The Penitent Magdalene

The Penitent Magdalene

Saturday, 18 December 2010

+Fulton Sheen on the Blessed Sacrament

All my sermons are prepared in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. As recreation is most pleasant and profitable in the sun, so homiletic creativity is best nourished before the Eucharist. The most brilliant ideas come from meeting God face to face. The Holy Spirit that presided at the Incarnation is the best atmosphere for illumination. Pope John Paul II keeps a small desk or writing pad near him whenever he is in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament; and I have done this all my life — I am sure for the same reason he does, because a lover always works better when the beloved is with him

Why one should pray the Divine Office

At matins bound, at Prime reviled
Condemned to death at Terce,
Nailed to the Cross at Sext.
At None His blessed Side they pierced,
They take Him down at Vesper-Tide,
In the grave at Compline lay,
Who henceforth bids His Church observe
These sevenfold hours always

Devotion for after Holy Communion

Sight and touch percieve Bread and Wine but the light of Faith sees my Spouse Divine

Tuesday, 14 December 2010

Holy Mass

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of Holy Ghost

With these words Holy Mass begins; the eternal sacrifice made new upon the altar, the opening of the outpouring of love and mercy; at this point we adore God, we Worship him; but how shall finite creatures honour such an infinite debt? Oh how wonderful you are o’ God is that by joining our small acts of worship with the infinite homage and humiliation offered b y Jesus upon the altar we can pay this debt to you, through the introit, epistle, and collects we gather up our thoughts to you and give you Glory.

As the priest reads the Gospel we call to mind our sins; I know that I put my beloved upon the cross, I put my saviour, the Divine Spouse of my soul upon a wooden cross after being beaten, scourged and mocked, I may not have been there but I called out ‘CRUCIFY HIM’ when I sinned for a fleeting pleasure; I am as guilty as the Pharisees and the scribes; as guilty as Pilate and Herod.

Oh my beloved what a heavy debt I have amassed of sins with no means to pay the price myself; oh but my loving saviour who takes upon himself the price of my sins; oh Eternal Father I offer thee the satisfaction offered by gentle Jesus upon the Altar, oh Father if my tears move thee not then accept the tears offered by Jesus upon the Altar on my behalf; oh Precious Blood of Jesus wash over me and cleanse me from my sins, grant me my beloved the contrition of Mary Magdalene, the tears with which she washed thy feet and let me like she dry thy feet with the strands of my hair.

Oh as I look upon the offering the priest makes of thee I see with eyes of Faith my lover nailed to the cross where I have put him. “Hoc EST enim corpus meum”, Hic EST enim calix sanguinis Mei,

novi et aeterni testament; Oh how I wonder and rejoice at the words that bring my beloved down from heaven; as I thank God for making me a Christian, a Catholic Christian; for inviting me to the Marriage supper of the Lamb, as I move from my pew those words of holy writ come into my mind “behold the bridegroom cometh, go out to meet him’ as I kneel before the altar rail my mother appears again and places a flower in my hair before smiling and giving me her Divine son my beloved to hold in my soul; oh how sweet that my beloved now resides in me, he has given himself to me; oh how I must give myself totally to him, for him alone I will now live for him and him alone; such sweetness I feel that space and time collapse without meaning, how intense the feeling between creature and creator, Lord and slave, lover and lover that my body would fall apart if he were not so gentle and tender with me; in this time I offer my beloved what poor acts of love and adoration that I can.

Ite, missa est, and the Holy Sacrifice has ended; as I make my thanksgiving I console my love with prayers of reparation and ask pardon for those who wound him with sacrilege and indifference , oh blind sons and daughters, priests and religious of God; why do you wound him who loves your more than you love yourself? Why do you betray him for a fleeting pleasure that is straw fit only for the furnace?

I step out of the Chapel


I step into the Chapel; and I see him, my heart skips a beat; there he is upon the Alter; my Beloved.
Oh how I would praise him if I had infinite tongues, how would I love him if I could if the weakness of my flesh prevented me from being with him, how I wish to give myself to him completely; power, wealth and pleasure mean nothing to me now, I wish only for the joy of being offered as a living sacrifice upon his Alter.

