#this scene lord ....I felt her indifference in my heart and soul

[nat111love]

YIGIT AND SIBEL

SEREF MESELESI (2014)

[pamphletstoinspire]

Easter Sunday - April 4, 2021

The Temple of Christ’s Body is restored; He is risen, alleluia!

Today is the Feast of Feasts!

On this, the holiest day of the entire year, and for the entire Octave of Easter, Latin Catholics greet each other with the words of Luke 24:34, “Surrexit Dominus vere, alleluia!” (“The Lord is risen indeed!”). The person so greeted responds, “Et apparuit Simoni, alleluia!” (“And hath appeared unto Simon!”). Catholics may even answer their telephones with this greeting. An old Ukrainian legend relates that, after His Resurrection, Christ threw Satan into a deep pit, chaining him with twelve iron chains. When Satan has chewed through each of the twelve chains, the end of the world will come. All year long, the Evil One gnaws at the iron, getting to the last link in the last chain — but too late, for it is Easter, and when the people cry “Christ is risen!” all of Satan’s efforts are reversed. When the faithful stop saying the Easter acclamation, the end of time has come…

Throughout the entire Easter Season, the Angelus prayer that is offered, when possible, at the ringing of the Angelus bells, is replaced by the joyous Regina Coeli, which begins, “Queen of Heaven rejoice, alleluia: For He whom you merited to bear, alleluia, Has risen as He said, alleluia.”

On this most beautiful of Feasts, the Easter table should be adorned with the best of everything — the most beautiful china, a pure, white tablecloth, the best possible wine, flowers (especially pussy willow, lilies, and spring bulb flowers), etc., all with the colors white and gold — symbolizing purity and glory — and the traditional symbols of Easter predominating. And we should look our best, too; it is common for those who can afford it to buy a new outfit to wear on this day. This custom springs from the idea of “newness” inherent in the entire Season — the new members of the Church baptized at the Vigil in their new Baptismal albs, the New Law, a new life in Christ.

by Fr. Francis Xavier Weninger, 1876

“And on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalen cometh early, when it was yet dark, unto the sepulcher.”–John xx, 1.

Alleluia! Once more we greet the joyous Easter-day, the glorious festival, the feast of feasts! Alleluia! the lofty note of triumph resounds throughout high heaven to salute the Lamb of God, the mighty Conqueror, while earth takes up the glad refrain, and Alleluia wakes happy, holy thoughts in Christian souls, absorbed in fervent homage in many a temple wherein is celebrated this great festival with all the splendor of our Holy Church. And yet, alas! to how many it brings no real heartfelt joy!

How many, who call themselves Christians, unite in a merely external manner in the celebration of today! To outward seeming they rejoice; but only a superficial joy is theirs. To them the spiritual delight, the real happiness–in a word, the Alleluia of the Paschal time–brings no deep meaning; while to those who have, from spiritual death, risen to the life of grace, and then, with zealous earnestness, continue their efforts to attain perfection, this feast will prove a happy day indeed. The joy of Easter will penetrate the very marrow of the soul.

So it was with Mary Magdalen, and so, too, it will be with every Christian who, like that great saint, and also like Mary the Immaculate Mother of Christ, is sincerely disposed for a proper participation in the joy of Easter. And today, my brethren, I will explain to you in what this special preparation for it consists; so that to each and every one of you it may be given to feel the delight of Mary Magdalen, when she beheld her risen Lord.

O Mary, thrice happy Mother of Jesus, may we participate in the joy felt by Magdalen on that Eastermorn! May a faint reflex of your sentiments, as you embraced your beloved Son and Lord, arisen from the dead, fall upon our hearts today! I speak in the name of the newly-risen Jesus, to the greater glory of God!

Dear brethren, let us dwell for a few moments upon the scene! The Redeemer, Master of life and death, had scarcely burst the bonds of His prison-house, when countless souls, ransomed by His infinite mercy from Limbo, hovered over His sepulcher. Myriads of angels too were there, bowing in homage before their King. The rosy dawn dispelled the lingering shades of night which had hung like a pall over Jerusalem, and revealed the uncertain steps of one whose attitude of deep dejection betrayed her grief. It was Mary Magdalen.

She approaches the tomb. It is empty, and now a new anxiety weighs upon her; when suddenly Christ stands before her, not as she had known Him in life, but in the dress of a gardener. Not recognizing Him she asks: “If thou hast taken Him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him and I will take Him away.” Now the Lord calls her by name: “Mary,” and she feels that it is the voice of Jesus, the voice which uttered the consoling words: “Thy sins are forgiven thee.” It was a voice she could not fail-to know. She looks up at Him; she recognizes Him; she falls prostrate at His feet. “Jesus, Master, you live! Alleluia!” Heavenly joy thrills her heart as she hastens to the disciples with the glad tidings that Jesus lived, and had appeared to her.

Each child of the Church should share the joy of Magdalen, the penitent and forgiven. And if in it he has no part, where can be found the cause? I answer: Something is wanting in the preparation of the heart. Look at Mary Magdalen, and learn from her. She rejoiced, because her’s was a soul purified by sorrow and tears of repentance. In her we behold the Magdalen, who, sinking beneath the burden of her contrition, gave vent to her feelings at the feet of Jesus.

Christian! if you feel not the joyous influence of the Paschal time, is it not that you are, as yet, unreconciled with your risen Lord? that your soul is marred with the disfiguring stain of mortal sin? For others the Easter jubilee; for you the mournful memories of Good Friday! For, alas! you have crucified your Saviour in your heart. Let me beg that you will not refuse to unite with those fervent souls whose Alleluia resounds throughout the earth, but that, by fervent prayer, you will obtain the grace of contrition, and, having “arisen with Christ,” by a worthy confession you may rejoice with His faithful followers.

And you, lukewarm and indifferent Christian, what sentiments does this glorious day awaken within your heart? Alas! it is cold; the Alleluia finds no responsive echo there. And what wonder? You may not indeed have crucified your Saviour by mortal sin; but the many venial faults which sully the purity of your soul, drive Him from you, and sorrowfully He stands afar off.

Mary Magdalen knelt at His feet. It was her dearest joy to be near her Lord, but that privilege was never hers, until by tears of sorrow she had cleansed her soul from the slightest stain of sin. She was a penitent soul. Imitate her example, purify your soul from its sins and faults, and then, with the illustrious penitent, can you truly welcome your risen Lord.

Secondly.–Mary Magdalen had disposed her heart for the celebration of Easter by meditation. She was a contemplative soul. Absorbed in adoration at the feet of Jesus, she listened to the words of divine wisdom which issued from His lips, and, according to Christ Himself, she “chose the better part.”

But how many Christians, celebrating Easter exteriorly, do not meditate, and hence a cold and lifeless faith is theirs, causing them to listen with indifference when the most sublime truths of religion are presented for their instruction. Nay, even the good and pious are not free from censure in this regard. They believe, they pray, but they do not meditate; and even by them the solemn mysteries of our redemption are not celebrated according to the spirit of our Holy Mother Church. Her wish and desire is that we may endeavor to bring the truths of holy faith before our mental vision, in as vivid a manner as though we had lived at the time those wonderful scenes in the great work of our redemption took place, and had witnessed them in the very order in which they transpired. Then we will begin to realize the reward which in an eternity of bliss awaits the purified soul and feel the sweetness of its Alleluia on earth.

Thirdly.–Mary Magdalen’s heart was prepared by works of self-denial. She was a mortified soul, and how could it have been otherwise with her? Was she not the same to whom was given the grace to behold, with her own eyes, the dreadful spectacle of a lacerated, scourged, nay, even of a crucified and dying Saviour? Was she not the same devoted lover of Jesus upon whom, as she knelt beneath the cross, His tears and blood fell down? And her entire subsequent life, when she dwelt in solitude in the little hermitage in Gaul, was spent in acts of penance, although, from the Redeemer Himself, she had heard the blessed words: “Thy sins are forgiven thee!”

And you, Christians, if your hearts are not entoning the Alleluia today with her exultation, why is it? Because you do not love the cross, and strive to escape from the observance of the holy season, which this day terminates. Immediately preceding the festivity of Easter, the Church, during the days set apart for penance, strives to instill into the hearts of her children that penitential spirit, which will impel them to take up the cross and follow their suffering Redeemer to Calvary. Have you spent the holy season according to that spirit? Then, indeed, you may rejoice with Mary Magdalen today. But, if not, although the grandeur of the ceremonies which are displayed before you can not fail to produce an impression and excite some joy, it will be but a transitory impression and a superficial joy, in which the Alleluia has no part.

Fourthly–Mary Magdalen, in her longing after the divine word gave up every thing, and followed her Saviour in His apostolic missions. Trampling under foot the opinion of the world, and casting aside the promptings of human respect, in the presence of Him she found her greatest happiness. Such sentiments animated her, when, at the banquet given by the haughty Pharisee, she knelt publicly at the feet of Jesus. With such feelings she sought Him on Good Friday, prostrating herself before Him; and so also on the Easter-morn did she seek for, and find her risen Lord.

Child of the one true Church, do you wish to rejoice with Mary Magdalen? Then with her resolve to follow your Lord, and for this end seek Him with neverflagging earnestness; and, having found Him, contemplate in Him the adorable model, by imitating which you will one day behold Him face to face. Souls who are satisfied to lead an ordinary Christian life, who do not hunger and thirst after perfection, who lead not an interior life, do not participate in the joy of this great penitent, and alas! they will never understand it.

In conclusion, the soul of Mary Magdalen was a grateful and loving soul towards Jesus. She recognized Him on that Easter-morn by His voice; and as He spoke her name, “Mary!” the thought of the countless favors she had received at His sacred hands rushed swiftly over her. Her heart overflowed with its burden of gratitude; and oh! she felt how sweet it would be to cancel that debt by the perfect love with which she would regard her Saviour during an eternity of purest bliss. Then, indeed, could she worthily celebrate the feast of feasts!–the glorious Easter jubilee in heaven!

Mary’s love was sincere, magnanimous, self-sacrificing, and constant. Of this Christ Himself has given testimony: “She hath loved much.” This mighty love not only gained for her an unconditional pardon of her former sins, but it became the source of numberless graces for her future life. And the same is promised to every member of the one true Church, whose love for Jesus is sincere, magnanimous, self-sacrificing, and constant, like that of Mary Magdalen.

The recurrence of Easter, my brethren, should increase every year our confidence in divine Providence, and remind us of the unwearied solicitude with which God has, from our very infancy up to the present moment, watched over us, guided our footsteps through the dangers which encompass us, and through His Holy Spirit is ever whispering to us to renounce our sins, to “love much,” that He may “forgive us much.” If we listen to that whisper we will indeed “arise with Christ; “we will participate to the utmost in the true spiritual jubilee of this blessed day.

Thus, my brethren, let your preparation for Easter be according to the disposition of St. Magdalen; and you will celebrate with Magdalen, in the spirit of the Church, Easter on earth, and soon, with Magdalen also, Easter in heaven forever. Amen!

“And the disciple whom Jesus loved came to the sepulcher.”–John xx.

As often as the Church, in commemoration of the glorious Resurrection, celebrates the yearly recurrence of the Paschal time, and entones the joyous Alleluia with her children, so often do we recall to mind those privileged souls who, the Gospel tells us, had the happiness of hearing the glad tidings: “Jesus, lives; He has arisen,” of listening to, of beholding the risen Jesus. This privilege was not limited to one or two; but was enjoyed by a number of the disciples, who believed and hoped in the Lord. Often, too, we go in spirit to the sepulcher with the holy women who went thither bearing ointments, and think of that bliss which filled their hearts when, from the angel of the Lord, they heard the welcome words: “He is arisen.” We think of Mary Magdalen, whose joy found utterance in the single word, as she knelt before her Lord, “Rabboni.”

We behold the wondering Apostles, when, on the evening of the same day, as they were assembled together “with closed doors,” their Master stood before them and pronounced the blessed words: “Pax vobis”–“Peace be unto you.”

But there is one Apostle, St. John, upon whom our attention should be particularly centered, that we may attain a better understanding of the state in which the Christian must be before the real joy of Easter can illumine his soul. We have seen him at the Last Supper; we have beheld him at the foot of the cross, and let us hope that we may have shared, to some extent, in the love which filled his heart at those solemn times. Let me, brethren, today present, for your contemplation, St. John, the disciple of love. Let us glance at him as he stands by the sepulcher of the Risen One, and endeavor to picture the joy which overflowed his heart as he beheld the Lord.

O Mary, Mother most joyful, infuse into our hearts that bliss which filled your own upon that first happy Easter-morn, that we, like St. John, may experience its most wonderful effects for the salvation of our souls! I speak in the name of the newly-risen Jesus, for the greater honor and glory of God!

“He is risen; we have heard it even from the angels!” said the holy women, as they returned from the sepulcher. And as the Apostles heard the wondrous tale, two of their number immediately arose and hastened away; but the “dearly beloved Apostle,” St. John, in the fervor of his love, left St. Peter far behind, and, arriving first at the sepulcher, found the stone rolled away. St. Peter, however, was the first to enter the empty tomb. In him, therefore, is illustrated the Apostle of faith, while St. John typifies the disciple of love. In the divine economy, every thing is full of a deep, mysterious meaning, and herein we learn that faith must first penetrate the soul before the flame of divine love is enkindled in the heart. John followed Peter, and, as he placed his hand upon the winding-sheet, which, but the evening before he had wrapped about the sacred body of his Lord, a flood of joy rushed over his soul, and filled his heart with happiness, as he felt that Jesus had indeed arisen, that Jesus lived.

