Gertrud von Le Fort/Hymns to the Church

Gertrude von Le Fort (1876-1971)

Gertrud von Le Fort, a German mystic, writer and convert to Catholicism at the age of fifty, has recently captured my attention and deeply moved my heart with her magnificent poetry.  She published over 20 books of poetry, essays, short stories and novels and was known as the "greatest contemporary transcendent poet."

In her book, Hymns to the Church, published in 1938 by Sheed and Ward, she beautifully captures the liturgical cycle with uplifting words that soar and sweep across the heart.  I was fortunate to find a copy of Hymns to the Church at the public library, because the only copy listed for sale on Amazon was offered for $500.00!  What a treasure these words are that a used book would be so highly valued!   In keeping with the season of Lent, here is one of my favorites: 

Passion

I

Your voice speaks to my soul:
    Be not afraid of my golden garments, have no fear of
    the rays of my candles,
For they are all but veils of my love, they are all but as
    tender hands covering my secret.
I will draw them away, weeping soul, that you may see I am
     no stranger to you.
How should a mother not resemble her child?
All your sorrows are in me.
I am born out of suffering, I have bloomed out of five
     holy wounds.
I grew on the tree of humiliation, I found strength in the
     bitter wine of tears.
I am a white rose in a chalice full of blood.
I live on suffering, I am the strength out of suffering, I am
     glory out of suffering:
Come to my soul and find your home.

II

And your voice speaks:

     I know of your shuddering at joy, I know how you go

     pale before the hours that are clad in purple.

I know your terror before the beakers of fullness,

I know too how you tremble before the soul of the best

     beloved!

For your depths are wounded by gladness; it reaches down

     into you with cold hands,

It quenches all your desires like a great hesitation.

It sinks on your senses like stones of guilt.  It falls on your 

     soul like the reek of wilted herbs.

It wraps you in pain from head to foot, then you are

     sheltered from joy by joy-

Then all your grief becomes eternal.

III

And your voice speaks:

     I will read the secret of your sorrow, O tender one,

     timid one, kin to my soul, beloved:

It is I who weep in the depths of you!

I have fashioned you for a thousand years and longer, I 

     blessed all your fathers and mothers with the cross.

You have cost me griefs and wounds, among thorns have I

     released your hands from the world.

You have cost me solitude, you have cost me dark silence

     through many generations.

You have cost me goods and chattels, you have cost me the

     ground under my feet, you have cost me a whole

     world!

You have grown subtle, soul, you have become like a 

     silky flax that it has taken long to spin:

You have become like a thread, so fine that it no longer

     holds.

See, you float away lightly over the meadows of life, you

     float away over the flowering lands,

But not one of them can hold you, homeless one, wandering

     soul of my sorrow.

IV

And your voice speaks:

     I will sing a Gloria that shall fill the top of my towers

     with the clangour of their bells.

Praise the Lord all sorrow of the earth!

Let the impoverished praise Him, and those who are in exile,

     let the disappointed praise Him, and the disinherited,

     let Him be praised by all whom nothing satisfies.

Be he praised by the bright torment of the spirit, and by

     the dark torment of nature.

Be He praised by the holy torment of love.

Be He praised by the solitude of the soul and by the soul's 

     captivity.

Be He praised by the sorrow of sin and by the woe that

     all things perish,

Be He praised also by the bitter anguish of death.

See, I strip my altars of all adornment, all their fine linen

     must fade like the loveliness of flowering fields.

All the images on them must hide their faces.

I will take away my last consolation, I will remove the

     Lord's Body, that my soul may become deep night.

For the sorrow of the world has become blessed, because it

     has been loved.

Behold the wood of the Cross on which hung the

     Salvation of the world.

For more, visit this link to read/pray von Le Fort's magnificent Litany for the Feast of the Most Sacred Heart from Hymns to the Church.  

