MARY STANDS BENEATH THE CROSS

MARY STANDS BENEATH THE CROSS

Gradually

we shall grow up to pain

as Mary did.

A sapling set securely by God’s hand

withstands the blast

of prophecy, holds out

through exiled dearth

through triple dark,

and in the years serene,

thrusts roots so deep that,

in the great upheaval,

one tree stands.

Fifth Dolour[1]

Sister M Julian RSM

In: The Refuge of Beauty.  1954

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[1] Fifth Dolour: The Blessed Virgin stands at the foot of the Cross.

GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT

GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT

The wild mob was quieter

than this tomb crying: “Death”,

their angry shouting hurt His mother

less than Mary’s sobbing.

She cannot leave Him to this strident silence:

who cherished songs at evening,

loved best of all the music of her voice.

That three days’ wait will bring

angelic choirs

is only prophecy.

Tonight her Little One

sleeps here alone.

Sister M Julian RSM

In: The Refuge of Beauty.  1954

48

FOR OUR LADY OF LOURDES

FOR OUR LADY OF LOURDES[1]

“Blessed are they who have not seen ...”[2]

but who have sought

on mountain paths

your beauty poised

above a winter rose.

“Blessed are they ...”

for life shall be for them

this only: your name

and the fair music of your smile.

Sister M Julian RSM

 In: The Refuge of Beauty.  1954

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[1] Lourdes, France, is a place of pilgrimage where, according to Catholic Church teaching, in 1858 the Blessed Virgin appeared  to St Bernadette Soubirous on eighteen occasions

[2] John XX:29

DOMUS DOMINI The Annunciation

DOMUS DOMINI[1]

The Annunciation

Nazareth was home to her

until an angel voice shook down the stars

and Love’s wing

shadowed the sun.

Heaven and home are one now;

exile is not.

Light dwells in her.

Wherever she walks, is God.

March 25

Sister M Julian RSM

 In: The Refuge of Beauty.  1954

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[1] The house of the Lord

SONNETS OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY: THE WAY OF THE CROSS

THE WAY OF THE CROSS

The truth of Simeon's prophetic words

In Jerusalem horribly came to pass

All over Galilee the news was heard

That Jesus through betrayal captured was

Pilate washed his hands in hoped for innocence

Where now were those who had so lately praised?

Masses of people showed their ignorance

Grim heads were tossed and threatening fists were raised

With nails His Hands and Feet were cruelly pierced

The salty blood from thorn crown blinded His Eyes

After three hours of intolerable tears

The Son of God, the Son of Mary, died

Taken down from the Cross He on her knees was laid

With Mary at His burial but few of Christ's friends prayed

Luky Whittle

MOTHER OF FAIR LOVE

MOTHER OF FAIR LOVE

Close as the dove’s wing to her breast of peace

she folds her Child – and every other child at last

safe in the kind blue shadow of her veil

will lie content, all fright and anguish past.

And wise old men shall turn their eyes in awe

to that pure brown and almond-curve of cheek

bent motherly to teach them all the lore

of patient love they had not wit to seek.

Sister M Jeremy

Sign.  1940

CONVERSATIONS OF PÈRE LAMY (based on the memoir by Paul Biver)

CONVERSATIONS OF PÈRE LAMY

(based on the memoir by Paul Biver)

Curé of ragpickers, often taken in

by women who came begging for layettes

to sell for wine – “I did not know it though,

they changed their kerchiefs, spoke a different way.

How could I know they had been here last week?”

“He let himself be taken in,” jeered Satan.

“He wanted to do good.  How could he tell?

I should have done the same myself,” said Mary.

She smiled with eyes as blue as periwinkle,

but nonetheless – “Please be a little careful

next time.”  He knew she was not blaming him.

One day they talked about his country childhood,

she said: “You would have killed yourself, you know,

cutting your capers in the trees.  I saved you

hundreds of times.  And then that frightful statue!

You thought to honour me by painting it –

the yellow sash!  You made me very ugly!”

She laughed with all her heart.  “But still I liked it.”

(Satan with his fox face was there and listening.

She turned to him.)  “This child sang hymns to me.

He had a fresh young voice.  I liked to hear it.

You tried to kill him in a fire once.

I wished that he should be a priest.  You see?

He is a priest.”   Her great triumphant eyes

sparkled with love; her motherly, small hands

moved exquisitely toward the bent old man.

“When he was twenty-three and in the army,

he said my Little Hours every day,

He fell asleep and, when he woke, his fingers

were at the end.  He thought he had said all

and slept again.  And that is what I wanted!

I turned the leaves and moved your fingers for you.”

“I was a simpleton.”  They smiled together.

“Now let’s consider how your days are spent,

my child – you haven’t heard that ever, have you?

And that’s all right.  What interests me more

is that for seventeen years, more or less

you haven’t gone to bed before midnight

seventeen times.  And you are on your feet

by five each morning.  We love abnegation

my Son and I, when it forgets itself.

You say Mass well – but still you do not ask

nearly enough.  Ask for much more.”  Her eyes

looked straight at him, looked through him and beyond

to lands where no cross stood.  Her gaze returned

and rested on his surplice – “Now that lace ...”

She touched it.  “Imitation, as I thought.”

That did not bother him; somehow he felt

comforted.  He knew she was not fussy,

she liked things well done, that was all.  The chancel

should have been washed a month ago at least

and he would do it if Germaine did not.

“Listen,” her hands were lifted, “I give always,

my Son and I, we are not hard to please.

Leave all to me.  The people must do penance

or war will come again.  There must be order.

Marriage must be inviolate.”  She wept.

Yet soon she said: “My child, if God in anger

should smash the world to pieces, I would gather

the fragments up and take them back to Him.

Do you know that?”  Her eyes blazed love and pity

                                                           

                                                                   *  *  *

Later a sculptress made a statue of her;

the head was bowed “to be more mystical.”

“My dear,” said Père Lamy, “you have it wrong.

She is not mystical at all.  She looks you

straight in the eye ...  “

The old curé is dead now.

Those who receive help through his intercession[1]

are earnestly entreated to inform

Monsieur le Curé de Saint Lucien.

Sister M Jeremy OP

America.   19 October 1946

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[1] Sister Jeremy here suggests that Père Lamy, having lived a saintly, exemplary life, may be raised to sainthood, provided proof can be given that through his intercession spiritual and material blessings have been obtained from God.