We will today consider the character of his holy Easter joy, and endeavor to understand how mighty and sanctifying it was rendered by the excessive ardor of his love for Christ. To clearly realize the intense joy of this saintly disciple, we must recall the feelings which agitated his heart while, for love of the crucified One, he stood beneath the cross, and think of those words of Holy Scripture: “According to the greatness of my sorrows your consolations gladdened my soul.” St. John stood at the foot of the cross wholly absorbed in compassion, adoration, gratitude, and resolution, according to the will of God, to follow Jesus unto death, through love; and, therefore, the Alleluia of the Easter joy, in which his heart rejoiced at the tomb of the arisen Jesus, was a participation in the sentiments of adoration, thanksgiving, and determination to be faithful to his calling as Apostle in proportion to his love for Christ.

The one who loves, so rejoices at the happiness of the beloved object that it would seem as if he were happier to see the joy of his friend than to feel his own. For example, what joy is experienced by a mother whose child has met with some great good or benefit, or has been unexpectedly saved from some impending danger! But of true friendship Holy Writ testifies that it is stronger than all other love–witness that of David and Jonathan.

But incomparably more tender was the friendship of St. John for his Saviour, and in the same measure his heart rejoiced at the certainty that He had burst the bonds of the grave and lived once more. This joy must have stirred his heart to its very depths, and moved him, in a much greater degree, than it affected St. Peter and the other Apostles, because he had beheld his Saviour in agony upon the cross, in suffering and in death. His loving heart was more sensitive than theirs.

The Alleluia of his Easter joy was the outburts of his overflowing friendship. It was, at the same time, one of adoration and thanksgiving for the consummation of the Redemption. Until that time the life and labors of the Lord had been, as it were, veiled in the obscurity of a mystical darkness; but by the Alleluia which came forth from the heart of Jesus as He rose from the tomb, all radiant with celestial light, this vail was rent, and that Easter morn forever dispersed the gloom. St. John, as he stood by the grave of the risen Jesus, realized more clearly than ever the whole order of salvation; and what an “Exultet” arose in his heart as he entoned it, in the same sense in which it is sung by the Church on Holy Saturday, to announce the joyful truth that Christ had risen. As often as we hear it, our souls are filled with the joy of this holy Easter day. St. John entoned it at the sepulcher, in the name of the whole human family. Even as the Church sends forth her most joyful chants, so sang his heart, overflowing with the joy of that Easter day: “O Ineffable Miracle of Grace! to forgive Thy servant his sins, Thou hast delivered up Thy Son!”

“Of what avail had it been for us to be born into the world had we not received the grace of redemption? O happy fault which gave us such a Deliverer!”

St. John also thanked God, as he had never done before, for the grace of the election which, in the kingdom of Christ, became his portion, recognizing more clearly than ever the privileges which he enjoyed before all men, even the Apostles, especially that one which gave him the care of Mary, the Immaculate Virgin, the Queen of heaven, the Mother of his Lord. How he rejoiced that he would have her example and her prayers! for it would be her duty to care for her adopted son as became a tender and loving mother. Well may St. Paul exclaim: “I chastise my body that I may not become a castaway.” No marvel was it that St. Peter trembled when he thought upon the judgment which would come after death; but St. John, the adopted son of Mary, was, through her, assured of his eternal salvation. And in relation to the duties of his apostleship in general, as he stood by the Saviour’s tomb, how greatly encouraged he felt!–how firmly he resolved to be a fruitful branch in the vineyard of the Lord!

What invigorates the soul in its apostolic calling is the strengthening power of faith, hope, and charity, united with an earnest love of our neighbor. These were precisely the sentiments which prevailed in the heart of St. John as he burst forth in that glorious Alleluia by the grave of Christ.

The certainty of the Resurrection, as St. Paul affirms, is a pledge of the whole treasure of faith, “If Christ had not risen again, as He said,” writes the Apostle of the nations, “we would have been miserably deceived and disappointed and left without a name.” But He did arise, and we possess our holy faith with its promises for time and eternity. We also shall arise and live with Him forever. But St. Paul was not at the sepulcher; he did not touch the sacred body of Christ, but the beloved disciple did. With what strong testimony for the truth of the Resurrection, therefore, could John announce the Gospel with the assertion that he had lived with the Redeemer on the most intimate terms of holy union; that he beheld Him when He breathed forth His last sigh upon the cross; and looked upon Him after He had risen from the dead. The sentiments of his heart were that of triumphant faith.

What invigorates a soul in the exercise of its apostolic calling is victorious hope. “The Lord, who calls me to this office, is also my strength, and will, at some future day, be my reward.” Who experienced this in a higher degree than St. John? To whom was more fully and more bountifully given the vivifying power of Christian hope than to him who was permitted, while still on earth, to pierce the golden vista of the celestial vault, and gaze upon the mysteries of heaven?

Finally, what urges the true Apostle on in his holy mission more than any other thing is love–the love of God and man. In these respects, St. John was, as you know, eminently called the disciple of love. His very Epistles, contained in Holy Writ, stand, and will remain forever, undying testimonials of this his apostolic love. This, dearly beloved in Christ, is the character of the Easter-day of St. John and of his Easter Alleluia; and these the conditions, to feel it re-echoed in our own hearts. Amen!

“In Thy light we shall see light.”–Ps. xxxv.

The glorious orb of day was still invisible to the expectant world in the early Easter-morn, when the earth trembled as if moved by some terrible convulsion of nature and an angel of the choir of the Powers, radiant and beautiful, hovered above the sepulcher wherein lay the Body of Christ, and descending rolled the stone away. Instantaneously the glorified soul approached, the Sacred Body was transfigured, and the Lord arose, body and soul, more brilliant than the sun, which now burst forth in all its splendor to pay fitting tribute to Him Who gave it light–Who came forth the Victor of all the powers of evil, the Conqueror of death and hell. Then were seen the millions of holy souls who, for four thousand years, had languished in the gloomy prison of Limbo, full of trust in the Lord, and waited until “patience had her perfect work.”

Adam and Eve, the venerable patriarchs and prophets, St. Joseph, St. John the Baptist, with legions of holy angels, surround the Redeemer, the Sun of justice, the Lord Who had risen in all the grandeur of His Majesty. Yet a little while and He will ascend from the Mount of Olives, penetrate the heavens, and take His place at the right hand of the Father, clothed with the glory which flows from His divinity to His humanity, and send throughout high heaven celestial light to intensify the bliss of the angels and saints therein. In other words, all that which causes heaven to be heaven, will be imparted in its full extent by Christ to all the blessed therein. Let us today, therefore, look up to Him as the Sun in the kingdom of eternal beatitude. Let us picture to ourselves the heavens opening to our wondering view, while strains of sweetest music fall on our raptured ear. It is the angels entoning their Easter hymn.

O Mary, Queen of heaven, enthroned at the side of thy divine Son, pray for us that we may one day see Him in His glory and share in His beatification forever! I speak in the holy name of Jesus, Who arose from the dead, to the greater honor and glory of God!

What causes heaven to be heaven is, first, its external magnificence. When God created the visible world, the angels burst forth in praise, as Holy Scripture says in the Book of Job, on beholding such a stream of divine power and wisdom and goodness. Even after the sin of our first parents it still presented a scene of beauty and grandeur, and it does so still.

What a wonderfully majestic spectacle is afforded by the “deep and dark blue ocean” as it seems blended with the brilliant skies which it reflects in its depths! What a glorious radiance is cast upon the changing waters by the setting sun as he sinks to rest–as he gilds the ever-tossing waves with tints of the most gorgeous hue. The world of stars which sparkle in the darkness of the night, form a most enchanting sight; how then would it be, were we permitted to contemplate those wonders of creation through that lofty arch of the heavens, so far above the stars, and view the essence of those objects of which we now only behold the exterior appearance?

But as a diamond, encircled by precious stones, emits rays of dazzling light from the center of a diadem, so does the glorified humanity of Christ shine forth amid the angels and saints, as the mystical Sun, compared to which, our sun is naught but a waning light. In this glorious radiance of the humanity of Christ, the Blessed eternally contemplate the crown of the creation, especially if we consider its transfiguration at the end of time.

As God the Father created the world by the Son, so do we contemplate in the light which is Christ, the ideal of the creation as it was conceived by the eternal Father, and consider it so in all its relations to the creation of grace through the same Jesus Christ. No one can so well explain the beauty of a work as the author thereof. Contemplative soul, look up to Christ, Who has arisen, and rejoice; soon shalt thou see Him in His glory.

What adds to the happiness of heaven is, secondly, the sight of the glorified world of spirits. The angels are the blossoms of the creation. The doctors of the Church with St. Bernardine of Sienna affirm that God created more angels than visible corporeal beings because He was Himself a Spirit. Those beautiful spirits are divided into nine choirs, each end higher than the other, as we are taught to believe by our holy faith, viz: Angels, Archangels, Principalities, Thrones, Dominations, Powers, Virtues, Cherubim, and Seraphim. Each choir is higher, and therefore more beautiful than the other. We will one day behold in heaven the reason of this, but some of it we are already permitted to know.

For all their beatitude and glory, the angels are mediately indebted to Jesus. The holy Fathers assert that it was the confession and adoration of the Son of God, Who was to become man, into which mystery God permitted them to glance, which confirmed them forever in grace. And after Christ ascended into heaven the angels beheld, according to their ranks, the increase of glory which they were to receive from the glorified King of that celestial realm. This increase of glory, conferred separately on-every choir, like rays of light, is centered in the brilliant humanity of Christ, the King of every choir of them.

It is somewhat similar to the choirs of the Saints, which are different too, glorified by their individual graces. In heaven we will one day, through the grace of God, behold Adam and Eve, the Patriarchs, the Prophets, the Holy Innocents, the Virgins, the Confessors, the Bishops, the Martyrs, and the Apostles of Christ. Each of these choirs is distinguished by a particular degree of glory. By whatever degrees of glory these choirs are distinguished, transfigured, and beatified, their different glories, with those of Mary herself, the Queen of the Saints, are as so many rays which are concentrated in Christ as the Sun.

What adds to the individual bliss enjoyed by the saints of God in heaven, is the fact that it is a reward conferred upon them for the holy lives which, in imitation of Christ, they led upon earth. But, as the Church at the Council of Trent taught, God crowns only the gifts of His grace whose Creator is Christ. The rays of all the merits of the saints unite therefore in Him, the author of grace.

What causes heaven to be heaven is the united enjoyment of all its joys through Christ our Lord. In that blissful home all will be united in love with Christ and with one another, as He is one with the Father and the Holy Ghost. Heaven is mine; all is mine through Jesus Christ! Such will one day be the outburst of joy of every sanctified soul.

What causes heaven to be heaven is the thought that it was already lost to us, and that Christ, the Redeemer, regained and re-opened it for all. Alleluia! What enhances its bliss since Christ ascended thither, is the character it possesses as the kingdom of triumph. Here, too, we have no reason to envy the angels, for upon one occasion only had they an opportunity of acquiring merit through Christ, when they confessed and adored the Son of God made man, and were thereby confirmed in grace. Although they are, as St. Paul calls them, ministering spirits, they but fulfill the will of God without increasing their happiness or merit. This is not the case with us children of men. Every breath, every thought, every desire, every work, through divine grace, may be an occasion of merit for us to increase our glory in heaven, which is, therefore, for us also the kingdom of triumph.

Life is, as Holy Writ testifies, a warfare against the enemies of salvation; but Christ conquered them, and we can do likewise through Him. We know not what joys of heaven would have awaited us if we had never sinned; but this much is certain, it would never have become what it is now, the kingdom of triumph, which character elevates its joy in an immeasurably great degree. In conclusion, beloved in Christ, “what is heaven?” Listen! It is God. “I myself,” says the Lord. “I am your infinite reward.” Yes! It is the beatific vision of God, an intimate union with Him who is all delight, beatitude, and love. All this we shall possess through Christ. The end and aim of the creation is God Himself, the glorification of His perfections in their exterior relations. We distinguish, in this regard, His omniscience, omnipotence, wisdom, mercy, longanimity, justice, truth, majesty,–His beauty, beatitude, and love. But all these divine attributes concentrate their most brilliant radiance in the work of Redemption, consummated by Christ. So, then, it is Christ through Whom we are permitted to contemplate God in the triumph of His perfections in heaven, and be there inseparably united with Him.

That is proved by His prayer as High Priest: “Father, I pray Thee, let them be one with Us, as We are one;” and again: “No one knoweth the Father save the Son, and those to whom the Son will reveal Him.” This is verified by Christ the Sun, in the kingdom of light, as it is written: “In Thy light we will see light.”

The various ways in which God so wonderfully conducts us to our destiny, in conjunction with the fate of all, will then decidedly prove that it is Christ to whom we are indebted for the possession of heaven. Therefore, one day, the tribute of praise will resound before His throne in heaven: “Worthy is the Lamb to receive divinity, adoration, gratitude: Who has redeemed us with His blood, and has made us as kings in His celestial realm.” St. John asserts: “The city of God needs no light, for Christ is her light.” He, the glorious Sun of Redemption and Salvation. Amen!

The Resurrection of Our Lord

Easter Sunday

by Fr. Raphael Frassinetti, 1900

Gospel. Mark xvi. 1-7. At that time: Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Salome bought sweet spices, that coming they might anoint Jesus. And very early in the morning, the first day of the week, they came to the sepulchre, the sun being now risen. And they said one to another: Who shall roll us back the stone from the door of the sepulchre? And looking, they saw the stone rolled back: for it was very great. And entering into the sepulchre, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed with a white robe: and they were astonished. Who saith to them: Be not affrighted: ye seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: He is risen, He is not here: behold the place where they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he goeth before you into Galilee: there you shall see him, as he told you.