I sit down my eyes transfixed upon my Beloved; I take out my Rosary and begin to pray, I look upon the crucifix and weep over the times I have placed my beloved upon the cross for a fleeting pleasure. Oh how I long to comfort him with prayers of reparation and love.

Suddenly I feel a hand upon my head I turn around; it is my mother combing my hair, she does so that I may give joy to my beloved by my comely appearance, one Ave, one brush of the comb, she is clothed in the habit and mantle of the Carmelites, her mantle flowing across her shoulders parting only to reveal the scapular draped over her tunic, the pure white chapel veil flowing across her hair is studied with precious stones reflecting her Glory as Queen of Heaven.

Turning back to my beloved I see people chatting idly and my heart is broken; do they not know who is there? Do they not believe? Do they simply not care? Oh how they would fall down in adoration and beg for mercy if they knew what that the Divine Bridegroom of their souls went through so that they may live.

Oh how I love you my Beloved, yet I still do not love you enough, how I wish for you to come and ravish my soul, to pierce me with the arrows of your love; free me from the passing cares of this world and fix my eye upon you and you alone; Oh Sweet Mother Mary, Bind me I beg you with the chains of your Rosary to the Bridegroom of my Soul, in making me your slave make me truly free.

Oh too soon our time here is ended, the priest takes thee back to the Tabernacle, OH how I wish we had more time here together, how I wish the demands of life were not so great that I must hurry away from thee; but even my Beloved if I cannot be present here with you in body I am here in Spirit.
I step out of the Chapel


A whisper, a voice carried on the wind “come follow me”; where does this voice come from? I look around’ the glade is clear; not a soul, I strain my ears to hear; not a sound.

Happily I return to chewing the grass; thinking thoughts to a family of my own, to children to raise away from the spectre my own broken home, to emigration and to love – suddenly I am hit, my soul is pierced by an arrow and I fall down, I cannot move, my legs will not obey; then I see the hunter .

No it cannot be he wants me, NO! I want a family of my own, I want to be healed of the heartache of a family in ruins, I want to hold my own children in my arms, I want to hold a future Spouse close to me, but above all I want to be loved by another.

Now the Divine hunter is closer, I know now that he is Jealous, he wants my love for himself; he does not want to share it, I scramble trying to get away hurting myself in the process; he is almost upon me, I know that he will catch me yet I still try to run, the wound in my soul deepens; I want a family yet I want to serve him as well, oh physical torments are but trifles compared to the agony I now suffer.

Then he caresses my soul and all thought of earthly pleasures disappears, the wound in my soul is healed; I love only him and him alone and become a willing slave to his will.

Based on the Description of how a soul realises she is being called to higher things by Fr. William Doyle S.J in his pamphlet "Vocation" (1873) and the Author's own personnel experience.

The Crucifix

How dirty and ragged you look; covered in blood, your back opened by lashes, your hand and feet pierced by nails, your face covered with dust and spittle , your hair matted with blood from the crown of thorns you wear.

But for those who love you Divine Spouse of my Soul, you reveal the radiant beauty of the Godhead itself that lies beneath the blood, sweat, dust and spittle; for those who love thee you grant eternal life itself.

Oh my beloved I grieve for the times have put you upon the Cross; I weep for the times I chose a fleeting passing forbidden pleasure over your supreme and infinite goodness! Why do you take us back? Why do you take back Spouses who routinely crucify the Bridegroom of their souls by choosing the devil over you? Why did you weep in the Garden over those who you knew would reject you? Why will you take back the wicked adulteress if she turns back to you?

Oh what Love, what love is this that is willing to forgive a thousand sins; the same love that allowed Magdalene to wash its feet with tears and dry it with her hair; the same Love that turned Saul into Paul, romanced a harlot and took her for thy Spouse.

For all you endured the Scourging, the Mocking, the Crucifixion yet so few turn to thee; even us who know thee turn away before turning back to thy love; a love that gave us a loving Mother and a rock-fast vicar, oh how we wish we could love thee as thou loves us; how we wish we could touch the sacred wounds by which we were redeemed, how I wish for you to hold me in your arms.

Come my beloved; hold me, console me, make me totally yours; deliver me from the world and its vanities, take me to where I may become a living sacrifice on your Altar, as you give yourself totally to me in your Body and Blood, let me give myself, my members and my soul totally to you.

My eyes rise from the Crucifix.