In the Upper Room

It was several years ago that I was introduced to The Book of the Savior, a compilation of poetry and essays published by Frank Sheed and Maisie Ward in 1952.  The book is hard to find and I especially treasure my copy.  I've been reading it ever so slowly, perhaps an essay or poem each week, and have been savoring most of what I read.  One of the featured poets in the anthology, Charles O'Donnell, C.S.C., deeply moved me with his poem In the Upper Room.  A google search revealed very little about Fr. O'Donnell other than the fact that he had been the president of Notre Dame University from 1928-1934.  I don't know of anything else that he might have written.  But this, oh how it moves my heart!  Perhaps it moves yours, as well.

source

In the Upper Room

~ Charles O’Donnell, C.S.C.

What did you hear last night, your head on His breast there?

It was Peter in the dark supper-room

Asking of John,

Who with Mary, His Mother, was just returned

From burying Him.

I heard His blood moving like an unborn child,

And His heart crying.

I heard Him talking with His Father

And the Dove.

I heard an undertone as of the sea swinging, and a whispering at its centre.

I listened, and all the sound

Was a murmuring of names.

I heard my own name beating in His Blood,

And yours, Peter,

And all of you.

And I heard Judas,

And the names of all that have been

Or shall be to the last day.

And it was His Blood was calling out these names,

And they possessed His Blood.

Did you hear my name?

Asked a woman who was sitting at His Mother’s feet.

I heard your name, Mary of Magdala, and it was like a storm at sea

And the waves racing.

I heard Peter’s name,

And the sea broke, I thought, and ran over the world.

You heard then the name of Mary, His Mother, Peter said quietly, as he wept there, kneeling.

I did, and it was like the singing of winds and they moving over an ocean of stars, and every star like a hushed child sleeping.

Again Peter-

What of Iscariot?

I heard the tide come in and I felt the tide go out,

And I saw a dead man washed up on the shore.

And then John fell to weeping, and no one there could comfort him but only Mary, the Mother of Jesus, and he could tell them

No other word.

St. Mary's of the Pines

The Salzmann Library at Saint Francis de Sales Seminary in Milwaukee is the home to many antique treasures including an 1882 copy of Poems written by Bernard Durward, founder of Durward's Glen Retreat and Conference Center near Baraboo, Wisconsin.

Bernard Isaac Durward, a native of Scotland, arrived in Milwaukee in 1845 with his family where he worked as an artist.  His painting included portraits of Milwaukee's founding fathers and Archbishop Henni, Milwaukee's first Archbishop.  After painting the Archbishop, Durward converted to Catholicism and became a professor of English literature at Saint Francis de Sales Seminary until 1862 when he bought the beautiful land known as Durward's Glen.  Two of his sons became priests and the property remains a destination for religious retreats and prayerful nature walks.

Portrait of Archbishop John Henni painted by Bernard Isaac Durward

The state of Wisconsin and the Catholic Church have been greatly blessed by the legacy of this artist, poet, teacher and naturalist. If you are ever given the opportunity to visit Durward's Glen, you will find a most peaceful and prayerful setting which was the home of Bernard Durward and his family. This poem of his describes it perfectly!

St. Mary's of the Pines by Bernard Durward-

Dear retreat for mortal wearied
With turmoil,
Take me to your sheltering bosom!
Soothe my brain with nature's gladness,
Pour the balm and wine and oil!
Dull routine my life has wounded
Nigh to sadness;
Give me in you wildernesses
Change of toil!

And ye springs that gush and sparkle
As your pour
From your never failing fountains,
From your dark, mysterious prison,
Swelling still the streamlet's store,
Laughing to the light of morning
Newly risen-
Let me join with your sweet murmurs
One voice more.

From the unseen came I also.
By the might
Of the Eternal Fount of Being,
Through the darksome ways of error,
Far more dismal than the night
Of your hidden stony barriers;
From that terror
By the hand of mercy lifted
Into light.

Streamlet-daughter of a thousand
Limpid springs!
On thou speedest like an angel
With a healing benediction
Folded underneath his wings;
Warbling sweetest as thou meetest
Contradiction
From rude stones on which the lichen
Feeds and clings-

Oh, that I could scatter blessing
Like to thee!
That my soul could mirror beauty
As thy bosom's liquid crystal!
That my songs might be as free,
Varied, lasting as thy singing!
Then should list all
Mortals to my strain-a minstrel
I should be.

