TO ST. NICHOLAS

You are the merry Christmas saint,

You tried to live without complaint;

A bishop with a cheerful heart,

Your words pierced like a loving dart;

Your gift of gold saved three sweet maids,

Who always feared the Roman raids;

With holiness you beat the foe,

Your jolly laugh goes ho, ho, ho.

TO ST. HELENA

Dear modest, majestic

   mother of Constantine,

You sweetly speak

   with stately serenity;

As a holy pilgrim, with

   eyes alive and animated,

You search for Christ’s

   true cross on Calvary.

Lumbering laborers dig up for

   you a dizzying number

Of dirty crosses -- yet

   only one is miraculous;

Only one cures the

   worn-out woman’s incurable

Disease when she is

   wondrously made well.

Then, when you eagerly

   embrace its holy wood

In your amiable arms, you

   tremble with jubilation;

Strands of your long flowing

   hair blow in the breeze across

Your lovely face and then

   softly caress the holy cross.

MARIAN PRAYER OF OFFERING FOR A PLENARY INDULGENCE

O Lord of Love,

Through your holy grace,

I have wholehearted contrition,

And am free from all affection for sin,

And so, with a sincere heart,

I offer you this Our Father

And also this Hail Mary,

For the Holy Father’s intentions…

And along with these prayers,

Please accept my recent confession,

And this morning’s indulgenced work, 

And reception of Holy Communion.

In short, I humbly request that 

Through the sweet hands of

Our Lady of Love,

You accept the little gift of

This plenary indulgence,

Offered for the benefit of _____,

Or for whomever the merciful

Mystical Rose most wishes,

In accordance with your holy will.

Amen.

TO ST. LONGINUS

You rammed your lance into His side,

  And quickly the crimson blood poured;

Startled that He could have died so soon,

  You looked up at our crucified Lord.

Later His sacred blood pierced your soul,

  So you knelt down and began to pray;

This gradually led you towards holy freedom,

  To a path that was known as The Way.

Pontius Pilate marveled at your courage,

  For as a martyr you chose to die,

He wondered if what he heard of Jesus

  Might be the truth and not a lie.

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;

Stone-faced 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.

TO ST. MARTHA

You are a wonderful woman of hospitality,

  Anticipating all the guests’ needs,

However, your sister sits near the Master,

  As the people He spiritually feeds;

Your anxious mind is whirling with worry,

  Shackled by a million trifling things,

Meanwhile, the Word speaks of true freedom

  That lifts people’s souls with wings;

That day you learned an important lesson:

  First things always come first,

If we drink of the Lord’s living water,

  Then for the world we will never thirst.

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. ANNE

As the wind blows,

Your wise brown eyes

Are covered by wisps

Of your brown hair;

You watch your

Little Maria,

Your saintly cherub,

Skipping away

With a smile;

Your finely furrowed brow

Is knitted in a knot,

As you are pensively

Waiting, wondering:

What does the Mighty One

Have in mind for my

Darling dark-haired daughter?

May the Messiah be on the move?

TO ST. IGNATIUS OF LOYOLA

It took a cannonball

For God to get your attention,

To teach you what it is 

To be a true knight --

A knight of Christ;

And so He guided you

In founding the Jesuit order,

And as the Light shone through

The colorful prism of your mind,

You discovered God’s goodness,

God’s truth, God’s beauty;

May your Spiritual Exercises

Draw us more deeply into

The Sacred Heart of Jesus,

To be intellectually illumined,

To be socially sympathetic,

To be aesthetically alive,

To be spiritually strong.

THE DARK NIGHT OF THE CROSS

Staggering and stumbling

On the rocky Via Dolorosa,

My hands wearily and weakly

Cling to the splintered cross;

A Roman soldier lashes me

With a whirling crackling whip,

Which like a wildcat’s claw

Rips and tears my poor flesh;

My knees buckle and I fall,

My battered head striking the

Stubborn and unforgiving ground,

Forcefully thrusting the thorns

Deeper into my wounded skull;

My soul silently suffers

In the dark night of the cross —

And yet I’m doing this all for you,

Just for you, because I love you,

So dearly, so deeply, so divinely.

