Fear is useless,
What is needed is
Patience,
Which drives out
All worry.
Fear is useless,
What is needed is
Trust,
Which drives out
All anxiety.
Fear is useless,
What is needed is
Love,
Which drives out
All darkness.
Fear is foiled,
Worry is wounded,
Anxiety is annihilated,
Darkness is destroyed,
But by what?
By bright beams of Light,
That put evil to flight,
Oh, what a glorious sight!
Dazzling rays of red and white!
The Divine Mercy.
Nino goes to mass perhaps every month or two,
Since he’s so very busy, his prayers are quite few,
But he says he’s a good Catholic if you ask his view.
Nino needs to sincerely seek so that he may find,
He needs more time with the Lord, away from the grind,
Otherwise, the more he runs, the more he’ll fall behind.
Nino stews in envy as if he were in a
cauldron of bubbling black oil,
When someone else gets praised,
it really makes his blood boil,
If he isn’t recognized as special,
It makes him radically recoil.
The loving Lord needs to gently pop
Nino’s egotistical balloon,
Or this donkey will be despised,
as a proud, puffed-up buffoon,
But when glad at others’ blessings,
his soul will play a beautiful tune.
Nino the Donkey squeezes
out every penny in sales,
His smooth, slippery power of
persuasion never ever fails,
He legally pickpockets without
getting thrown into jails.
Nino needs to learn how to
sincerely serve each client,
He should give people a break
and with pricing be more pliant,
He must make others’ lives
easier and not be defiant.
Nino the Donkey thought
he was much better than all,
His diamond-studded saddle
made him feel rather tall,
His pride did nothing but fill him
with the most bitter gall.
Nino should focus so much
more on his good deeds,
Instead of wearing the most
fashionable fancy tweeds,
He would be better off thinking
about other people’s needs.
You are the great warrior angel,
Ready for the spiritual battle,
Always sober, vigilant, and alert,
You wait and watch for the enemy;
Then in the midst of black terror,
You slay the red dragon of fear,
Brandishing the sword of the Spirit,
The glorious golden sword of Love;
Teach us to become brave soldiers,
Soldiers of Jesus Christ the Lord,
Nourished by the holy Bread of Life,
Refreshed by His sweet new wine.
I very slowly awaken,
Still groggy from sleep,
And I feel the black enemy
Wielding his cutlass of terror,
A weapon of worry and woe,
Ready to strike me down,
But before he reaches me,
I look to wise St. Joseph,
Who gives me Our Lady’s lasso,
The Most Holy Rosary
Of the Morning Star,
A superior weapon for
Engaging in spiritual combat:
I pray it slowly, and meaningfully,
Praying a delicious decade
Each hour throughout the morning,
Meditating on the holy mysteries,
Relishing the sweet taste of Love,
Allowing Our Lady to scatter
God’s blessings like holy seeds
Wherever she wills, for she knows
Much better than I do how to please
The Lord of Divine Mercy;
But when the enemy sneaks up
And tries to mortally wound me,
I immediately grab my weapon,
And I squeeze the strong little beads
Like a Jedi does a light saber,
And my sincere, intense prayers,
Like an angel’s trumpet blast,
Reach the ears of Almighty God,
Who with legions of angels
Comes to rescue and save me.
A DIVINE MERCY PRAYER
All-powerful,
Most holy,
Most high,
And Supreme God,
I am so sorry for hurting you:
I impudently spat upon your sorrowful face,
I violently scourged your most blessed body,
I scornfully crowned your holy head with thorns,
I savagely kicked you as you fell with the cross,
I cruelly crucified your flesh with stinging nails;
In short, I have bitterly tortured you
With every single one of my sins against you.
I despise and abhor
all my many sins,
Including any
I have withheld from you
in the past —
mortal sins or venial sins —
or never confessed honestly,
or forgot about;
And I accuse myself
of being guilty of
High treason
against your Majesty,
Deserving to be executed --
and exiled --
Because my sins offend you,
Lord God,
Who are all good,
supremely good,
Totally good,
who alone are good --
You deserve only
my heartfelt love
And blind obedience
to your holy will.