Pines, that heal the air with perfume,
Towering high,
Decked with cones for jewels, pendant
In your green immortal vesture,
Though your heads are in the sky,
Yet, like mortal man beneath you,
You must rest your
Feet upon the solid fabric,
Or must die.

Lend my verse the balsam odor
Of your tears!
And the color of your needles,
And the heavenward direction
Of your stems, which rise like spears,
That my song may still point upward
From dejection
And the basis of the earthly
To the spheres!

Rocks, that Time has worn to grandeur
With his breath!
Steadfast as a righteous canon,
High above the vanished ages,
Moveless 'mid surrounding death;
How your silence and your shadows
Shame my pages!
Doomed to crumble, as the leaves
My feet beneath.

Little chapel, rude and lonely
To the eye,
How thy white cross in the sunlight
Gleams and prompts a prayer in whispers!
Shall my mouldering ashes lie
Blest and near thee, though unheeding
Song of Vespers,
Or the Kyrie Eleison's
Plaintive cry?

Gorge of beauty, sweetly nestled
'Mong the hills;
Far removed from sordid traffic,
Filled with springs forever weeping
Through the rocks in mossy rills-
Shall my lowly memory linger
In thy keeping,
When this heart which now is throbbing
Silence fills?

Yes; a little while my footsteps
May be known;
And the hearts that I have cherished
Will remember me in yonder
Sacred symbol in the stone!
They will say "His hand engraved it!"
And with fonder
Accents of affection whisper,
"He is gone!"

"Gone! above this transient vision
Of a day;
Upward springing through the azure,
Upward to the Source of Beauty,
From the strife of sin and clay,
Soared his spirit to our Savior,
As the levin
Through the clouds of storm and darkness
Cleaves its way."

A fascinating biography of Bernard Durward can be found here.

Curtains

"There he was transfigured before them.  His garments became radiant and exceedingly white, as no fuller on earth could whiten them."  ~Mark 9:3

The late evening sunshine filters through the lace of the curtains casting floral patterns of light and shadow upon the bedroom door.

Worn from the busyness of the day, I pause from my activities, enchanted by the simple beauty of the curtains revealed in a way I'd never before considered, not hanging on the window keeping the light out, but reflected upon the door bringing the light in.

Is my tired mind playing tricks on me?  For I'm certain I see an image that wasn't there upon first glance. Could it be Christ peeking out of the curtain's reflection?  Has my Lord come to visit me?  Is it Him standing there, white garment shining as if it had been touched by the fuller's lye, transfigured for my eyes alone?

Is He watching me, watching over me, drawing me into His light?  I can't take my eyes off of Him, and long after the sun sets and the shadows disappear, I watch for Him, hope for His return, not in a shadow on my bedroom door, but within my heart, where He will forever live.

Shine in my heart, Lord.  Illuminate my soul.  May the simplicity of Your beauty show forth with my every word, gesture and movement.  Let me be the curtain through which the world may see You.  Amen.

The Fragments

"Even if you aren't good, God will love you into goodness, if you allow it.  And God will love you into generosity, and He will love you into honesty, if you open your heart to Him."  ~Bishop Richard Sklba

Retired Auxiliary Bishop Sklba

At Old St. Mary Parish we are blessed to pray with retired auxiliary Bishop Richard Sklba two mornings each week at daily Mass and on some Sunday mornings as well.  My family has come to love him and my children often comment that they think it would be great if he were a grandfather to them.  His gentle, quiet style makes for peaceful prayer and he never fails to leave his homily listeners with a nugget or two of wisdom that can draw us closer to the Lord.

On a  recent Sunday morning when the Gospel reading was about the loaves and the fishes (Matthew 13:14-21), Bishop Sklba shared a story about a now-deceased Carmelite Sister at the Carmel of the Mother of God in Pewaukee, Wisconsin, who had written a poem called The Leftovers, and dedicated it to him.  I immediately lit up with excitement knowing that he was speaking about one of my favorite poets, Sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit, also known as Jessica Powers.