TO ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST

In humility you

   wear camel’s hair,

And your faith in God

   is extremely rare;

True repentance is

   your counsel for all,

Helping poor sinners

   to avoid a fall;

You detest the cruel

   world’s horrible lies,

For verily you are

   both strong and wise;

Then one day you see

   the holy white Dove,

And know that you

have finally found Love.

TO ST. MATTHIAS THE APOSTLE

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.

TO ST. MATTHEW THE APOSTLE

You collected terribly tall taxes,

And that’s why many called you a beast,

But then you met the loving Lord Jesus,

And quickly your financial career ceased;

Some felt you were a bloodsucker,

With a black-hearted desire to be rich,

But when you followed the mild Messiah,

Immediately you found your niche.

Perhaps like Scrooge you were selfish,

And you knew not how to love,

But then the Savior softened your heart,

And it became like that of a dove;

Maybe you counted clusters of coins,

And had lofty luxurious goals,

But after the Good Master inspired you,

You wrote a gospel to save sinners’ souls.

TO ST. SIMON THE APOSTLE

You were a zealot against the Romans,

  Whom you terribly wanted to crush,

Perhaps you dreamt of spearing their skulls,

  And watching their bright blood gush;

But Jesus of Nazareth was meek and mild,

  And he turned the other cheek,

When He healed the Roman’s servant,

  Did you think the Messiah was weak?

But Jesus spoke to rich and poor,

  With an amazing proclamatory power,

And for all people -- even Samaritan and Roman --

  He humbly died in that Crucifixion Hour;

His multitudinous miracles filled your

  Heart with amazement and with awe,

Almost imperceptibly you came to realize

  That He was the fulfillment of the law.

Some say that you were cruelly crucified,

  Just like Our Most Blessed Lord,

Others say you were sawed in two,

  With your body savagely and brutally gored;

Either way, the acid anger of hate

  Corroded the malicious murderers’ brains,

While in your holy heart God’s Spirit

  Now everlastingly and eternally reigns.

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. THOMAS THE APOSTLE

The Christ was cruelly crucified in

  that tumultuous Passover season,

So your life was shattered and shaken,

  and you surrendered to the god of Reason;

You started to sound like a practical pagan,

  and not like a Christian apostle,

For you to believe Jesus rose from the dead,

  it would take a miracle very colossal.

The other apostles saw Jesus alive,

  and that’s why their faces turned pale,

But to you this sounded like a stupid story,

  like a fantastical fairy tale;

With stony sarcasm you scoffed at them,

  and you told them you needed proof,

Without some truly indisputable facts,

  it seemed like an apostolic goof.

But a week later you were with them

  as He walked right through the wall,

Your dark eyes now twinkled in the Light,

  and tears of faith began to fall;

Then you looked closer at Jesus’ flesh,

  and saw it ripped by a Roman lance,

So you crumbled to your knees in humility,

  and you melted in His merciful glance.

Your soul had dried up in the desert,

  with troubling doubts all around,

But now in this flash flood of Living Water,

  they very, very quickly drowned;

You then became the apostle of India,

  as your journeys led to the East,

Helping many people find their way,

  to the Heavenly wedding feast.

TO ST. BARTHOLOMEW

With smug sarcasm you doubted Philip:

  the Christ from Nazareth could not come;

Philip’s words just sounded impossible,

  and he didn’t believe his Bethsaidan chum.

Smiling softly, this Jesus said that

  He had seen you under the fig tree;

Your spiritual eyes suddenly opened,

  And the true Messiah did you finally see. 

You saw Lazarus slowly lurch forward,

  as he stepped out of his rocky grave;

This was one of many amazing miracles

  that in the end your soul did save.

Years later, you screeched and screamed in pain

  as your sordid killers skinned you alive;

But now your bright eyes see Heavenly glory

   where for eternity you very happily thrive.

TO ST. PHILIP THE APOSTLE

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.

TO ST. JUDE THADDEUS THE APOSTLE

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.

TO ST. JAMES THE LESSER, THE APOSTLE

You were the first bishop of Jerusalem,

  And were known as James the Just,

Since you were a relative of Jesus,

  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 club broke your bones,

But you uttered prayers for your attackers,

  In between your painful groans.