Therefore, I hereby make
this declaration and resolution:
I am absolutely and utterly
determined, through your
sweet holy graces and
Your unfathomable
Divine Mercy,
To be your humble
and obedient slave,
Through Mary,
the Queen of All Hearts,
And to be your faithful servant
who with promptitude
runs away from
The false enticements
of all sin and
The empty allure
of all temptation,
and, instead, I completely
surrender myself
Into your warm embrace,
and with a heart
bountifully overflowing with
Thanksgiving for your mercy
to me,
I receive your loving
kiss of peace.
Amen.
Behold the Little Flower’s mom and dad,
They pray for parents about to go mad;
The Martin family had five sweet girls,
So their devout home was filled with French curls;
Louis and Zelie were full of great love,
They taught their daughters the path of The Dove;
With their “little queen” they had lots of fun,
And each of their girls became a young nun;
When Louis and Zelie finally died,
Heaven’s beautiful doors opened real wide;
So parents that want to pull out their hair
Should ask them for help, for they really care.
Good St. Joseph,
Inspired by the Holy Spirit,
Is the maestro of the great
Symphony of the saints,
A quiet conductor who
Never speaks, not even once,
In the Sacred Scriptures,
Yet with his paternal baton
He has masterfully directed
The heavenly music of many
Saints in this holy orchestra,
And his symphony has filled
The air with the fruitful virtues
Of love and joy and peace,
With heroic patience and
Angelic kindness, with the
Grandeur of gentle generosity,
And the innocent integrity of
Fatherly faithfulness.
You had fabulous fun playing with Jesus,
Your second cousin who knew no guile,
You loved to visit His mild mother,
Who always had the sweetest smile;
Through the patient passing of the years,
You saw the magical messiah mature,
And He chose you and your brother James,
To be apostles who strive to be pure;
In loving loyalty your mother agonized,
With Jesus’ mother at the foot of the cross,
Your father Cleophas was monstrously martyred,
And his death was a dire loss;
But you steadfastly served the Lord,
And were famous for physical healing,
You happily sought out holiness,
And spent much time prayerfully kneeling;
In a foreign land you were beaten to a pulp,
Until you were door-nail dead,
But it wasn’t satisfying enough,
So your murderers lopped off your head;
Now you wear a martyr’s golden crown,
And live in Heaven’s perennial jubilation,
Interceding for the Church Militant,
You help it become a new creation.
Not seventy times,
But seventy-seven,
And even though
I blew right by
That number
Many years ago,
You still show me
Your forgiveness,
Over and over, and
Over and over again --
But why? Why are you so
Magnificently merciful?
Because you, Lord God,
Are Divine Mercy itself,
And your holy rays of
Red and white burn
Through the darkness,
Deep into my soul,
Gently caressing it with
Tenderness and Love.
O most precious Sacred Heart,
Pierced by Longinus’ Roman dart;
Your blood flows through all the land,
Quenching our thirst in the desert sand;
Your heart can help the blind to see,
Even a really stupid fool like me;
Divine Mercy’s sweet love conquers all,
No matter how many times we fall.
“I just don’t get
Why Catholics
Even bother with
Talking to the saints:
I always speak directly
To Jesus when I pray.”
“But, my dear friend,
Although He doesn’t
Need to go through others,
It delights Him to do so:
We saints know better than
Anyone that we are merely
Ambassadors of Christ --
Yes, Jesus is truly the
Great God of Generosity,
But, even more, He is
The Great Lord of Humility.
Pummeled by Parkinson’s,
he battles through the basilica,
leaning forward, heavily,
hunched over, crushed
under an invisible
wooden cross, laden
with the world’s woes;
from the ocean of onlookers,
like Veronica with her veil,
a mother mildly lifts up
her little newborn;
the Holy Father’s
old, wrinkled face
winces with pain,
like a warrior’s,
as he most tenderly
blesses the babe
with a gentle kiss;
the spectators exhale
a halo as they breathlessly
and solemnly sigh, “O!”