Although I have read quite a bit of Jessica Powers' poetry, I could not recall reading The Leftovers.   I was unable to find it online so I finally broke down and purchased every book of hers that I could find. I am so glad to have made those purchases because I will be relishing her poetry over and over again for years to come.  The Leftovers, copied below, has much food for thought, pardon the pun.  I especially love the last line, "the fragments, too, were miracles of love."

Jessica Powers-
Sr. Mirian of the Holy Spirit

The Leftovers by Jessica Powers

With twenty loaves of bread Elisha fed
the one hundred till they were satisfied,
and scripture tells us there was bread left over.
Jesus did more:  with five small barley loaves
and two dried fish he fed five thousand men,
together with their wives and children, all
neatly arranged upon the cushioned grass.
The awed disciples, when the crowd had eaten,
gathered up what was left:  twelve baskets full.

Who then received these fragments?  Hopefully,
the least (though not less favored) and the poor.
I think of those who always seem to get
the leavings from the banqueting of others,
the scraps of bread, of life, that goodness saves.
I pray that they come proudly when invited,
make merry at their meal, and have their fill,
and rise up thankfully, remembering
the fragments, too, were miracles of love.

How often do we find ourselves getting by on fragments-cleaning out the last bit of food in the refrigerator before shopping for more, wearing an old pair of threadbare socks before finding and taking the time to do the laundry, scrounging around in our wallets to find the last dollar to give to our children for bus fare or school lunch, running out of energy and dozing off while reading a bedtime story to a toddler; giving the very last of who we are and what we have in service to the Lord and to others.  We use our resources and our very selves completely in our efforts to follow the Gospel.  Very often the ordinary moments of our entire lives are the fragments that God uses to reveal His love. And we ourselves are fragments when we are tired, hungry, over-worked, and low on funds.  We are miracles of God's love, each and every one of us, miracles meant to bring His deep love that dwells within our souls to the world around us, sharing all that we have, even though it might not be very much, with one another, so that all might know His love.

source

Profess Courage

"Courage daughter!  Your faith has saved you!"  ~Matthew 9:22

"Do not panic, but look to Christ."  ~St. Francis de Sales

"Be not afraid."  ~Pope St. John Paul II

"Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for You are with me."  ~Psalm 23

You are not powerless.

Fear is powerless.

Fear was crucified-

crowned and pierced

by the blackest of sins.

But our God rose above

the pounding of the heart

the sweating of the palms

and the terror of the imagination.

He faced fear head-on

and conquered it.

And now He holds your hand

and gently guides you

as you face your own fears.

What is there to fear?

Put your trust in Him, child of God.
Kick the shackles of fear aside
and profess courage.

Look deep inside and find

His strength thriving within your soul.

Believe in His love for you

and live.

God's Love National Religious Art Show

I had the great honor and blessing of attending the Contemporary Religious Artists Association (CRAA) Art Show in Kansas City, Kansas on July 12th and was so profoundly moved by all that I experienced and learned there that I feel my life will never be the same.  The theme of the show was "God's Love Portrayed in Art", and truly, it's impossible to simply view religious art that portrays God's love without finding that your entire heart and soul are expanded to love Him ever more deeply and to enjoy His love for you ever more fully.

My dear friend and art mentor Christi Jentz, had encouraged me to enter some of my poetry in the show and I was so pleased to find that all three of my entries had been accepted.  So Christi and I traveled to Kansas City by car, a nine-hour drive, for the opening reception of the show, and then she arranged for me to travel home by airplane, my first-ever flight, while she remained in Kansas to attend some of the art classes that are taught by world-renown artists such as David Clayton and Dr. Caroline Farey from the School of the Annunciation at Buckfast Abbey in Devon, England.

