
in the dark night;
as I carry my cross
up the rugged hill,
my heart sinks,
for when I finally
reach the summit,
I am all alone;
but when I look up,
I see dazzling fireworks
high in the sky,
starry explosions of
royal red and white
light up my world
and I feel His love;
The Dove of Divine Mercy
is wonderfully whirling
deep within me and is
sweetly singing in my soul.
The withered tree
on Golgotha
was pierced with
rusty nails and
red sap flowed
along its branches
and down its trunk
before it finally died;
but three days later
it shocked the world
by returning to life,
with fresh flowers,
wondrously white,
and in full bloom,
dazzlingly bright,
and the Truth
has set us free.
Your fishing boat bobs up
and down in uncertainty,
As you reflect upon the
meaning of your life;
With a sterile stare you
gaze at the wobbly waves,
While the wonderful wind of
the Spirit is silently approaching;
A merciful Son of Man is
standing on the sandy seashore,
He is looking for his Rock,
to make him a fisher of men;
The breeze blows through
your stubborn dark hair,
As the Son of Man asks if He
can come aboard your boat.
As Jesus ascends, He disappears
into nebulous misty clouds,
You feel like a floundering
fisherman without his nets;
Without the Good Shepherd,
your heart seems hollow,
You now appear more like
a pebble than a rock;
But later, a deafening wind
whirls through the room,
And fantastical flaming
fireballs crown all present;
In divers tongues, all mystically
praise the good God,
And you proclaim the Word
with holy courage.
As you are cruelly crucified
upside-down on Vatican Hill,
Your life is brimming with
meaning and significance;
Your blood falls to the earth
like a myriad of mustard seeds,
Where the Church will
take root and grow strong;
You are the first link in
the precious papal chain,
An unbreakable chain dripping
with martyrs’ blood;
This chain will withstand
the hammering of heretics,
It will be like a fruitful vine
bringing Love to the world.
You were the Lord High Chancellor
Under the infamous Henry the Eight,
At first you tasted the king’s friendship,
But later on the sovereign’s hate;
You were a right honorable gentleman,
With an intellectually sharp mind,
With courage you stood against the crown,
For, sadly, it was spiritually blind;
So you were put in the Tower of London,
A place that vile criminals dreaded,
You faithfully served the good God first,
Thus, the monarch had you beheaded;
In this world, you bravely battled for truth,
The people, you’d never mislead ‘em,
Now from Heaven you pray for us all,
As the patron of religious freedom.
When liberty is
divorced from responsibility,
it dreadfully descends in a
dizzying death spiral of
selfishness.
But when liberty
is married to responsibility,
it courageously spirals upward
in a heroic flight of
freedom.
We must avoid the
stale cookies of selfishness,
for they crumble
into complaints;
but with the Eucharistic
bread of gratitude,
we can live like
the holy saints.
Maturity is less
about having the
freedom to do
what we want,
and more about
taking responsibility
for doing what
we need to do;
growing up is less
about advancing
in age,
and more about
learning from
everyone's mistakes --
especially our own.
I stagger and stumble
and struggle through life,
my brain twisted into knots
by perplexing problems,
by a delirium of doubts,
by a flurry of fickle fears;
so Our Lady of Love
takes me by the hand
and gently leads me to
The Divine Mercy,
where He is enthroned in His
regal monstrance of gold,
and I pour out my heart
before His Holy Majesty;
from His Most Precious Body
two beams of bright light,
both red and white,
burn through the darkness,
illuminating my mind,
and the Truth has set me free.
Q-war-reling:
even the fearful word
forebodes a future filled
with deep darkness;
impatience heats to
simmering anger
then it boils over into
raging revenge
then it ignites into
bloody battles
then it explodes into
world wars.
My heart is ready, O God:
Tuus totus ego sum;
I take batting practice,
and the crisp crackle of
my maple-wood bat echoes
throughout the stadium.
Later, I hear a soft sweet voice say,
“Do whatever He tells you”;
therefore, when I see the Spirit signal,
I gently lay down a regal bunt that
humbly dies to itself in the grass as I run
to first base like a strong driving wind.
As I stand on first base, with a
smile on my face from ear to ear,
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for in my surrender I start to love;
however, The Beast, seething in hot
anger, already plans his revenge.
When I return to home plate,
The Beast strikes me out
over and over and over again
with the flaming fastballs of fear,
and I fall, carrying a heavy cross,
dizzy with discouragement.
My Manager benches me in the chapel,
but lovingly teaches me to fast from fear
and leave my worries in His loving hands,
so for three days I return to the chapel,
for ten minutes daily, to ask for His guidance,
and receive the Spirit's gift of Divine Mercy.
When I'm back in the lineup, The Beast
scornfully glares at me from the mound
with his mean menacing black eyes;
But I hear a voice encourage me:
“Non abbiate paura,” and again,
louder, “Non abbiate paura!”
By God's grace, I stand again in the
batter’s box, and I hit a shooting star
whose sparkling trail is red and white,
quickly shattering the dark night,
and the line drive swiftly sizzles over
the shortstop and into left field.
Then, in my next at-bat, filled with
the peace and joy of the Holy Spirit,
I swing and barrel a flaming missile,
that brightly lights up the dark night,
and as the ball soars high over the wall,
the angels playfully dance around it.
