TO ST. JOHN VIANNEY

As a soldier you were really quite inept,

  And as a student you weren’t much,

Although the seminary gave you a chance,

  It seemed holy orders you’d never touch;

But when the good God takes charge,

  There’s nothing that He cannot do,

So through the intercession of Philomena,

  Grace most bountifully fell on you.

Sent to a corrupt village named Ars,

  You woke it up with fiery preaching,

People were flabbergasted by your words

  And threatened by your priestly teaching;

Yet in the little box of the confessional,

  You won a victory over selfish hearts,

Though the devil anxiously pursued you,

   God extinguished all his flaming darts.

So many made pilgrimages to see you,

  And confession lines were terribly long,

But through God’s grace you read their souls,

  Bringing hope to many in the throng;

Thus the devil grew angrier and angrier,

  That’s why the beast ranted and raved,

Still you won over many many souls,

  In God’s mercy they were finally saved.

TO ST. Mary Magdalene

Your attractive dark hair,

very long and wavy,

flowed aimlessly and

hopelessly over your

darkened eyes --

you were worn out

by the world’s dirty coins

and dirtier men.

But when you met

Him, the brightest light

of the purest love

streamed into your eyes,

driving the deadly demons

into a fearful frenzy and --

suddenly -- you found yourself

finally free.

Then, on the third day,

you giggled like a little girl

as you jubilantly ran

from the tomb

to the upper room

of your heart,

with a smile sparkling

and a soul soaring.

TO ST. VERONICA

Under the cross, the Christ is crushed,

  And He staggers to the ground,

His loveblood pours from thorny wounds,

  Yet He utters not a single sound;

The stony Roman soldiers encircle Him,

  Watching for a menacing threat,

But with holy compassion for the Master,

  You just want to wipe away His sweat.

Like an invisible angel you pass them by,

  Focused on serving your Lord,

You approach to clean His bloody head,

  A head that has been badly gored;

For the very slightest moment of time,

  The weary Jesus has time to relax,

Then He presses His face into your cloth,

  Like a signet ring pressed to warm wax.

The savage soldiers abruptly grab you,

  Rudely and cruelly pushing you away,

But something catches your attention,

  A hopeful sign on this sorrowful day;

Your eyes twinkle with sincere wonder,

  And diminished are all your fears,

For there on your simple white cloth,

  The bloody visage of Jesus appears.

THE CHALICE OF DIVINE MERCY

When I scourge you with my sins

But then ask you for forgiveness,

Your most treasured blood

Trickles like tears into my heart;

When my thorny sins crown you,

But then I tell you that I’m sorry,

Drops of your royal red blood

Sink soothingly into my spirit;

Then, when I sincerely surrender

My whole heart and soul to you,

My lance of love pierces you,

And your beautiful blood spills

In terrific torrents from your

Chalice of Divine Mercy,

And my thirsty soul drinks in the

Sweet new wine of the Spirit.

SURRENDERING TO DIVINE MERCY

When I wave the white flag

in the serene surrender of prayer,

I allow the water of my soul

to be poured freely into

His chalice of gold;

there I am baptized by Love

and born again,

transformed by the Transfigured,

changed forever by the sweet

new wine of the Spirit.

TO JESUS THROUGH MARY

A DIVINE MERCY PRAYER

Dearest Mary, Queen of All Hearts,

Star of Love in the dark night,

Have mercy on us,

And on the whole world:

Pray for us!

Precious Jesus, King of the Universe,

Lord of Love and Lord of Light,

Have mercy on us,

And on the whole world:

I trust in You!

HIS SORROWFUL PASSION

Act I

The Saint remains silent,

so that The Enemy will not

aggressively grab any

of his unguarded words

and twist them

into steel-jaw traps

in order to cruelly

cripple him.

Act II

The Invader sends forth

his insidious spies,

trying to pressure The Saint

with the phantom of fear

and treacherously trick him into

thoughtlessly rushing headlong

into the Stygian swamp of sin,

but with the joy of holy laughter

The Saint scatters the darkness of doom

with the luminous light of

the divine sense of humor.

Act III

The Dark One returns yet again,

but he changes his strategy

against his valiant opponent:

this time he brings a

sinister squadron of deadly

black-hearted soldiers

to wickedly wage war

against The Saint,

but crushed under the weight

of this wooden cross,

The Saint gives The Father

a total gift of himself and

freely surrenders all in a

prayer of total abandonment --

at that very instant

he notices that the cross

is now much easier to carry,

but he doesn’t know why.

Act IV

The Malicious One is terrified

when his foul bloodshot eyes see

The Lady, The Queen of All Hearts,

in dazzling and majestic beauty,

standing in stately elegance

very close to The Saint,

and with a smile on her lips

she whispers to The Saint

a heartfelt command

of loving compassion:

“Do whatever He tells you.”

Act V

The Evil One, infuriated,

is seething in hot hatred,

but he falls back into the Black Void

when Jesus, The Lord of Love,

appears next to The Saint saying,

“Come to Me, all you who are weary,

and I will refresh you” --

with this, The Saint’s devout soul

is soothed by The Divine Mercy,

and The Saint realizes that the more

he surrenders to The Savior,

the more He takes onto Himself

the weight of The Cross,

and thus, he is wondrously saved by

The Blood of the The Lamb.

I'M ALL YOURS

A DIVINE MERCY PRAYER

I’m all Yours, O my Jesus,

And all that I have is Yours,

Through Mary, Your Most Holy Mother.

Right now, this very moment,

I choose to be totally free

From all attachment to sin.

Jesus, I trust in you,

Have mercy on us,

And on the whole world.

FIREWORKS IN THE DARK NIGHT

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.

Independence Day

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.

TO ST. PETER THE APOSTLE

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.

TO ST. THOMAS MORE

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.

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.

STALE COOKIES

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

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.

DIVINE MERCY: ENLIGHTENED BY THE HOLY EUCHARIST

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.

DEATH SPIRAL

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.

DIVINE MERCY: THE LEADOFF HITTER IN THE DARK NIGHT

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.

DIVINE MERCY: THE BUNT SINGLE IN THE DARK NIGHT

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.

DIVINE MERCY: THE STADIUM IN THE DARK NIGHT

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.