I experienced so much beauty and joy in my short weekend stay that I will have to divide all that I want to share into several posts.  I found every single person that I met in the Archdiocese of Kansas City to be extremely warm and welcoming which put this simple wife and mother well at ease on my very first experience away from my home state without my family.  Elizabeth Zeller, the founder and director of the CRAA as well as the organizer of the art show, was especially kind and welcoming.  The show was held at the Savior Pastoral Center which is home to the Archdiocesan offices.  Upon our arrival, Christi gave me a tour of the building and once I discovered the intimate chapel on the lower floor it quickly became a favorite place for me to sneak away in the early morning hours for some time alone with God.

The work of the artists in the show was extremely high-caliber.  Everything was beautiful!  I truly felt like a fish-out-of-water at this event.  My favorite pieces are pictured.

The Art Show as it was being set up

another view of the art show being set up

Exchange of Hearts by Christi Jentz

Triptych of Book of Revelation by Christi Jentz

Coronation by Christi Jentz (from a stained glass window at the Basilica of St. Josephat in Milwaukee

bronze sculpture by Elizabeth Zeller, OFS, founder and director of the CRAA

bronze sculpture by Elizabeth Zeller, OFS, founder and director of the CRAA

bronze sculpture by Elizabeth Zeller, OFS, founder and director of the CRAA

photograph of St. Peter's Basilica in Rome by Abbott Barnabas Senecal

For my contribution to the show, I chose three of my poems that were short enough to be easily framed with a photographic background that would meet the art show requirements of revealing God's love.  It was a thrill to see them displayed publicly and to receive words of admiration for them from people who are truly magnificent artists.  I not only framed them for the show, but also made them into note cards.  Both the framed poems and the note cards are available for sale, so if you would have an interest in making a purchase, please do send me an email and I'll be very happy to send them to you.  The 5x7 matted and framed prints are on acid-free photo paper with the words of the poem on acid-free vellum.  The cards are 4x6 on acid-free card stock with the poem on a vellum overlay attached with a ribbon.  They are blank inside for your own message.

Blush

The fragrance of wild roses fully in bloom is currently filling my yard and delighting my senses.  It's a little late for the blossoms this year as we've been enjoying an abnormally cool June here in Milwaukee which has delayed the opening of the roses.  But now that they are fully open, and since they have a short growing season, in another week they'll be done, I thought it would be a fitting time to share my poem, Blush, written about those fragile flowers and how they are a sign of God's love for me.  Blush will be displayed at the Contemporary Religious Artists Association in Kansas City next month.  The theme of the show is "God's Love."  To learn more about the art show, visit here.

Blush

The wild rose buds are pried apart
by the early June heat.
Their opening is a gasp for air and water
as they separate their soft petals,
reluctantly releasing their pink blush
and their heavenly fragrance.

There's a hint of divine 
that resides in their beauty, and I blush, too,
when I think of how He loves me.
He loves me passionately and wildly;
me...a simple nobody.

And He sends an abundance 
of pink roses in June
for this nobody
who blushes with delight
at His sweet and fragrant gift.

Saturated

Sometimes all we need is a little nudge from our friends to send us out of our comfort zone and propel us to experience life in a new and adventurous way.  I was encouraged by my friend Christi, to enter some of my poetry in the Contemporary Religious Artists Association's National Show in Kansas City this coming July.  The theme of the show is God's Love.  I sent in three of my poems thinking nothing much would come of it, and then I promptly put the thought of the art show out of my mind.  What a delicious surprise to receive an email a month later telling me that all three of my poems were accepted into the show!!!

Soon I'll be off on an adventure like I've never known before, including my first airplane ride!  I'll be writing more posts about my experience with the art show and my visit to Kansas City in the future, but for today, on the Feast of Corpus Christi, I want to share one of my entries.

May the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ permeate your soul today and always!

Saturated

"Amen" I say, and the cup is offered;
a small sip and I return 
to my knees with the taste of
the Precious Blood still strongly
flavoring my mouth.

A little taste is all it takes
for the Blood of Christ to
saturate every pore of my body.
I am drenched in the beautiful liquid
that quenches my deep thirst for Him.

Oh Lord, let your Most Precious Blood,
outpouring  from your side,

permeate my soul forever.

Immerse me, flood me, wash me in your love.