No longer are there tears in our eyes; no longer are heard wailings of grief, but hymns of the greatest joy. Our Lord is risen. Jesus, the good God, is risen glorious and triumphant from the tomb. Let us rejoice! Let those tremble and despair who are His enemies! The Jews bragged of the success of their execrable work; but their triumph is short. They did not see that all this happened to Our Lord, because He desired it so. They triumphed for a while, when they had shut up His body in the tomb, but Christ, full of life and immortal, now passes through the stone vault and is truly risen. He is indeed risen and endowed with greater beauty; clothed in light, like that of the sun; the crown of thorns is changed into a beautiful diadem, the wounds into signs of victory; the blasphemies of the Jews into the exultation of the angels; His sorrowful death into a most happy life. O day of happiness for the whole earth! “This is the day which the Lord hath made; let us exult and rejoice therein.” What fruit shall we draw from this feast? It is this: Jesus Christ is risen from the dead to die no more; so also when we rise from our death of sin, we should die no more, but continue in the life of grace.

It is a fact that many rise from the sleep of death during these days of the paschal joy; because the Church has made an express law that every Catholic must go to confession and communion at Easter. Therefore many, obedient to the law, confess, bewail their sins and promise to remain faithful to the graces of a new life. Many, however, are not steadfast; a few days have scarcely passed before they forget, and by sin fall back again into death. Have such really risen? It appeared as if they had, but if they had been really converted they would certainly not have fallen back into sin so easily and in so short a time.

I should like to believe that all you, my dear young friends, who have gone to confession, have really made up your minds not to fall into sin again. Just think what a terrible thing it is to be in the state of moral death; by sin you become an enemy of God and you cease to be the brother of Jesus Christ. The character of the soul is goodness; and so beautiful is it that God loves it and takes special delight in it. You are by Baptism brothers of Jesus Christ, associates of the angels, of the Blessed Virgin and the saints in heaven. It is worth your while, then, my dear young people, to preserve with the greatest care the purity which you have again acquired by the use of the sacraments. Unhappy beings, if you become bad again, you are throwing away your last chance of salvation; it is very hard to rise from the state of sin to life; the devil will make every effort to hold on to you; he will redouble his watchfulness, will strengthen his net about you, will double the chains that already bind you. He will send his servants to you, who will surround you in such a manner that nothing good can come near you. He will make the life of a sinner seem most delightful, so that in your blindness you would not change it if you could. That is the great difficulty–that we are our own obstacles. We would not love God if we could, we would not serve Him if we could–such are the machinations of the devil to keep you in his service. So you see it is not as easy as you think to return to God. Without grace we can do nothing, and we cannot run to Him and stay away from Him at will. When God has seen you unfaithful to Him several times, after having been saved by His mercy, He will no longer give you those extraordinary graces which brought you out of your evil ways heretofore; now He will let you go, He will abandon you as a thoroughly worthless subject.

From these considerations you can gather that it is most important for us to be in the state of grace, for on it our salvation depends. It is also very essential never to think lightly of the state of grace, not to let it go and come as we often do in the Sacrament of Penance; we return again and again to confession accusing ourselves of the same sins, and thus we continue until the day of our death. When once we have risen as Christ has risen, to die no more, we also must begin a new life. If in the past we have been so fond of the world that we thought of nothing else, now in our new life we must live with Jesus Christ; we will renounce the world to flee from those unlawful pleasures, to lead a celestial life, to be in heaven rather than upon this earth. “If you have risen with Christ, relish the things of heaven, not the things of earth.” Do not run after the pleasures of this world with such a relish; look for the joys of heaven, pray to God, use the sacraments frequently, and hear the word of God; then this new life will also be a resurrection for you, a glorious day; and will foreshadow the day on which you will be crowned with the crown of perseverance.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

The Secret of Redemption

by Andrew Murray

"Have this mind in you which was also in Christ Jesus: who emptied Himself; taking the form of a servant; and humbled Himself; becoming obedient even unto death. Wherefore God also highly exalted Him. - Philippians 2:5-9

No tree can grow except on the root from which it sprang. Through all its existence it can only live with the life that was in the seed that gave it being. The full apprehension of this truth in its application to the first and the Second Adam cannot but help us greatly to understand both the need and the nature of the redemption there is in Jesus.

The Need.

When the Old Serpent, he who had been cast out from heaven for his pride, whose whole nature as devil was pride, spoke his words of temptation into the ear of Eve, these words carried with them the very poison of hell. And when she listened, and yielded her desire and her will to the prospect of being as God, knowing good and evil, the poison entered into her soul and blood and life, destroying forever that blessed humility and dependence upon God which would have been our everlasting happiness. And instead of this, her life and the life of the race that sprang from her became corrupted to its very root with that most terrible of all sins and all curses, the poison of Satan's own pride. All the wretchedness of which this world has been the scene, all its wars and bloodshed among the nations, all its selfishness and suffering, all its ambitions and jealousies, all its broken hearts and embittered lives, with all its daily unhappiness, have their origin in what this cursed, hellish pride, either our own, or that of others, has brought us. It is pride that made redemption needful; it is from our pride we need above everything to be redeemed. And our insight into the need of redemption will largely depend upon our knowledge of the terrible nature of the power that has entered our being.

No tree can grow except on the root from which it sprang. The power that Satan brought from hell, and cast into man's life, is working daily, hourly, with mighty power throughout the world. Men suffer from it; they fear and fight and flee it; and yet they know not whence it comes, whence it has its terrible supremacy. No wonder they do not know where or how it is to be overcome. Pride has its root and strength in a terrible spiritual power, outside of us as well as within us; as needful as it is that we confess and deplore it as our very own, is to know it in its Satanic origin. If this leads us to utter despair of ever conquering or casting it out, it will lead us all the sooner to that supernatural power in which alone our deliverance is to be found-the redemption of the Lamb of God. The hopeless struggle against the workings of self and pride within us may indeed become still more hopeless as we think of the power of darkness behind it all; the utter despair will fit us the better for realizing and accepting a power and a life outside of ourselves too, even the humility of heaven as brought down and brought nigh by the Lamb of God, to cast out Satan and his pride.

No tree can grow except on the root from which it sprang. Even as we need to look to the first Adam and his fall to know the power of the sin within us, we need to know well the Second Adam and His power to give within us a life of humility as real and abiding and overmastering as has been that of pride. We have our life from and in Christ, as truly, yea more truly, than from and in Adam. We are to walk "rooted in Him," "holding fast the Head from whom the whole body increaseth with the increase of God." The life of God which in the incarnation entered human nature, is the root in which we are to stand and grow; it is the same almighty power that worked there, and thence onward to the resurrection, which works daily in us. Our one need is to study and know and trust the life that has been revealed in Christ as the life that is now ours, and waits for our consent to gain possession and mastery of our whole being.

In this view it is of inconceivable importance that we should have right thoughts of what Christ is, of what really constitutes Him the Christ, and specially of what may be counted His chief characteristic, the root and essence of all His character as our Redeemer.There can be but one answer: it is His humility. What is the incarnation but His heavenly humility, His emptying Himself and becoming man? What is His life on earth but humility; His taking the form of a servant? And what is His atonement but humility? "He humbled Himself and became obedient unto death." And what is His ascension and His glory, but humility exalted to the throne and crowned with glory? "He humbled Himself, therefore God highly exalted Him." In heaven, where He was with the Father, in His birth, in His life, in His death, in His sitting on the throne, it is all, it is nothing but humility. Christ is the humility of God embodied in human nature; the Eternal Love humbling itself, clothing itself in the garb of meekness and gentleness, to win and serve and save us. As the love and condescension of God makes Him the benefactor and helper and servant of all, so Jesus of necessity was the Incarnate Humility. And so He is still in the midst of the throne, the meek and lowly Lamb of God.

If this be the root of the tree, its nature must be seen in every branch and leaf and fruit. If humility be the first, the all-including grace of the life of Jesus,-if humility be the secret of His atonement,-then the health and strength of our spiritual life will entirely depend upon our putting this grace first too, and making humility the chief thing we admire in Him, the chief thing we ask of Him, the one thing for. which we sacrifice all else.

Is it any wonder that the Christian life is so often feeble and fruitless, when the very root of the Christ life is neglected, is unknown? Is it any wonder that the joy of salvation is so little felt, when that in which Christ found it and brings it, is so little sought? Until a humility which will rest in nothing less than the end and death of self; which gives up all the honor of men as Jesus did, to seek the honor that comes from God alone; which absolutely makes and counts itself nothing, that God may be all, that the Lord alone may be exalted,-until such a humility be what we seek in Christ above our chief joy, and welcome at any price, there is very little hope of a religion that will conquer the world.

I cannot too earnestly plead with my reader, if possibly his attention has never yet been specially directed to the want there is of humility within him or around him, to pause and ask whether he sees much of the spirit of the meek and lowly Lamb of God in those who are called by His name. Let him consider how all want of love, all indifference to the needs, the feelings, the weakness of others; all sharp and hasty judgments and utterances, so often excused under the plea of being outright and honest; all manifestations of temper and touchiness and irritation; all feelings of bitterness and estrangement,have their root in nothing but pride, that ever seeks itself, and his eyes will be opened to see how a dark, shall I not say a devilish pride, creeps in almost everywhere, the assemblies of the saints not excepted. Let him begin to ask what would be the effect, if in himself and around him, if towards fellow saints and the world, believers were really permanently guided by the humility of Jesus; and let him say if the cry of our whole heart, night and day, ought not to be, Oh for the humility of Jesus in myself and all around me! Let him honestly fix his heart on his own lack of the humility which has been revealed in the likeness of Christ's life, and in the whole character of His redemption, and he will begin to feel as if he had never yet really known what Christ and His salvation is.

Believer! study the humility of Jesus. This is the secret, the hidden root of thy redemption. Sink down into it deeper day by day. Believe with thy whole heart that this Christ, whom God has given thee, even as His divine humility wrought the work for thee, will enter in to dwell and work within thee too, and make thee what the Father would have thee be.

Note

We need to know two things:

1. That our salvation consists wholly in being saved from ourselves, or that which we are by nature; 2. That in the whole nature of things nothing could be this salvation or saviour to us but such a humility of God as is beyond all expression. Hence the first unalterable term of the Saviour to fallen man: Except a man denies himself, he cannot be My disciple. Self is the whole evil of fallen nature; self-denial is our capacity of being saved; humility is our saviour ... Self is the root, the branches, the tree, of all the evil of our fallen state. All the evils of fallen angels and men have their birth in the pride of self. On the other hand, all the virtues of the heavenly life are the virtues of humility. It is humility alone that makes the unpassable gulf between heaven and hell. What is then, or in what lies, the great struggle for eternal life? It all lies in the strife between pride and humility: pride and humility are the two master powers, the two kingdoms in strife for the eternal possession of man. There never was, nor ever will be, but one humility, and that is the one humility of Christ. Pride and self have the all of man, till man has his all from Christ. He therefore only fights the good fight whose strife is that the self-idolatrous nature which he hath from Adam may be brought to death by the supernatural humility of Christ brought to life in him."

[xautunno]

Munto Fanfic - Superhero

Superheroes weren't uncommon. At least, not anymore. With the changes of the season and each orbit of the sun, more and more superheroes appeared, followed by more and more villains.

One particular group of good-doers called The King's Court were a famous bunch for their unique usage of magic. They weren't local to a particular place in Japan and many spotted them across the nation. Even outside, but the media made a distinction between those of The King's Court and those of other groups such as Edna and U.A.

Their leader, The Red King or simply King, appeared fearless and powerful in battle and considered the leader of The Court. His right hand man dubbed The (Blue) General ranked second to The King in terms of prowess. Some debated whether The General could be called The King's equal.

People speculated where they came from. They had unique features such as elven ears, unusual hair and eye colors, and tall physiques. Even one of their younger members, The Apprentice, had these characteristics though he lacked the height of the others. None of them even bothered with masks.

The only real theory stemmed from an anonymous user online that suggested their differences came from their usage of magic. Members of Edna also possessed the same characteristics, though their territory mainly expanded over China. Their lack of masks would prove futile because of this and rather than mingle with a society that may have been unkind to these differences, they've learned to keep their heads down low or simply adopt the full-time job of being a superhero.

.

Yumemi didn't mean to stay out so late, but she needed to get her project done if she planned to graduate on time. However, the last thing she expected to find when she turned the corner of her usual route home was several figures blocking the path. She would have been concerned, even frightened, except with their hoods down, their faces were exposed.

The ears were the first clue that they were magicians.

At her surprised gasp, they turned. Their capes flung back to free their arms and hands for battle, feet jumping to position, and fists at the ready. They quickly relaxed at the sight of her high school uniform and arms filled with books that would be unable to do any real harm.

"Sorry," Yumemi squeaked out her apology and made a quick bow before she hurtled herself across the street.

"Wait." One cut her off, feet floating above the ground before gently touching the pavement. Toes first, then the heel slowly descended into a graceful stop before her.

She recognized the large man as The Healer. He stood well above her in height with broad shoulders she could probably sit on like a chair. His stance suggested a pridefulness about him, but his eyes softened at the sight of her and a small, reassuring smile made its way to his face.

Holding her books tightly, she peered up at him and spoke softly, "I was just heading home…"

"It's pretty late, isn't it?" One of the Healer's companions stopped by her side, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

Yumemi's heart beat fast at the sight of blue hair. A familiar sight on the TV.

The General. The right hand man to the King.

The one Yumemi swore up and down Ichiko crushed on.

"Oh… well, yes, but-"

"Rui. Shuza. Go on ahead." The voice came from behind and at how quickly the other two bowed before complying told her all she needed to know.

"It's really okay…" Despite her protest, the Red King gently prodded her books from her grip and tucked them under one arm before offering her the other.

Yumemi tentatively placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, stifling a giggle. He really did act kingly.

"What's your name?" They began their walk with the King leading them down the road.

"Yumemi." A dust of pink spread across her cheeks as he tested the name on his tongue.