For years and years
I stubbornly bought
my own baseball bats,
because I always
wanted to be in control,
but very much like
my big-shot dreams,
they all shattered,
splintering and
bloodying my hands;
at last, I listened
to You,
and I let You
choose one for me,
a powerful bat
of strong
Virgin wood,
perfectly formed,
and as regal
as a princess;
she isn’t a
heavy bat
but a light one --
and she doesn’t
weigh me down
with worry,
for she is filled
with The Light;
her lovely name is
“La Madonnina”
and as I surrender
to the Spirit,
she guides my hands
with sweet humility,
and thunder crackles
upon impact with adversity
as the ball hits the bat,
and I gently lay down a
simple bunt single,
exasperating the ego
of our enemy from hell.
I quietly and invisibly
live my faith,
and accept life’s
incessant curveballs;
I am obedient to my
Manager’s wish for
bunt singles
instead of home runs.
The people of the world
are sitting in the box seats,
busied with food
and entertainment;
living in another world,
they have no idea
what I’m doing
in the batter’s box.
But Our Lord, Our Lady,
and the heavenly court
happily cheer me on
from the upper deck;
I live my life in the
shadow of the cross,
living in the dark night
of the unseen.
Your happy heart desired to go abroad,
On a mission to the exotic Far East;
Where you might convert lots of souls,
And become a holy Jesuit priest.
But as a merry man with natural goodness,
You were drawn by God to Rome;
You had no money and you had no plan,
Yet the Eternal City became your home.
With Socratic discussions on street corners,
You most pleasantly evangelized;
Yet you did it in such a fun-loving way,
That the people never felt chastised.
One Pentecost something special happened --
You felt the peace of The Dove;
When a globe of fire entered your mouth,
You almost died of ecstatic love.
You inspired many in the confessional,
So that the truth they understood,
And the people always heard you saying,
“When shall we begin to do good?”
Dedicated to my father
Me and Dad were at
Knott’s Berry Farm and
he couldn’t wait to share
his favorite attractions with me;
the torch of his enthusiasm
burned even hotter
than the fiery ashes
of his cigarettes;
but I was like a wet match,
soaking wet,
and Dad had no chance,
no chance at all --
my whole world was
Disneyland;
hot words of anger
gathered in his mouth
like fierce storm winds,
but then he hesitated,
thought pensively for a moment,
and, finally, swallowed them;
with a smile of selfless surrender,
he took my hand in his own
and, together, we walked
towards the parking lot.
You, the mystical
missionary of mercy,
are honored as
the first saint
of the Great Jubilee,
the first saint
of the new millennium;
you serenely smile
as the blessed blood
and the blessed water
kiss and mingle
in the infinite ocean
of Divine Mercy;
you see the barque
of St. Peter as it
faithfully floats on
the beautiful waves,
protected from the
storm winds of worry,
free from all fear;
like the warm welcoming
arms of the Bernini Colonnade,
Divine Mercy is ready to
earnestly embrace every
hardened sinner who
hungers for healing and
thirsts for generous love:
Jezu ufam Tobie!
The Virgin moon
shines in splendor
in the dark night,
but in humility she
recognizes that the true
glory really belongs to her
Sun, whose Divine Mercy
rays of red and white
shine in dazzling brilliance
through all eternity.
You were added to the Eleven just a little bit later,
you’re the one who is known for replacing the traitor;
You were a part of the mission of the seventy-two,
and you saw how Jesus’ power made all things new;
On Pentecost you received the promised Paraclete,
and heard the first papal speech of good old St. Pete;
You mortified your flesh to kill your desire,
coupled with virtue, it helped put out the fire;
As a martyr, you were stoned in the year 80 A.D.,
now surrounded by Love, you’re finally free.
Year in and year out she went to
Million-Dollar Doughnuts
and ate thousands and thousands
of their incredibly popular
one-of-a-kind doughnuts,
because people said
that sooner or later
they would make her
unbelievably happy.
But every single day she had
the same experience:
she took bite after tasty bite of
those irresistible doughnuts,
which were soaked in a
mysterious magical potion,
and then vivid visions
pulsated and rushed
through her intense imagination;
those decadent doughnuts
inebriated her mind with dreams
of wealth and riches
and silver and gold --
and she was drunk with delight;
but as soon as she reached
the hole in the middle,
the visions suddenly vanished and
she felt a desolate emptiness and
a depressing loneliness
which always left her
hungrier and thirstier
than she had been before.
In the end,
she died as she lived,
starved for love,
and when she was buried,
there was a hole in her body --
like the hole of a doughnut --
where once her heart had been.
Maybe like Falstaff you were a “practical” man,
It’s even possible that from danger you ran;
Perhaps you were very timid and shy,
Then Jesus called you to life on high;
Did you fear the Holy Spirit’s fire?
If so, even introverts God can inspire!
In Bethsaida born and in Phrygia killed,
Even the meek God’s kingdom can build.
You were the first bishop of Jerusalem,
And were known as James the Just,
As Jesus’ cousin and St. Jude’s brother,
People knew that you they could trust;
Your knees thickened like a camel’s,
From all your time kneeling in prayer,
You had a long beard and lots of hair,
And you always treated people fair.
The Jewish leaders failed with St. Paul,
So they turned their ire towards you,
Their raging revenge was out of control,
And their delirious desire grew;
They wanted to crush the New Way,
So they pursued you like angry apes,
Christians were sprouting up everywhere,
Like vineyards full of plenteous grapes.
You bravely refused to reject the Christ,
So they threw you from the temple’s pinnacle,
Their grotesque expressions were ghastly,
As they chose to be stubbornly cynical;
Then they hurled jagged stones at you,
And with a mallet broke your bones,
But you uttered prayers for your attackers,
In between your painful groans.