Bound

artwork drawn by my son, Justin, when he was eleven-years-old,
based upon a drawing found in a Stations of the Cross booklet for children
from Gesu Parish in Milwaukee, originally drawn by Mugsie Pike

Here He is,

painfully bound-

bound by my sin,

my misery,

my indifference.

How can I loosen

those binding ties, my Lord?

How can I relieve

your suffering and sorrow?

Let my tears of repentance

fall in abundance.

Let the hope in my heart

set you free.

Let the joy of my life

lived with gratitude

be the dagger

to cut the burning ties

that excoriate Your skin,

scorching through to Your 

Most Sacred Heart,

already burning with the fire

of love for my pitiful soul.

The only binding I can bear
to see You held within, my Lord,

is the fastening You desire.

I will wrap my life around Your holy will

and forever be held close to You, 

bound to Your beautiful love

today and into eternity.

Daffodils

google images

In the midst of a snowstorm 

I remember the long forgotten daffodil bulbs 

planted last fall,

just waiting to burst forth into bloom 

at the first touch of the warmth of spring, 

and I smile. 

Like the daffodil, 

we are all waiting to burst forth

 into new life

 at the gentlest touch 

of our beloved Creator's hand.

Stretch out Your hand, O Lord! 

Bring us to new life in You! 

Re-create our souls to bring glory to You alone!

Sanctuary and Sustenance

He buried his face 

in the baptismal font

slurping the holy water like a dog,

shouting incomprehensibly about

the Infant's swaddling clothes,

and when he approached the altar

the fear in our hearts

swelled at this bizarre behavior.

He was asked to leave

 the sanctuary of

church and went out

into the bitter cold.

But me, I sit

for hours upon hours

gaze shifting from

tabernacle to crucifix, 

to saintly statues and stained glass,

silently relishing

the sustenance of

the Bread of Angels

and the Cup of Salvation

before going out

on my own accord

into the bitter cold.

The Fullness of Time

 "But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman." ~Galatians 4:4

source:  google images

She was

swollen with hope

ripe with Love

abundant with grace

saturated with trust

complete with life

full of time

His time

His eternal

never-ending

always there

abiding, enduring, everlasting 

past, present and future

timeless time

He entered

through Her

for us

and we, too, 

are forever timeless

through His grace and with her yes

we exist

in the fullness of time

Angel of Death

While resting upon the rock
that juts out into the lake,
chilled to the bone
by the damp, cold November air,
I observed the angel of death
pass over in a lone,
gray cloud, drifting
lower than the rest.

Ripples moved across the lake,
and the crow was silenced.

I waited for the angel
to take my soul
and leave my limp, lifeless body
on the rock.

But, alas, it was not my time.

He continued slowly upon his way
and left me to my silent,
peaceful reverie
of all those souls
whom I have loved,
now passed from this earth
into the eternal arms of God.

May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.  Amen.

(a revised re-post from All Soul's Day past)

Eternal Proof

"I love you," He said.

"Prove it!" we sneered.

And He did.

O Jesus, Heart of my heart,

the wound in your side,
forever throbbing
and without a cure,

inflicted by my shallow,

 doubting mind,

is eternal proof of your love.

How regretful am I

to have required this sign.

Deepen my trust, I pray.

Never let me question You again.

For Your open side reveals

 Your Love

which is stronger

than death
and You are with me,
loving me,
even now,
even now.

Amen.

For more contributions on the Sacred Heart of Jesus for the First Friday link-up at O Most Sacred Heart blog, visit here.  This month's theme is:   "The Love of the Sacred Heart is stronger than death."  

St. Margaret Mary

It's the feast of one of my favorite saints today so I'm celebrating with a picture and a poem that I love....

St. Margaret Mary

There were so many thorns

about his brow, 

so many red lips 

to prove the reality 

of His love, 

so little fertility 

in the soil of

His creature's affections,

so much of winter everywhere:

need we be surprised that

when the Gardener

found a rose

fragrant with remembrance

He should lift it

to His Heart?

~Fr. Gerald Fitzgerald, sP 

Paths from Bethlehem