"While a pleasure to meet you, Yumemi, it is late." His light scold irked her.

"I believe I can manage." Her voice beguiled her words with its soft tone and distinctly unconfident manner.

"Of that, I have no doubt." Insulted, she halted and ripped her hand from his arm. "Yumemi?" His surprise only further riled her.

"Don't mock me." She just had enough of that from school. Hero or not, she wouldn't take it from him.

The King pondered for a moment. Finding that while her words held a subdued undertone to them and she lacked the confidence to voice herself at a more appropriate level, her actions held no such thing.

Stiff from his unfamiliar, yet famous presence, he was sure, her body movement proved to be quite fierce and moved without delay. The minute his words registered, which took no more than half a second, her feet stopped and with how her hand moved, if she hit him, it would hurt.

"I wasn't jesting, Yumemi." The hero took her hand and placed a charming kiss to her knuckles. "I apologize for the offense."

Embarrassed, Yumemi resisted the urge to puff out her cheeks and stomp her foot. She was not a child.

But who used the word 'jest' anymore?!

"Apology accepted." Yumemi let him lead her hand back to his arm.

He could feel it in her movements as they renewed their walk, that she held his arm not because he placed it there but because she completely allowed it to happen. He mistook her awkwardness for a lack of confidence and quickly adjusted himself to not make that mistake again. She just might hurt him next time.

Her strides kept easily with his own, despite their height differences, and he detected no exhaustion from the strain to keep pace. She didn't really look at him, even when insulted, but rather gazed around their surroundings. She never once let her head droop and kept her chin held high. It sent an effective message.

She controlled the situation. And he gladly let her.

They walked in silence until they were at her home. The rest of her family casually inside wasting the evening away.

"Have a good night, Yumemi." The Red King planted a chaste kiss to her cheek, watching as her face exploded in a color that rivaled his hair.

"You too." She retrieved her books rather forcefully from his arm and fled up the stairs and into her home.

The hero waited for the door to close behind her before lifting from the ground and turning to head off.

"Her eyes were a lovely green, don't you think, Shuza?" The first words out of Rui's mouth came as soon as the King landed beside him.

While Shuza didn't bother with a response, their leader did, "shut up."

"Oh! Lord Munto, welcome back. Was your walk pleasant?" Munto ignored the question as he surveyed the scene before him.

"Rui, let's go." At the command, the General's mirth vanished and a stoic indifference replaced it. One everyone with a TV knew.

.

Yumemi didn't tell a soul about the encounter. For one, it would lead to annoying pestering and possibly more teasing. Secondly, her classmates might not believe her. Which would result in said teasing.

She already got enough of that from her obvious different characteristics. Over the years, her hair lightened more and more from its dark coloring to that of a rich blonde by second grade. The other kids already thought her eyes strange considering her family didn't have them, but when her hair changed…

Nowadays, the teasing focused on her spaciness and tendency to daydream. Every time the teacher called her out on it, at least one person snickered. Teachers that gave assigned seating made sure she was placed upfront and on the other side of the room. It didn't really help.

Yumemi relaxed in her local library, seated naturally by the window and watched as the light faded from the sky and storm clouds rolled over the town. Her notes and books were laid out in front of her - not that they ever could hold her attention for long.

A vibration against the table sent her jumping in her seat. Her phone. The usual text from her mom assuring her of the time and not to be late for dinner.

She'd be out late again.

And caught in the rain without her favorite umbrella.

Unlike the other's caught without protection, Yumemi walked, not caring that the rain seeped into her clothes and chilled her to the bone. She'd get wet either way.

Yumemi slowed her walk to a complete stop at the small sight of a weed pushing up from the cracks. Its little flower petals were a glossy yellow with a small, green, round nub in the center. The sight brought a smile to her face.

"Yumemi?" She perked up at the voice.

The rain stopped hitting her and she looked up to find an invisible barrier directing the water away.

"Yumemi?" Again, he called to her, a bit concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Red King?" He chuckled at her surprise, happy to finally received a response.

"Are you alright?" Despite having to repeat himself, he felt no impatience or annoyance. "You're soaked." He tsked before wrapping his cape around her shoulders.

"I forgot my umbrella." It was all she could think to say.

"I see that." Munto smiled her way and offered her a hand to stand.

She took it without much hesitation.

"No worries." He shrugged it off and nodded to the rooftops where several others stood. "Rain or otherwise won't bother you anymore."

"Oh… thank you." A blush rose to her cheeks as she caught his eye.

A smile hovered at the edges of his lips and his gold eyes were warm and bright. His hand brought hers to the crook of his elbow and his warmth spread to her.

"What caused you to stay out late this time?" His hand covered her own, warming her stiff and cold joints.

Together, they began to walk.

"Oh, I lost track of time." Yumemi kept her gaze firmly in front of her. Last time, she had been hyper-aware of his presence to the point she couldn't properly focus on him… now, she felt the firm muscle under the black fabric he wore.

This time, he donned a long sleeve black shirt with matching black pants with an unusual blue cape. The color red had been his trademark from the beginning. A vermillion or sangria, a darker red, mostly seen during his night debuts. A scarlet or crimson, a brighter red, often seen in the media due to his day time appearances. Either or, they were both red at the end of the day, but try telling that to some of Yumemi's classmates and what may start well won't end well.

Munto chose to stay silent, obvious to the ears surrounding them, but he noted her sudden flustered-ness.

As they neared her home, Yumemi crawled to a stop and detached herself from his arm. Before she could even thank him, one of his comrades jumped down to greet her, followed closely by the General. She could feel the King stiffen beside her.

"Yumemi-hime-"

"-hime?!"

"-should you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask anyone of us." He bowed politely to her and she squeaked in surprise at the formality.

Her eye did manage to catch the smirk on the blue-haired magician's face and how he looked to the King with laughter in his eyes. She chose not to steal a glance at the man beside her and quickly thanked them before dashing inside.

Munto's cape hanging off her shoulders.

"Marty…"

"Oh, he was only being friendly, Lord Munto." Rui grinned at the irritation on his friend's face.

"We need to return home. We have much to discuss and this is no place for it." Munto lifted from the ground, his companions following.

Once inside, Yumemi quickly told her lie, letting it bitterly roll off her tongue in all its vague glory. She casually brushed aside her younger brother's pestering of the stranger who walked her home. Her parents accepted the story, grateful she arrived home safely, even if soaked to the bone.

For the next few weeks, her thoughts were occupied between the Red King and his comrades and the school work that never stopped coming. They hadn't crossed paths again, mostly because Yumemi made a conscious effort to return home long before dark. Ichiko definitely appreciated that no longer scowling at her at the end of school for heading to the library alone rather than straight home.

Yumemi washed the cape and folded it neatly by her window sill. She expected to wake one morning and find it absent. However, it remained each day and night.

Tonight, she really hadn't meant to stay out late, but the train she needed was delayed last minute. She prayed for only cloudy skies and no rain, but it poured the minute her train left and continued to do so even after she got to her station.

She didn't want to get soaked again and anyone could be out there in the dark this time of night and the equally frightening possibility of running across a known villain made her head spin and she had no intentions of getting hurt when the possibility of getting help or someone finding her body until morning were impossibly high and -

A baby's cry snapped her from her thoughts. People crowded the station, many soaked to the bone. These parts of the town contained a lot more foot traffic than her usual route home.

Sighing, Yumemi secured her belongings in her bag and headed out. Dinner waited for her at home to satisfy her stomach's needs. She didn't get sick last time, so she figured her luck wouldn't run out just yet.

And perhaps, she'd meet a certain redhead.

As Yumemi headed down the sidewalk, finding overhangs to pass under, no hero came. No, rather the paranoid feeling of being watched followed her. She looked around, but very few were out in the storm.

"Hello?" No one answered.

Yumemi finally arrived home. Completely soaked. She decided to never be out late again. The fear gave her a headache, the storm chilled her to her core.

Worse, the very next day her nose began to run and she was left with tissues falling out of every pocket she had.

"I'm okay." She smiled in her friends' direction. "Just tired and a bit sick."

"Feel better!" Suzume waved cheerfully her way before heading home, followed closely by Ichiko who kept the girl from tripping over her own feet.

"Get some rest!" Ichiko gave her blonde friend a pointed stare.

Yumemi nodded, her friends' concern making her smile. She didn't intend to stop anywhere. Just straight home and to bed.

Students from other schools loitered on the sidewalks, grabbing snacks and hanging out. Those getting off work early or walking their small children home also were out and about.

With the sun high in the sky, Yumemi didn't feel so paranoid. Her feelings of being watched vanished, but the feeling of a scratchy throat and utter exhaustion only begun their stay. She'd need some cold medicine and tea when she got home.

Her mother gladly made her some with snacks and sent her on to her room. Dinner would still be another hour or two.

Chikara sat at the kitchen table, already working on his homework. Instead of joining him, she made her way to the stairs and up to her room as her mother insisted. She unpacked her school bag and took a small sip of her tea.

Yumemi managed to get a good amount of work done before dinner. She finished her tea and snacks as well which pleased her mom.

Dinner remained mostly uneventful for her. Chikara talked a lot about his school day but Yumemi waved questions of her day away.

"She's coming down with something." Her mother brushed her hair back and sent a worried glance to her father. "Why don't you go rest? You look tired, honey."

She wished them all a good night and headed up to take a warm bath before bed. It would help with her sinuses.

The blue cape remained. Even when she woke the next morning, it hadn't moved an inch.

Disappointment welled inside her but she brushed it aside and smoothed out any wrinkles from the fabric.

While she tried to keep it brushed aside, Yumemi still felt it welling in the pit of her stomach. Not that it stayed for very long as that very night, light tapping on her window woke her.

Her family had gone to bed hours ago, but it's not like they'd tap on her window for attention. They could knock on her bedroom door.

Yumemi rolled over to find a familiar figure floating just outside. She panicked, sitting straight up with her mouth gaping wide.

Munto chuckled at her surprise, motioning her to open the window so they could speak.

"Red King?!" She whisper-yelled at him, voice hoarse.

"Lord Munto would be better." He gave her a charming smile before settling down on her window sill, feet hanging off the edge while he leaned against the frame.

"Munto, what are you doing here?" His eye twitched at the obvious dismissal of his title but if she noticed, she made no comment.

"Coming to see how you're doing. I assume you got caught in the rain again?" Her cheeks flushed, answering his question before she did.

"Yes…" Her body shivered despite her long-sleeve sleepwear and the thick comforter at her waist.

On instinct, Munto unclipped his cape and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"I apologize for letting the chill in." Still, he made no movement to enter her room or close the window. "I haven't seen you out and about late into the night."

"Well… Oh!" A small formed on her face as she snapped her head up to look him in the eye. "I have your cape. Washed and everything."

Munto leaned forward, legs stretching out as he did his best not to fall, and grabbed her elbow with merely his thumb, pointer, and middle fingers. It stopped her quiet effectively and her hands fell into her lap.

"You may keep them." A teasing smirk hovered on the edge of his lips.

Just as quickly as he came, he pulled away and shut the window. Yumemi was about to turn and return to sleep, but he quickly rapped his knuckles against the glass to get her attention one last time. He pointed to the latch, giving her a disapproving stare at her forgetfulness.

Yumemi locked the window and waved at him. He returned the gesture with a simple nod of his head before he floated off into the night and out of her view.

She slid out of bed, taking the cape and draping it over the back of her chair. The blue cape sat on her desk, having been moved earlier when cleaning. The red one would have to be cleaned and then, she'd set it next to the first one she received.

.

One girl on a single quest to collect them all… All the capes.

[nedraggett]

Thoughts on 2018

No need for me to be fancier than that!  And yeah I realize that nobody should be using Tumblr any more but until I figure out a proper revive of my old Wordpress site, this will do for now.

So anyway: I wrote this up for a private email list reflecting on the end of the year in terms of things I especially enjoyed culturally. Well, why not share it?

My year went very well — steady at work and in life, being 47 means more aches and pains but you have to learn to live with it.  The state of the world is something else again of course and we need not spend more time on the blazingly obvious.  That said, the history bug in me has been constantly intrigued by the slow drip of the investigations (and revelations) and were it all fiction, I’d be thoroughly enthralled instead of quietly apprehensive, of course.  November did provide some partial relief on that front so bring on the new year.  In terms of my own written work, nothing quite equalled my heart/soul going into last year’s Algiers feature for NPR, but my two big Quietus pieces this year — on Gary Numan’s Dance  and Ralph Bakshi’s Lord of the Rings  — were treats to write, while my presentation on the too-obscure Billy Mackenzie at PopCon was a great experience.

In terms of music this has been one of the most concert-heavy years I’ve spent.  Even having moved to SF in 2015 I only did the occasional show every so often — there was so much going on (even in a local scene lots of long-timers say has been irrevocably changed) that I was almost spoiled for choice, and part of me also just wanted to relax most nights.  But deaths like Prince’s and Bowie’s among many others served as a reminder that there’s no such thing as forever, and you never know what the last chance will be.  More veteran acts than younger ones in the end for me — greatest missed concert regrets this year included serpentwithfeet, Lizzo, Perfume Genius and Emma Ruth Rundle among the younger acts, while being ill when Orbital came through will be a lingering annoyance, still having never seen them live.  But the huge amount of shows I did see outweighed that, ranging from big arena stops like Fleetwood Mac to celebratory open-air free shows like Mexican Institute of Sound to small club sets by folks like Kinski, Six Organs of Admittance, Kimbra and many more, including, for the first time in years, a show in the UK, specifically a great performance by Roddy Frame of Aztec Camera.  If I absolutely had to grade my top picks among shows, Cruel Diagonals, Johnny Marr, Wye Oak, Peter Brotzmann/Keiji Haino, John Zorn/Terry Riley/Laurie Anderson, Laurie Anderson again separately, Nine Inch Nails, VNV Nation, Jarvis Cocker, Beak and, in terms of no real expectations turning into utter delight and thrills, a brilliant set by Lesley Rankine under her Ruby guise, with Martin Atkins on drums.  Best damn combination of righteous ire, hilarious raconteurism and compelling, unique approaches to how performance can work I’d seen in a while.  (As for recorded music in general, uh, endless?)