You have a playful, loving smile
that was delightfully disarming,
You have pleasant, penetrating eyes
that looked deep into our souls,
As a humble seminarian you silently
evaded the nefarious Nazis,
Years later, your heroic words crushed
the cold-hearted Communists;
Your valiant, victorious voice was
carried on the wondrous wings
Of the cheerful cherubim who raced
round the globe and rained down
On the world your heavenly hope
and wonderful words of wisdom.
You are a saint for our century:
poignant poet, daring dramatist,
Protector of the powerless,
merciful mystic, pro-life pope,
And stalwart spearhead who ignited
the fire of the New Evangelization;
Your hideous opponent the devil,
like a sly, sneaky soccer player,
Tantalizingly tried to kick abortion
through Holy Church’s doors, but
As the goalie of the Chair of St. Peter,
you flicked away temptation,
With your rock-solid shepherd’s staff
gripped in your warrior-like hands.
In Poland, you relentlessly pursued
Christ’s love even though
You had to trudge terribly through
the dreadful, dreary dark night
Of Nazi dictatorship, and you had
to bear the wicked weight of the
Cruel, crafty Communists in your
beloved, historic city of Krakow;
Through your remarkable writings
you lifted us ever so high in the air
In a Heaven-bound spiral, far far above
the murky mist of moral relativism
And into the sublime, sunny splendor
Of Christ’s truth and freedom.
Your thick, wavy brown hair happily
Blows in the breeze of God’s will;
Your warm brown eyes twinkle with
Contentment, crinkling as you smile.
You protect the holy Babe from Herod’s
Hellish hands, which are dripping with blood;
In obedience, you help the Holy Family
Evade him and elusively escape to Egypt.
As a worker, you handle the wood of
God’s creation with gentle strength;
With industrious ingenuity, you use
God’s good gifts to serve others.
You shatter lustful temptation with your
Carpenter’s mallet of holy purity;
Then, as God’s valiant soldier, you slay
Selfishness with the sword of surrender.
In your loving example, you show little Jesus
how to be a good son to His mother;
With your humble heart, you teach Love
How to love, and the angels are amazed.
As a strong spiritual mother,
You reliably and respectably
Reform the Carmelite order,
And your holy friendship
With St. John of the Cross
Helps your soul spiral upwards
Towards the Heavenly Kingdom;
Then, you close your eyes and
Your spirit penetrates into the heart
Of the Interior Castle of prayer,
And there, during the dark night,
You discover the true Light.
Like Rosary beads dipped in holy water,
Raindrops are falling from the sky,
Seventy thousand people in the roaring rain
Who would really rather be dry;
The valley of the Cova da Iria is a black
Blanket of umbrellas and hats,
And the drenched, dripping crowd is like
A muddy mob of very curious cats;
Three children kneel before an outdoor altar
As they await the promised sign,
And non-believers mockingly joke that
The children are just tipsy with wine;
The riotous rain finally stops at noon,
As the weather is forced to succumb,
But noon passes, and Heaven is late,
So perhaps no miracle will come.
But then a marvelous, mystical stillness and quiet
Come over this blessed place,
All laughter subsides and totally vanishes,
Without even the slightest trace;
Our Lady appears to all the three children,
Wearing garments dazzlingly white,
Her shape is graceful and delicate,
And her clothing is brighter than light;
Her eyes are like sparkling jewels,
And her sweet voice makes their hearts sing,
Her face is most exquisitely beautiful,
And she is a treasure of the great King;
But after hours and hours of waiting,
The crowd sees nothing at all,
If a Heavenly sign they don’t get,
Then perhaps the children they’ll maul.