TV, as ever a bit sporadic, with a few things on my to-do list — still need to catch The Terror for sure, and what I saw of The Alienist looked good; I love both books so I need to see how it all worked out, similarly with the just-dropped version of Watership Down.  Pose I definitely need to catch up with since it sounds like Ryan Murphy stood out of the way to let the best possible team do the business on it, but my real unexpected delight of a show this year was also Murphy-based, American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace.  While not down the line perfect, it was absolutely more compelling than not, and in fact at its best was a shuddering combination of amazing music cue choices, a reverse structure that helped undercut any attempt at making Cunanan seem sympathetic or an antihero, and, at its considerable best, a ratcheting up of terror and horror that a friend said was almost Kubrickian, and I would have to agree.  And, frankly, Darren Criss really did the business as Cunanan, a controlled and powerful turn. Only a few of us seemed to be following it at the time, but when it scored all those Emmys, then while it was as much a reflection of Murphy’s status, it honestly felt well deserved.  Meantime, you’ll pry my addiction to all the RuPaul’s Drag Race incarnations from my cold dead hands but it’s the amazing online series that Trixie Mattel and Katya do, UNHhhh, which remains my comedy highlight of the year, with at least a few jaw-dropping/seize up laughing every episode. (Kudos as well for Brad Jones’s The Cinema Snob, ten years running online and still funny as fuck while digging up all kinds of cinematic horrors.) Also, tying back into music a bit, late recommendation for something you can only see on UK TV/streaming so far, but get yourself a VPN and seek out Bros: After the Screaming Stops, in which the two brothers in the late-80s monster hit pop band Bros (never had any traction here but pretty much owned the entire Commonwealth and beyond) try for a comeback.  It’s an unintentionally hilarious and harrowing portrait of two twins who have a LOT of issues, have clearly been through a LOT of therapy, but are still…not quite there.  UK friends said it was a combination of Spinal Tap, Alan Partridge and David Brent and they were ABSOLUTELY RIGHT. 

Movies, less specifically to choose from — I remain an essentially sporadic populist when it comes to what I see in theaters, but I can say for sure that Spider-man: Into the Spiderverse is a hell of a thing and will almost certainly prove to be a real year-zero moment down the line.  Possibly the most affecting watch was Bohemian Rhapsody, in that I also saw this in the UK — in Brighton, which besides making me think of the band’s song “Brighton Rock” is also notably the country’s most LGBT-friendly city; those I was with felt the movie’s themes, successes and flaws/elisions deeply, and the constant discussion of it for the next few days was very rewarding. As for books, John Carreyrou’s Bad Blood, delving into Theranos and the amoral duo behind it, was properly enraging and compelling, while Beth Macy’s Dopesick, if not perfect, nonetheless adds to the good literature on the opioid crisis, while as ever indirectly calling into question who’s getting the focus and care now as opposed to in earlier times and places. My favorite music publications as such probably remain the two I most regularly write for, The Quietus and Daily Bandcamp, while Ugly Things is the print publication that I most look forward to with each issue, and am never disappointed. 

Podcasts now consist of a lot of my regular cultural engagement, kinda obvious but nonetheless true.  Long running faves include My Favorite Murder — Karen and Georgia are an amazing comedy team who have figured out how to reinterpret their anxieties in new ways — The Vanished, which at its best often casts a piercing eye on how official indifference from law enforcement is almost as destructive as their more obvious abuses (recent discovery The Fall Line does this as well, even more explicitly), Karina Longworth’s constantly revelatory Hollywood histories You Must Remember This, Patrick Wyman’s enjoyable history dives on Tides of History, my friend Chris Molanphy’s constantly excellent investigations into music chart history Hit Parade, the great weekly movie chats by MST3K vets Frank Conniff and Trace Beaulieu along with Carolina Hidalgo on Movie Sign With the Mads, and The Age of Napoleon, which really has hit my history wonk sweet spot.  New to me this year was It’s Just a Show,  a really wonderful episode by episode — but not in exact order — deep dive into every episode of MST3K ever, by two fun and thoughtful Canadian folks, Adam Clarke and Beth Martin. (Adam also cohosts a new podcast, A Part of Our Scare-itage, specifically looking at Canadian horror. It’s not just Cronenberg!). Among the excellent one-off series this year: American Fiasco by Men in Blazers’ Roger Bennett on the failed US World Cup attempt in 1998, Dear Franklin Jones, a story about the narrator’s experience growing up in a California cult and how his parents came to be followers in the first place, and the Boston Globe’s Gladiator, their audio accompaniment to their in-depth story of the life and ultimate fate of Aaron Hernandez. Finally, totally new series this year that quickly got added to my regular listening: American Grift, a casual and chatty look at various scams and schemes, overseen by Oriana Schwindt, The Eurowhat?, a running look at the Eurovision competition throughout the year from the perspective of two American fans, and The Ace Records Podcast, an often engaging series of one-off interviews with various musicians, fans and so forth by UK writer Pete Paphides (I highly recommend the interviews with Jon Savage and Sheila B). Hands down my two favorite totally new podcasts of the year were The Dream, a more formal story of American grifting in general hosted by Jane Marie — this first season’s focus was on multilevel marketing, and Marie and company’s careful way of seemingly backing into the larger story makes it all the more compelling and ultimately infuriating, especially in the current political climate — and the hilarious Race Chasers, a RuPaul’s Drag Race-celebrating podcast by two veterans of the show, Alaska and Willam, loaded with all kinds of fun, behind the scenes stuff, guests and an easy casualness from two pros that strikes the perfect balance between going through things and just shooting the shit.  Returning podcast I’m most looking forward to next year: the second season of Cocaine and Rhinestones, hands down.  Check out the first season for sure.

And there ya go!  Keep fighting all your respective good fights.

[its-negans-lucille]

Amber Eyes - Part Three

Previous - Beginning - Next

Ships: Erik Killmonger x Reader Words: 1,689 Warnings: Curses, violence Category: Angst, Slow Burn

Chapter summary: The day has arrived for the competition and Erik couldn’t be more pleased.

***

A challenge? To become his own personal bodyguard? Good lord, you wondered what the elders were thinking now. What they great civilisation had become.

It was late in the evening as you pulled your tank top over you, rolling your head on your neck. You moved toward your open bay windows which allowed a subtle breeze to caress your skin still damp skin.

As soon as you have returned from training you had reached for your shower, willing to get the sweat off you. At least, that’s what you’d told yourself. More likely it was to get the feeling of his amber eyes burning your skin off you.

You had felt them wherever you went; the feeling of being watched, of being stalked like an antelope and a panther. Despite this unnerving feeling whenever you had surveyed your surroundings you were alone.

You cringed at the thought of being frightened in your own home, by an outsider no less.

You closed your eyes and sighed, marvelling at the city that was only just recovering from the loss of their monarch. The music was playing but not loud enough to overcome the looming foreboding that seemed to smother the whole city like smog.

You opened your eyes, spying down below a few of your Dora Milaje sisters. They were training, the echoes of metal against metal ricocheted up to your balcony. You had to push down the foul taste in your mouth at the thought of T’Challa being abandoned so quickly by his most trusted warriors. And what for? A pretty face?

You braced yourself on the railings and looked to the stars.

You had been so naive to believe that the whole of your guard held the same distain of the Usurper as you but at dinner it had become starkly apparent that they did not.

You remembered the mutters and murmurs of approval of both Killmonger’s ideals and his outward appearance. A few of the women who you had known for the best part of your life had even glared at you with a contemptuous curl in their lips and jealousy in in their dark eyes.

Another reason to add to your list of why you ardently hated Erik Killmonger.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of gold in the lush palace gardens to the right of you. Your head snapped towards it and to your horror you saw the Golden Panther stood, staring up at you. You felt a shiver as he didn’t move a muscle, his shoulders broad as he unapologetically stared at you. His eyes seemed to be x-raying you, able to see into your very soul.

Like a pot of water you had reached your boiling point with the amount of bullshit that you were willing to put up with in one day. You turned on your heel and purposely walked back to the warm and welcoming interior.

The sooner you could finish this day the better you’d feel.

***

Erik didn’t sleep a wink the whole night.

He had wild away an hour or so watching, from the imperial balcony, the Dora Milaje warriors in deep combat, satisfied with the idea that the strongest women his culture could provide were training. Training for the right to be his bodyguard.

He ignored the fact that you were not among them.

This didn’t keep his attention for long as soon after the magnificent sunset he spent the evening testing his new capabilities with regards the suit in the palace gardens. It moved like molten gold, fluid and smooth. He was enraptured by the King he was, occasionally stopping and staring into the decorative ponds, asking himself whether his father would be proud of the man beneath the armour.

He did not dwell too much on the possible answer.

He swiftly moved on and just as he was jumping from acacia to acacia he stopped and simply stared. He saw you on the balcony, your skin still damp from the shower you had presumably taken not long ago. You lightly massaged your neck before looking to the stars. Despite himself, Erik looked up also.

It was nothing new, nothing particularly special. But that didn’t answer the question of why you were so enraptured but the twinkling galaxies that winked at you. He returned his gaze to your tank-top clad form.

He watched for maybe a minute before he spied your features darting toward the spot that he stood in. He did not shy away from your eyes filled with the contempt. If anything, he raised himself to his full and considerable height. He would not shy away from you, not for your beauty or your scorn.

Eventually, in what have could have spanned over a few seconds or a few hours, you turned tail and moved purposely inside, out of his view.

That didn’t seem to bother him, though. He had received what he came for, a heightened heartrate and a hard-on that reminded him how long it had been since he’d slept with anyone.

He retired to his quarters for a hot shower.

***

The morning of the competition arrived far too swiftly. One moment you were waking up and the next you seemed to be having breakfast with the women who ate silently. You didn’t need them to talk; you could cut the competitive atmosphere with a knife.

Okoye moved into the room, her atmosphere betrayed nothing and nor did her hard features.

“The King has requested you at the Ritual waterfalls,” She said, her voice wavered with something like exasperation. “Ten minutes,” It was a command. A warning.

***

You and your fellows stood solemnly on the circular boats that floated down the river, usually in celebration of a new king but now it seemed more reminiscent of a funeral.

You remembered when it was T’Challa who had been crowned. Remembered the singing, the dancing, the vibrant colours. Even the weather had seemed to emanate the jubilation of the event. But now there was no singing. No dancing. The colours were dulled but the overcast sky that plagued the usually burning sun.

The waterfalls were already plugged, leaving the basin for the trials. The royal vessel had already made its home among the lapping waves of the river. It was almost serene. Almost.

Okoye ordered you all to tether the boat and then make the climb downwards to where you would find your king. You all complied.

You were sick to your stomach as you glimpsed faces of excitement, friendly competition and anticipation. You sisters betraying your true king. You had never heard of it in all your years on this earth.

***

There he was, sat on a throne that you were sure hadn’t been there when you had last descended the treacherous rocks. He was adorned in his golden rimmed panther suit bar the mask. His tightly curled dreadlocks were pulled into an effortlessly perfect bun that a few of your sisters didn’t fail to notice. Murmurs and whispers were uttered between them. His smiled widened. You had an inkling that the heart-shaped herb gave him increased hearing as well as the strength and agility of the panther.

He pushed himself from the throne after he had perused you all, like a buyer perusing an auctioneer magazine. His smiled was wide and gracious and you could see his golden canines wink at you.

“Ladies, you are all here today to pledge your allegiance to your King, right?” He asked, pacing slowly from one corner of the rock to the other. Like a Panther constricted to a cage. His voice held an edge of charisma, like a warm-up act to the real event.

“Right,” You all echoed back, a few of your sisters with more enthusiasm than your own feeble reply.

“To win the right to be my bodyguard?” His eyes rested on you at the possessive word ‘my’. You shivered though it was not cold.

“Yes, my King,” You all echoed. You cringed as his smile broadened hearing you say those words.

“Well then, what the hell am I waitin’ for, let this challenge begin!” His eyes crinkled with anticipation and hunger at the idea. He sat down, his claws tapping idly on the metal throne as Okoye stepped forward and began splitting you all into groups of three.

The idea was that the winners from each group would go onto the grand final and the winner would receive the almighty honour of being your king’s personal confidant. His guard. With him all hours of the day.

Personally, you couldn’t think of anything worse.

Despite his good looks and his immaculate physic you could see the violence that simmered beneath the charm and the smiles. You didn’t want to be any more involved in that than you had to be.

You were split into a group with Esihle, a women who held a hunger in her eyes that was reminiscent of your dear King, and Khuselwa who had a competitive edge to most things but generally seemed indifferent to this specific event.

You looked toward the other women, your eyes tracing the scene delicately. You panned across, seeing the overly competitive women grouped together, the women who just wanted to get in Killmonger’s suit in another group and yourself stood with loathing in your heart. You cast your eyes up toward Okoye and the Usurper. His gaze had settled itself on you, he smiled.

Good luck, his thick lips mouthed. You tore your gaze away and held your spear in an iron clad grip.

You could barely notice when Okoye slammed her spear on the ground, allowing a huge echoing ringing noise to penetrate your hearing. You could barely notice as Esihle smiled wolfishly, her spear raised to shoulder height.

All you could notice were his eyes fixed upon you and the blood pumping through your ears. You looked away only to see the butt end of the spear coming straight for your left temple.

You could have ducked, you could have dodged. But in the end, you welcomed the oblivion that came with the spear.

***

Taglist:

@justt-imagine-thatt @77uchiha77 @autumnbibliophile

[darthsharapova]

Arranged marriage obikin, the first time they meet is on their wedding day as it's a political marriage based on a treaty. Neither wanted this wedding but when they see each other the first time at the altar, both are very attracted to each other. Maybe a ficlet of that moment?

Anakin gave himself the once over in the floor-length mirror. He reached up and combed his fingers through his hair, freeing the tangled knots. He dropped his arms to his sides, craning his neck from side to side looking to at his reflection in the mirror. Face somber, expressionless, Anakin tugged on the lace lining of the coat, tightening it over his chest and buttoning the two golden clasps. The clasps shaped like the flatleaf that used to grace Tatooine’s surface, a painful reminder of what life had been like on the planet before the Sith’s curse. The blonde ran his hands over the coat, breathing out as he felt the onyx threads run up against his palm. The silver and gold beading that trimmed the jacket lightly reflected onto the stone walls of the room he was getting ready in. He pulled on the hem of his sleeves, pulling the shaped fabric further down his arms. A light breeze attracted the young prince to the window, and he approached it, clutching and holding his hands behind his back. He looked out onto the lush green planet that would soon be his new home. Anakin scowled at the peace and beauty that engulfed him. He resented the advice of his Council, resented the tragedies that’d brought him to this moment. He was being used as a political pawn, and he hated it. The idea of an arranged marriage disgusted him. There’d be no love there, no trust. Anakin couldn’t bear the thought of spending his life with someone who was picked for him to further the standing of his country.

Anakin loved his kingdom, he did, and he would have done anything to help them. Force knew they needed it now. They’d been in a drought for decades, their vegetation and water had long become scarce, all because his parents had gotten on the bad side of a Sith Lord. The Sith had killed his father outright, striking him down as he slept, leaving only his pregnant mother to tell the tell. His mother had been a kind soul, always caring for others. She instilled those qualities in himself, too, but he was struggling now. She’d been taken from him by the Blue Shadow Virus while on a trip to Naboo. Anakin need her, he knew she never would’ve let things get this far. He leaned onto the stone opening, his forearms resting under him.

“I’m scared, Mother.” He whispered into the howling wind.

“I know it’s my duty to do this. My duty to the kingdom, the citizens…My duty to you.” He exhaled heavily. “I should be honored to serve Tatooine, I’m just not. To doom myself to a life with no love? How can I do that to myself?” He wrung his hands together, feeling the bones crush against each other. “You told me stories of you and father, how much you loved each other. That’s all I want.” He sighed, his head dropping to rest on his fists.

Obi-Wan stood in the field, the knee high blades of grass swaying in the breeze. The turf brushed up against his legs, as if silently consoling him, trying to quell his fears. He looked out at the flora that graced the whole Kingdom. They had always had wealth on Stewjon, but of late, the problems were coming beneath the surface. Corrupt officials, espionage and treason within the militia- the Kingdom was struggling, and needed the firm hand of another to set things right. Obi-Wan squinted up into the sky, arching his hand above his brow at the blistering sun. He nibbled on his bottom lip, the wind picking up and dropping his auburn locks into his eyes.

Obi-Wan looked out onto the horizon of the land that he’d grown fond of. Orphaned at an early age, he’d been taken in by the widowed King, Qui-Gon Jinn, his family eliminated by the plague. The man had taken him in as his son, educated him, trained him in all ways suitable for a royal. Stewjon had thrived under his reign, loved and trusted by the people. When he had passed, though, seeds of distrust and manipulation were planted, and Obi-Wan had been forced to mature quickly to deal with the problem. The union with Tatooine had been his idea. They were struggling just as much, but they were strong where Stewjon lacked. Their ruler, Anakin Sykwalker, was emotional and brash, but ruled with a strong hand. That’s what the kingdom needed, and it was worth the sacrifice of happiness. According to Qui-Gon, though, love was overrated. Losing it was a devastating price he’d warned Obi-Wan not to buy into. “Love leads to attachment. An attachment, when broken, leads to devastation and emptiness”, the older man had said once, and Obi-Wan had taken it to heart.

The sun bored down onto his fair skin, and he gulped when he heard the sound of the steeple bells in the distance. He fiddled with a blade of grass tickling his fingertips, uprooting it and placing it in his pocket. He dug the toe of his boot in the ground, hesitating for only a few moments before turning and heading to the ceremony.

The scene was set. The chapel had been filled with Council members from both Kingdoms, and the clergyman was present at the altar. Tapestries bearing both house crests with subtly waving in the breeze creeping in through the drafty structure. The candelabras had their waxy sticks lit, providing an intimate aura to the ceremony. Obi-Wan stood facing the bishop and the lectern, his left hand clutching his right, and his head hanging towards the cobblestone. The man sucked in a breath when he heard the screeching moan of the cast-iron door and a gush a wind rush into the cathedral.

The auburn haired man straightened his posture and closed his eyes. Be brave, be bold, he whispered to himself, a murmured prayer to the Force. He turned then, and laid his eyes on his future husband. His mouth parted into an ‘O’, and his eyes raked up and down the man swaggering towards him. The obsidian coat hugged the man in all the right places, and the collared shirt allowed a sneak peak to the sun kissed skin below. The ensemble providing a striking complement to the blonde’s haunting blue eyes. Obi-Wan felt dizzy, breathless almost, and turned back around, his eyes looking for any kind of anchor to stay his emotions.

He felt when Anakin reached him at the front of the little chapel, and he licked his lips. Obi-Wan turned around and offered out his hand to his betrothed. Anakin looked almost hesitant, and he met Obi-Wan’s eyes. Obi-Wan watched as a fluster of emotions flashed across Anakin’s face. Anakin’s eyes settled on what seemed like surprise. Happiness maybe? Anakin reached out and clutched Obi-Wan’s hand, a spark of electricity surging through them. Anakin’s eyes widened, and Obi-Wan’s mouth curved into a smile. The two men turned and faced the official.

“Are we ready to begin?”

Obi-Wan looked down at his fingers- intertwined with Anakin’s, a man he expected to be indifferent to, perhaps even despise- and smiled. An unknown future now ahead.

“Yes.” Obi-Wan stated, plain and simple.

“I think we are.” Anakin finished. A flash of his teeth in Obi-Wan’s direction and a light squeeze on their hands.

Did they believe in love at first sight? They were about to find out.

[burstingchrysanthemums]

The Daily Task of Preventing My Disciple from Turning to the Dark Side: Chapter 5

Not waiting for Mu Chen to speak, the female cultivator from the sixth palace suddenly opened her mouth. "This disciple from Xiuyang palace carries Shishu's portrait. Today, those who dare to wrestle Shishu's face, this female of Xiuyang palace will not let them off."

These words were not soft, though the voice of the woman is very pleasant to hear. In this group of old men it's particularly striking and the main hall suddenly became peaceful.

Mu Chen: "..."

What would a female practitioner do with his portrait? Exorcise ghosts?

The man on her left looks honest and, seeing that the old men around are dissatisfied, speaks up. Though he doesn't dare to show his contempt, he kindly reminded her: "Shimei (Younger Martial Sister), you are one of the Palace Lords, remember modesty and restrain yourself a bit."

It sounded right, and carefully thought out because it had another meaning. It was a reminder that she should remember her place and hold back her opinion!

Bai Xunrong's beautiful eyes swept around the hall, throwing back her chest, and sneered: "Modesty? The Cutting Soul Knife doesn't know what restraint means."

This sentence made all of the elders shrink back, not daring to have an opinion any more. Obviously, they all know that Bai is not someone who should be provoked.

Only a few of the main hall's twelve elders have some spunk, the arrogant Bai Xunrong really is not ordinary. On her right side is an empty seat. Was it reserved for Sunshine Palace's Lord?

The sixth is a solemn-faced blue-clothed elder. Noticing that several elders have discontented expressions, he tries to get them to cool off or calm down: "That unstable broken bell, if Mu Chen wants to take it away to please his disciple, give it to him."

The one who spoke is Liu Han of Hanyang Palace, a practitioner who is currently in the middle stage of the Purification period. He and Mu Chen have an amicable relationship, having entered Cloud Gate sect together. Liu Han is the type who will not hesitate to draw his sword to chop people up. The man is a killer but his will is strong so he is not a person who is consumed by his heart demon. His swordsmanship is fierce. Since he called the sect’s treasure a broken bell, the others do not dare to refute his words because of the ice-cold aura emanating from his sword and his threatening manner. No one wants to look for trouble.

An old man quickly stood up, laughed and said: "To give the Soul Bell to Mu Chen, we cannot agree. There should be a condition. If the sect ever needs the bell, it must be handed over."

Mu Chen saw their attitude and was unhappy. If their own masters were to speak, none of them would have dared to question but when it's him they dare treat him this way?[^1] Do they really think of him as someone who cares for nothing but alchemy? 

Very good! It seems he has not shown his power so that they all think they can bully him.

A white figure flashed, the old man fell down onto his seat. Mu Chen's face is cold and his lips are curled in a sneer. Compared to the hypocrite, this group of old and pious men really are not hiding their thoughts. When would he ever need anyone from this faction? When he has no brains?

Mu Chen looked disgustedly at the other, saying: "You are not qualified to speak to this elder. Only your teacher has the right."

"You...it was impolite of this disciple." Sitting down, his face red, the elder shut his mouth, not daring to speak another word. Mu Chen really made his teeth itch with anger.

Lesson learnt, now the others in the main hall will have to think twice about speaking up.

A Palace Lord then stood up, cupping his hands to Mu Chen in a courteous salute, and politely asking: "If we cannot make the exchange with elder Mu Chen, what do you plan to do next?"

Mu Chen looked at the other party whose eyes are trying to mask a greedy mind. His tone is light: "I heard that Hunyuan Zong has a qin (musical instrument), the timbre is good."

His words are slow and casual but the meaning is clear. If he cannot exchange the pills for the Soul Bell, then he can also give it to another sect to exchange it for other things. Though he has never done this kind of trade, as long as his heart is comfortable, Mu Chen never cared about rules.

To the dissatisfied elders, this sentence gives them an excuse to counterattack. Speaking in a low voice, the elder that Mu Chen rebuked before said: "This is to betray the sect, is it not?"

The five people in the seats of honor are dismayed. The snoring sound of the person who is asleep in his seat also vanishes. Liu Han's hand fell on his sword hilt. Yue Ming Ze also frowned but it is Mu Chen who moves the fastest.

Long, white sleeves swaying, he places his hand on the other's face. This is ruthless move that means he wants to take the other's life.

Punish one as a warning to others!

He does not dare to contradict Bai Xunrong, but dares to contradict him? Does he think that it's better to bully Mu Chen than a woman?

Mu Chen's phoenix eyes are murderous. Today if his prestige cannot be raised then tomorrow some people will think he can be bullied and his disciples will be despised.

The thought of Gu Yunjue, that child with a sensitive temperament whose life became distorted and turned into a killer, being bullied... Mu Chen could not bear it. This time he will protect the little disciple and never let him be wronged.

Sensing this stream of familiar power fluctuations, the person sitting beside a window innocently swinging his legs turned his face towards the main peak. His eye color as deep as an ink stain, he wondered who the master is fighting. Who is dirtying his master's white hands?

Mu Chen turned suddenly, no one had time react and the other was blasted into the center of the main hall by Mu Chen's spiritual power. Lying there with an embarrassed, bloody face, the elder was completely taken by surprise. He had not expected Mu Chen to dare to lay hands on him.

However, Mu Chen is not finished. His long fingers flashed and, suddenly, numerous white flames appeared. The temperature of the flames was not clear but the space around them seemed to be distorted. The air beside Mu Chen was full of flames. They looked like groups of butterflies and in the blink of an eye had multiplied into thousands. Each one can take the life of the practitioner on the on the floor, burning him away in an instant.

Yue Ming Ze sees that the flames were not stopping. He hurriedly cried out: "Please spare his life!"

Mu Chen snapped his fingers to stop the flames, giving Yue Ming Ze some face.

The people in the audience are shocked at this fantastic scene. The way they now look at Mu Chen has changed. This white flame is a legend! One of the three ancient fires, nine Yang Minghuo! Burned by this flame, even the spirit cannot stay. Mu Chen unexpectedly wields this type of supernatural power. The rumors are true!

And Mu Chen's spiritual power control is almost to the point of metamorphosis, shaping the flames in a lifelike form, and even the word "genius" cannot describe this ability.

How old is he? Only a hundred years old and he has already reached the Purification stage.

Yue Ming Ze's hands, hidden in his sleeves, are trembling. Shishu seems more frightening now. Before, he had never tried to ruthlessly kill people without a word.

With indifferent, pitiless eyes, Mu Chen coldly said: "Those who do not understand how to respect the teacher, stand up."

No one spoke. Mu Chen grunted contemptuously. Sure enough, if he beats one of them up, the rest will become more obedient.

Yue Ming Ze waved his sleeves and in his role as sect master solemnly said: "The soul bell will be exchanged for the two pills. The elder defied a superior, therefore he will be placed in the detention peak for a hundred years. If there is a next time he will be punished mercilessly."

When some people wanted to open their mouth to object to Yue Ming Ze's words, Mu Chen humphed...the sound was chilling, implying a dormant but murderous mood. Those people closed their mouths obediently.

Again Mu Chen thought: I really need to beat up people more!

-----

Mu Chen went with Yue Ming Ze to the sanctuary to take the soul bell then returned to the Sunshine Palace. Gu Yunjue was in his little attic room. Seeing that he has changed his clothes, Mu Chen gave a satisfied nod. The little disciple looks good and the clothes suit him well.