After speaking to the three young children,
Our Lady casts a glance up above,
She gently points upwards to Heaven,
With a heart filled with mercy and love;
Then Lucia quickly points at the sky,
And tells everyone to look at the sun,
They only see a thick cloudy darkness,
So their expectations are little or none;
But through the clouds the sun is slicing,
And it’s spinning like a circular saw,
At this very strange and unnatural sight,
The crowd’s nerves really feel raw;
The sun is like a gyrating sparkler,
With sizzling sparks flitting about,
It is held by God’s invisible hand,
He is mighty -- of this there is no doubt.
Then the fickle sun changes colors,
And the many spectators reflect its glow,
The chamelionic sun lights up sky and land,
Putting on an impressive show;
First the sun turns a stunning silver,
And this is followed by a brilliant blue,
Then it turns a glorious, gleaming gold,
Followed by a most radiant red hue;
Every so often there are stellar explosions,
With blinding bursts of light,
The people are starting to tremble,
And are wondering if they should take flight;
They stare at the sun for a very long time,
Yet none of them hurt their eyes,
The whole crowd gapes in surreal wonder,
Observing this sign in the skies.
But suddenly unbolted from the wall of clouds,
The sun moves about in the sky,
It looks like it’s riding on a roller coaster,
On invisible tracks way up high;
The blazing orb dances in a fiery frenzy,
Although there’s not a lot of wind,
And glacial hearts are melting below,
Of those who have seriously sinned;
But now, like a menacing molten meteor,
The sun falls down towards the Earth,
Thousands of people cry out in terror,
Not experiencing any kind of mirth;
Alarmed atheists pray Our Fathers,
As their hearts’ flag of surrender is unfurled,
And agnostics stagger and stumble for cover,
Fearing it’s the end of the world.
Approaching at a frightful velocity,
The sun gradually drinks the dark sky,
As the speeding star draws ever nearer,
The people are preparing to die;
The red giant now fills the heavens,
And the situation is exceedingly dire,
The surface of the sun is a seething solar ocean
Of fantastical flaming fire;
But all this time the three good children
Have visions from the Heavenly realm,
They experience ecstatic joy and peace,
Since the good God is at the helm;
Then, in the twinkling of an eye,
The crowd looks up through happy tears,
They’re stunned because their nightmarish vision
Very suddenly disappears.
Just ten minutes earlier, the spectators in the
Cova were standing in the mire,
But now, in a flash, it is completely dry --
Faster than anyone could ever desire;
Ten miraculous minutes…
Have forever softened many thousands of souls,
Their lives are totally transformed,
And they no longer seek secular goals;
October 13, 1917…
Will be remembered throughout all of history,
Though for skeptics who read of Fatima,
This day may always be a mystery;
Many atheists and agnostics saw a miracle
That made them turn quite pale,
So know that this story happened,
And it is not some silly fairy tale.
You were a son of Zebedee and Salome,
And brother of John the Apostle,
Though your fishing boat was very reliable,
It was definitely nothing colossal;
You were a fiery fisherman from Galilee,
And Jesus called you a son of thunder,
Perhaps your anger flared in the boat
When your brother committed a blunder.
You saw Jesus rise at the Ascension,
And it stirred in you a most pious desire,
Then within your breast burned a glorious zeal
Which glowed like a holy fire;
But King Herod Agrippa persecuted Christians,
And wanted them to go away,
He thought that killing a respected apostle
Would make them cease to pray.
It’s very true that King Herod seemed
Like the most vile and pernicious slug,
He was very much like his grandpa,
Who killed the holy innocents like a thug;
His wretched grandfather was selfish,
The very violent Herod the Great,
Who savagely slaughtered the babes of
Bethlehem in his beastly ire and hate.
Being a member of Jesus’ inner circle,
You had a target on your back,
The giant executioner grunted, as he
Chopped off your head with a whack;
You became the first apostolic martyr,
In the year A.D. forty-four,
But Jesus awaited you with a beaming smile,
As you opened that Heavenly door.