Happy that his master did not bring one of the mud monkeys with him, Gu Yunjue laughed, squinting his eyes merrily.

To Mu Chen his disciple's innocent face and uncalculated laughter were very soothing. He perked up instantly, spirits greatly improved. Lifting up his disciple and throwing him up in the air, Mu Chen was in a playful mood.

Gu Yunjue's eyes opened wide. He was thrown up so high that the three-meter high roof was only an inch from his head! He fell... to be caught by a thin arm, then thrown up again...

The disciple was thrown up in the air seven or eight times. Gu Yunjue couldn't stand it anymore, his tiny body really couldn't cope with this. Quickly, he grabbed Mu Chen's sleeves, saying: "Shizun..."

In Mu Chen's cold face his eyes are exceptionally bright, "Up high."

Jing Ting is envious of Gu Yunjue. He also wants the Palace Lord to throw him up high!

Gu Yunjue: "..."

Having given his disciple an exclusive love reward, Mu Chen's mood is good. Glancing at the room's furnishings, Mu Chen saw that it was like the rest of the Palace. He had never cared about such things, simply using whichever furniture was most convenient, but he remembered that in his past life his disciple liked gorgeous, luxurious things. The Gu Yunjue of the past preferred fancy and expensive food and clothing. He ordered Jing Ting: "Go to the treasure house and pick some furniture. The things here are to be changed."

He felt that he should satisfy the child's fondness for lavish things now. Otherwise, if he had too little during his childhood then when he grew up he would want more and become too greedy.

Jing Ting eyes held complex emotions as he glanced at Gu Yunjue. With a cold expression on his face, he left.

A moment later Gu Yunjue's room held new furniture. All of the items were treasures and gave off the white glow of spiritual power. Gu Yunjue knew that these are some rare spiritual items.

The tables and chairs were of Qingyang wood which was grown from trees in the Demon World's evil valley. It has the function of driving out demons and nourishing the spirit. This kind of material, a small piece of it is worth thousands of Lingshi but his master casually used it to make furniture.

At the window was a black guqin glowing with a blue light, obviously a magical weapon.

Mu Chen asked him gently, "Do you like it?"

Gu Yunjue plucked the strings, strumming a few atonal notes. He smiled gently and cutely proclaimed: "I love it, Shizun is the best.”

Mu Chen felt that words of praise from little children are the best to listen to. He rubbed Gu Yunjue's head then embraced him, throwing him up in the air again.

Gu Yunjue: "..."

Previous Chapter       Table of Contents     Next Chapter

------

Translator’s notes:

[^1]: It seems that most of the elders in the hall are Mu Chen's martial nephews and nieces who are a generation beneath him. Mu Chen is of the generation of their masters. Therefore, the people in hall should not rudely talk back to him since he is their uncle. Mu Chen feels that their teachers, who are of the same generation as Mu Chen, are the only ones who can talk to him as equals.

By the way, the main hall assembly that ended in a face-slapping session was very hard to translate since everyone seems to be speaking in third person. I wasn’t even sure sometimes if they were talking about themselves or someone else.

For example, from the tone of the conversation and the context, I’m pretty sure that Bai Xunrong said that she has Mu Chen’s portrait but the literal translation of what she said is “The disciple from Xiuyang Palace...” Theoretically she could have meant that someone else, but it’s probably Bai herself, right?

When Mu Chen said “Those who do not understand how to respect the teacher,...” I think he meant himself as “the teacher.” He was talking in third person.

Comments:

I’m still laughing at the “exclusive love reward” hahahahaha!

I’m not confident about the translations for Liu and Bai’s parts since it has a lot of weird syntax and esoteric terms. They are both badass, that’s what I understood. I should be able to translate better once I have more chapters under my belt.

Please leave a message below if you have a comment or correction. I don’t have an editor yet. Thank you for reading.

[lethe-distillery-blog]

The Mad God

A beast they call me. Uncouth. Uncivilized. A disgrace. And perhaps, if I am honest with myself, they are not so wrong as I would once have liked them to be. I cannot deny what I have become in my isolation. Part of it, I’ll admit, is self imposed; but the larger part of this misery has been out of my control. If there is anyone to blame, it is I. The sweetness of victory stales over time, it grows foul and sour even with the most tender touch, all things, in perspective and time, become clear. But, as the mortals say. I chose my bed linens, it is time for me to find if they are to my satisfaction as I lie in them.

 I chose this hell, thinking myself smart. I chose to rule the earth, and so, my brothers granted it to be so. I was given uncontested rule of all things here. I am rich beyond any kingly measure for I am owner of all precious things. I think nothing of arming my soldiers in iron chased in platinum, I think nothing of the jewels embedded into all surfaces so that naught but a candleflame flickers with the intensity of a sun on all that which I hold in my domain. I am surrounded by others, soldiers, peasants, merchants, tyrants all. I am surrounded by so many, and yet, I remain alone. Grossly forgotten about in ways that if one were not familiar with my family, could be perhaps be considered cruel, but alas, for me this is nothing new.

 I wanted to matter.

 I should have known that I never would. That my brothers, in their cruel and deceiving ways, have once again, shown me my place. Shown me that they do not want me with them, in their ruling of mankind. And so, over the centuries, I have learned to quite trying. Zeus, ruler of the sky and God-King. He lords over them with nothing but fear and manipulation, an iron fist in which he forces them all to abide. I have heard that he has forced them to shape him great weapons of lightning bolts in which he has some show for his bluster. I can’t help but wonder how long it will take for one of them to realize that he isn’t much more of a threat than Father Cronus. Perhaps one of his own children, thus, the cycle repeating. Poseidon. Hot tempered bastard. I’m surprised he is still alive given some of the things he’s pulled. But then, I suppose, why not? He can create earthquakes in his rage and then blame me for them, after all, I’m never allowed there to defend myself against such accusations and being the Lord of the earth, seems like it would be my fault. And, if I knew it would get back at any of them, I’d consider it, but man, well, his time is brief, and I will see most of them soon enough, why bother speeding up the process?

 What hurts the most, in all this time. Is the complete denial of my family. Those, whom humans seem to have the closest bond to, are nothing more than strangers at best, and annoyances seeking a favor at worst. It’s funny how I simply do not exist, but for the butt of jokes or a boogeyman figure until one of them needs me. And then they come, pleading with me for understanding and forgiveness. “Forgive us,” they plead, their mewling tones but pathetic nonsense I have long since grown used to, “Please Hades, we know you can help.” And I can; and I do, because I am too desperate to matter, to feel as though I have a purpose to someone, anyone. But then they leave, and I am alone. And nothing I did ever matters.

 I clenched my fingers around the goblet, the burnished gold glowing in the dim glow of my candlelit hall. I was a God, a King in my own right. I sat upon a throne, and had servants, I had soldiers, and yet in all the important ways, I was alone. I took a long pull on my wine, listening to the creak of bone and iron, the clacking of mandibles, and off in the distance, like birdsong, came the shrieks of the damned. Those cruel enough, vicious enough, and horrible enough that they had somehow managed to gain the attention of my rather dense brothers. And so, Charon had brought them here. To me. He was the closest thing I could call to a friend, but our talks were brief and preciously rare. He was my sole contact with the outside world, a place that I wanted to both forget existed, and also, remember desperately. Amusing, how even with the powers of a god at my beck and call, I was limited. That even with my powers over the very earth itself, my freedom was just barely beyond my reach. I looked around at those surrounding me. I was no better than they, no different either. Just as I picked the perfect punishment for those that came before me, so too, my brothers had picked for me. It could be amusing if it wasn’t so pathetic.

 There was one thing in this world that at least made my existence tolerable. A great pomegranate tree that I had managed to coax into taking root. It was my deepest secret. And it was the only thing that I still held onto from my humanity. It was the one desire of mine that I had managed to salvage, the one thing that I had taken for myself, in spite of my brothers, and the others that claimed me as kin. It was the only living thing that I had in my domain. It was a gross violation of what was allowed with my restrictions, and if anyone happened upon it in my inner sanctum, the thought of that punishment was not worth considering. I both loved and hated that tree, there were days that I did nothing more than watch the way that the candelight flicked through it’s leaves with a green so crisp and beautiful that no stone had hope to match. And Other days I hated it so desperately I wanted to burn it to the ground into a pile of smoldering ash for what had been taken from me. My hopes and dreams, twisted by the cruel designs of others. Not one had asked my opinions, not one had cared what I had wanted.

 Even now, there was a part of me that still yearned for that dream. The dream of being a God-King, like Zeus, but not. I wanted to be ruler of the lands, of the earth. To be wealthy yes, but, I wanted so much more. I wanted to feel the light and warmth of Apollo’s chariot as he passed by, and to wave to Artemis in the night. I wanted to grow things upon the earth. Trees. Point of fact. I had wanted an orchard. A silly, whimsical dream, that even now, held on with a tenacious grip. A hold so solid that it felt as though a dagger driven through my heart would be less painful. And now, the only thing that allowed me that dream, that age old fantasy; was a solitary pomegranate tree.

 I heard the barge sounds, my mood was foul as I stood and made way to the Acheron. On my thoughts was one particular Goddess, one that I disliked as much, or even perhaps more than my brothers. Demeter. The one creature alive that held my dream in the palm of her hand with a careless grip, her indifference to what I would sell my soul for was something that always brought me to a near rage. It felt so wrong that someone who should care so little about something should have it when I wanted it so badly. I shoved open my doors with my force than strictly necessary but it helped me feel better. And that, was valuable at this moment. I walked with purpose, I could feel my robes clinging to rough patches of the cobblestones, the chill of them a constant presence here, even with the mighty Phlegethon burning with it’s dragon’s breath, it did not travel far enough to warm my domain. This was not a pleasant plane. This, was quite literally, Hell.

 I raised my arm in greeting to my friend, his great height appearing diminished beneath a cloak, his pole and burden bending him nearly in half but I dared any hero to underestimate him. Charon was a wise creature, perhaps even wiser than me, for it seemed only I was fool enough to fall for the pleading guilt trips that my family ensnared me with. He always seemed impervious to such tricks, I cannot deny I was envious of him for that. “Charon!” I greeted, his boat was full. I glanced to my soldiers, ready to guide them to be judged. It was the same thing, every time.

 “Hades.” He had a strong voice, gravelled from lack of use, though I am sure mine didn’t sound much better. Besides dolling out punishments, there was no point to speaking much here. Nothing intelligent to converse with besides each other. Well, besides the Titans; and given that brother Zeus and crew were the ones that defeated them and put them here, I had my doubts that they would enjoy talking to me, even without me being his twin, I bore enough resemblance that it wasn’t worth risking again. “Demeter is on earth again.” I felt my hackles rise, my temper flaring white-hot, my fingers clenching into fists in my robes. Down. I had to get control. Charon didn’t know my secret, not from a lack of trust on his behalf, but my being the God of the Underworld and all, I had a certain image to maintain and nurture. “She brought her daughter with her. Zeus had some bitch fuck a bull.” He shrugged, neither of us understanding my brother and his sadistic ways. Still though, Demeter had a daughter? Holy shit, when was the last time I had bothered to look at the human world? It hadn’t been that long. Right?

 I delayed court. Who was going to stop me? I took a long while at my pool, the black waters now allowed me to watch the scene upon it’s surface with a growing amount of wonder and a jagged pain that stabbed through my chest. Demeter had brought a young woman with her. And though I wanted to rip apart Demeter with my bare hands. This woman held me enchanted.

 Her face was serene, with a kind, delicate smile that knew no hatred. She spoke with a kindness and a gentleness that I had only heard about, never given the graces of seeing it. She danced through fields of flowers in a carefree way, her long hair flowing out the colour of wheat and her eyes so green they reminded me of the way grass looked. Her laugh put birds to shame with its beauty, and yet she did not judge them for being less than she, she instead took delight in them and encouraged them to join her and so they sang in a way that brought tears to my eyes. Her skin was a light tone, softly tanned beneath the kiss of sunlight and I suddenly grew jealous of all the things around her. I was jealous of the grasses that got to touch her skin, the flowers that she kissed with the softest of affections, the breeze that got to play in her hair. I was losing myself here, what the hell was I thinking. She was the daughter of the Goddess I hated most, and more, I did not need comfort, I did not need anything she offered to me. In fact, I didn’t even want it. I was here, in my domain, it was all I knew, it was all I required

 So why did it hurt so much when I left?

 Court passed with an agonizing slowness that felt like it’s own sort of torture. Despite getting to sentence a pedophile to a beautifully devious thing I had been wanting to test out for awhile I knew I was distracted. I knew that my choice of torments had been poor at best, not well thought about, but they had sufficed. I needed to focus. I walked around my domain, torturing here, tormenting there. Tasks required of me an my station, a promise to those I found to be slacking that I had no particular fondness for them and that they could join those in their torment just as easily. It was an effective strategy, and most days, just the variance in a monotonous existence was enough to cheer me up. But it wasn’t working. Nothing was working. Not walking down by the Phlegethon just to hear the screams of those I had placed there on purpose, a reminder to those that I truly did not like. Nothing in my world could cheer me up like that smile, a smile that hadn’t even been directed at me. I couldn’t be that pathetic.

 I was, in fact, that damn pathetic. I kept watching her, day after day. Finding new things in her that fascinated me. Her kind spirit, her gentle touch. She had even inherited her mother’s knack for growing things, as she helped crops grow, and flowers. She showed me the beautiful things I had so desperately wanted to achieve, and though I wanted to hate her for it, to hurt her for things that I had no control over. I found myself liking her. I found myself searching her out when I had other things to do. Spending long hours with her in front of my pomegranate tree as she spent her time doing what she did best. Being her. It had taken me a long while to finally hear her name, and when I did, I spoke it, just to taste it for myself.

 “Persephone.”

 I spent so long watching her, focusing on her in the human world. Watching her create beauty while I was surrounded by nothing but darkness, despair, and ruin. She encouraged me to be better. I dressed better, taking care to look like a king properly should, though none here cared or even noticed. My robes were swapped out for finery, my trinkets became more embellished and royal. She made me grow flowers around my tree, things of platinum stem and gemstone petals that sparkled and glinted. All hues and varieties stood around me. Amethyst violets, diamond daisies, and aquamarine weeping bells. Trees took form with gold bark, emerald leaves and ruby apples. She encouraged me to not only look better, she taught me how to live.

 Finally, I could not take it anymore. I couldn’t take the insanity of it. Something had to be done. And I had tried to be noble. I had tried to ignore her, to go back to my life. But now, there were memories of her all around me. My rich robes that were of a finer quality than even Zeus was afforded, every gemstone and mineral I saw reminded me of my secret garden, my pathetic musings over a woman beyond me. I spent days wandering my plane, beating spirits and doing my best to distract myself. But when you are exposed to the light, it is so hard to go back to the darkness.

 I tried to behave. To be noble. But I couldn’t do it anymore. One more night in a lonely bed with cold sheets as my comfort, one more day without anyone to talk to, one more day knowing my brothers had their wives and took them for granted. Wasn’t I deserving of that? Couldn’t someone be mine? I would make sure they never regretted it. Ever. And there was only one person that came to mind for that desire, that need inside me that had awoken. Persephone. I tried to avoid her, tried to contain the madness that made my sanity feel like it was unhinging. Even when I wasn’t at the pool I could see her, out of the corner of my eye. Never there when I focused, but my fantasies so strong that I felt like I truly was going to lose it. I saw her on the throne I had created on a whim, she was dancing through the garden that I had made for her, she was right there beside me as we walked down the Acheron. I couldn’t tell when I was asleep or when I was awake anymore because the nightmares didn’t stop when my eyes were open and the dreams kept going into the night. I couldn’t take it anymore.

 She came to me. Swallowed up by the only earthquake that I had ever caused. My desires finally getting the better of me as I brought her here, to me. She looked so beautiful, a ray of sunshine in my world that had no knowledge of it, her beauty looked so much more in person, it was nearly painful for me to look upon her. But still I did, I drank my fill, my desperation winning out over common sense. Perhaps I was a beast, uncouth, uncivilized. But, I would keep her safe here, I would be everything she ever needed here. Here, I could love her properly. And as she looked up at me, her green eyes widening with recognition, I spoke past the lump in my throat. “Please,” I swallowed hard, “don’t be afraid of me too.” Because if she rejected me, I don’t think I would survive it.

[lilgirlblu-boohoo-blog]

Did you make it home okay?

As much as I want to be angry and hurt.

I am literally incapable. 

I hate how understanding I am of your emotions.

I understand every phrase and cruel sentence.

I know you're frustrated with me.

Trust I am frustrated with me too.

The scenes of my life play by everyday.

Least you get to distract yourself from me.

Cast your emotions out.

I understand how you may feel I didn't try hard enough.

You can see it from an outside for so try to understand how “"it's not that simple as you make it seem.”

It is just life but in the heat of the flame the tolerance of pain is not as excruciating as it seems but more so.

Trust you are not the only one who feels or has said the things you've felt and said to me.

My mistake was believing you'd be the on to protect such negative thoughts from me.

I can't rewrite my life, and I don't believe I should be punished.

I only ever tried to love you to the best of my ability. 

I wish you could honestly see that and not allow your judgements and artificial perspective to cloud your truth.

As I allowed mine to cloud the truth of your feelings for me.

I only want you to love me, as I love you. 

Teammates, Soulmates.

Mercy, I pray for mercy.

For the Lord allowed things to play where they would, had I allowed myself to appease you first. 

I wouldn't of honor the training. 

My isolation and stripping of all things was and is necessary to become the woman I am to be.

You focus so on the little girl that live in sorry.

Not allowing yourself to learn the new young woman who seeks Gods grace about all.

She's much more, gentle, passionate, kind, and forgiving.

You've helped forge her.

Forgive me I never introduced you two properly, so caught up in the childish emotions.

Should there be a next time I'll do better.

I will embrace grace better than I've ever had before.

-

Dear Lord,

I seek your face, I write my prayer and expose myself at my most vulnerable, Jesus. For truly I have sinned; indeed must I be humbled Lord. Glorifying my selfish needs, and relentlessly outlining my unsatisfaction with a man. Rather than turning my face and acknowledging just how truly content I am in all. Forgive me Lord, for I have not celebrated my Mother as much as I've celebrated myself. Forgive me for assuming I know the lesson of which you are teaching me, I know nothing of serving others. I only have the want and the crave to bring more love, joy, and acceptance. Yet I assume that entitles me to the mastery of true unconditional love. Forgive me Lord if I've mocked you in my narcissistic arrogance. Lord be with my lover, I fear I've caused him pain that's festered into an infection. Hatred has spread and indeed I cry, my soul weeps of sorrow and guilt. Those in my life you've appointed me to love dearly, I've failed.. I've failed Jesus. I was incapable of seeing myself, gaining the beautiful perspective you've enstilled in me now. How hard is it to love Lord? Nothing truly is too late for you Jesus for you've risen the dead, brought the cripple to his feet. Truly I am and both deceased and lame. I am and still the child of loves sorrow, I cry, I cry. They all have grown away from me! I can't call them back all they hear is my mistakes! Spirit lead me! Bring them back for Lord you are with me and I am with you, yet such a lonely little girl I am. For even you kept fellowship at your side. Forgive my frankness, my love is birthed through sorrows. Was it like this for you dear Rabbi? Did your love leave you in such a lonely isolation? I don't believe so, my sorrow comes my failure, the love comes from the knowledge I gain from each one of those failures. I wished to me loved! I wish to be remembered by others before the day of my death! I wish for peace to be packaged in the bonding of people! Jesus I am oh so content and happy, with all the Lord as given me. Yet Father God has always said to ask... ask for the yearnings of your heart. I no longer want to take comfort in the sound of my sobs. I wish to feel a hand on my shoulder when I fall to my knees. I wish to build a pryamid of family Lord, where we look to you. Build for you, connect with you together. For the lone wolf was never a leader but an outcast, I pray for my kin to be connected in you. All things from you. Heal my lovers pain so he might rejoice in your name, and remember.. I am with him too.. quietly, humbly. Standing by his side spiritually, looking to you Lord for guidance. Heal my mother of her resentment Lord. Teach me how to connect with her, for whole heartedly am I intimidated by the failures I've made towards her. I stand with her as well, in love, in comfort. She's been my mentor, and taught me all The foundation of my sweet, strong, King. She is my warrior, and I've left her in a battle without support. Forgive me! My father, oh Lord... how deeply have I failed such a man... my heart breaks at how lonely, hurt, distressed, and filled with demons I left my father. I removed all love, and acceptance towards him. I wish to say I hated him, I wish to say I felt something but Jesus I was indifferent! I called his name not, and when I ate I thought of him not, I assumed, I assumed he'd be strong in himself. I showed him no grace! I prayed no peace upon his name, and guilt fills my blood the way drugs filled his. I left him alone! I left them all alone! I searched for no one! I abandoned them all and left to my own wonderland. Crying in my isolation, creating characters in my mind, to escape the loneliness, overdosing in sleep. I felt nothing but my own self pity. How early in life is it to regret everything. Every tear, every word written. Every romantic connection. I am in a well, it's empty and damp. The water is gone. There is no scent, no sound. The only echo is hurt, and resentment. I allowed hate to evolve in my closest loved ones, and in my past self. I repent truly I do!

Forgive me all! Forgive me please! Leave me if you must! 

I.                       Am.                Sorry.

Do not hate! Slow to anger for it brings the Lord to tears! The Spirit crys as I do! 

I was wrong but I am young! My vocabulary may be convincing but I'm evolving too....I'm learning too, in in your anger you leave me alone to learn. It's takes a village to live, and nation to satisfy the Lord! I am not enough... I am only a voice a voice! I know nothing of knowledge! I am sad, I am sad. I cry but I love!

It may not be the strongest or the best but this Is why I am not Jesus!

God forgive me... comfort me please. 

For you never leave me even when I fail you, you call my name.

You remember where I sit.

You remember me..

Please let them remember the me that Loves them.

Please forgive me. 

[readbookywooks]

For some reason or other, the house was crowded that night, and the fat Jew manager who met them at the door was beaming from ear to ear with an oily, tremulous smile. He escorted them to their box with a sort of pompous humility, waving his fat jewelled hands, and talking at the top of his voice. Dorian Gray loathed him more than ever. He felt as if he had come to look for Miranda and had been met by Caliban. Lord Henry, upon the other hand, rather liked him. At least he declared he did, and insisted on shaking him by the hand, and assured him that he was proud to meet a man who had discovered a real genius and gone bankrupt over Shakespeare. Hallward amused himself with watching the faces in the pit. The heat was terribly oppressive, and the huge sunlight flamed like a monstrous dahlia with petals of fire. The youths in the gallery had taken off their coats and waistcoats and hung them over the side. They talked to each other across the theatre, and shared their oranges with the tawdry painted girls who sat by them. Some women were laughing in the pit; their voices were horribly shrill and discordant. The sound of the popping of corks came from the bar.

“What a place to find one’s divinity in!” said Lord Henry.

“Yes!” answered Dorian Gray. “It was here I found her, and she is divine beyond all living things. When she acts you will forget everything. These common people here, with their coarse faces and brutal gestures, become quite different when she is on the stage. They sit silently and watch her. They weep and laugh as she wills them to do. She makes them as responsive as a violin. She spiritualizes them, and one feels that they are of the same flesh and blood as one’s self.”

“Oh, I hope not!” murmured Lord Henry, who was scanning the occupants of the gallery through his opera-glass.

“Don’t pay any attention to him, Dorian,” said Hallward. “I understand what you mean, and I believe in this girl. Any one you love must be marvellous, and any girl that has the effect you describe must be fine and noble. To spiritualize one’s age,–that is something worth doing. If this girl can give a soul to those who have lived without one, if she can create the sense of beauty in people whose lives have been sordid and ugly, if she can strip them of their selfishness and lend them tears for sorrows that are not their own, she is worthy of all your adoration, worthy of the adoration of the world. This marriage is quite right. I did not think so at first, but I admit it now. God made Sibyl Vane for you. Without her you would have been incomplete.”

“Thanks, Basil,” answered Dorian Gray, pressing his hand. “I [37] knew that you would understand me. Harry is so cynical, he terrifies me. But here is the orchestra. It is quite dreadful, but it only lasts for about five minutes. Then the curtain rises, and you will see the girl to whom I am going to give all my life, to whom I have given everything that is good in me.”

A quarter of an hour afterwards, amidst an extraordinary turmoil of applause, Sibyl Vane stepped on to the stage. Yes, she was certainly lovely to look at,–one of the loveliest creatures, Lord Henry thought, that he had ever seen. There was something of the fawn in her shy grace and startled eyes. A faint blush, like the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, came to her cheeks as she glanced at the crowded, enthusiastic house. She stepped back a few paces, and her lips seemed to tremble. Basil Hallward leaped to his feet and began to applaud. Dorian Gray sat motionless, gazing on her, like a man in a dream. Lord Henry peered through his opera-glass, murmuring, “Charming! charming!”

The scene was the hall of Capulet’s house, and Romeo in his pilgrim’s dress had entered with Mercutio and his friends. The band, such as it was, struck up a few bars of music, and the dance began. Through the crowd of ungainly, shabbily-dressed actors, Sibyl Vane moved like a creature from a finer world. Her body swayed, as she danced, as a plant sways in the water. The curves of her throat were like the curves of a white lily. Her hands seemed to be made of cool ivory.

Yet she was curiously listless. She showed no sign of joy when her eyes rested on Romeo. The few lines she had to speak,–

    Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,        Which mannerly devotion shows in this;     For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,        And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss,–

with the brief dialogue that follows, were spoken in a thoroughly artificial manner. The voice was exquisite, but from the point of view of tone it was absolutely false. It was wrong in color. It took away all the life from the verse. It made the passion unreal.

Dorian Gray grew pale as he watched her. Neither of his friends dared to say anything to him. She seemed to them to be absolutely incompetent. They were horribly disappointed.

Yet they felt that the true test of any Juliet is the balcony scene of the second act. They waited for that. If she failed there, there was nothing in her.

She looked charming as she came out in the moonlight. That could not be denied. But the staginess of her acting was unbearable, and grew worse as she went on. Her gestures became absurdly artificial. She over-emphasized everything that she had to say. The beautiful passage,–

    Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face,     Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek     For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night,–

[38] was declaimed with the painful precision of a school-girl who has been taught to recite by some second-rate professor of elocution. When she leaned over the balcony and came to those wonderful lines,–

                               Although I joy in thee,     I have no joy of this contract to-night:     It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;     Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be     Ere one can say, “It lightens.”  Sweet, good-night!     This bud of love by summer’s ripening breath     May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet,–

she spoke the words as if they conveyed no meaning to her. It was not nervousness. Indeed, so far from being nervous, she seemed absolutely self-contained. It was simply bad art. She was a complete failure.

Even the common uneducated audience of the pit and gallery lost their interest in the play. They got restless, and began to talk loudly and to whistle. The Jew manager, who was standing at the back of the dress-circle, stamped and swore with rage. The only person unmoved was the girl herself.

When the second act was over there came a storm of hisses, and Lord Henry got up from his chair and put on his coat. “She is quite beautiful, Dorian,” he said, “but she can’t act. Let us go.”

“I am going to see the play through,” answered the lad, in a hard, bitter voice. “I am awfully sorry that I have made you waste an evening, Harry. I apologize to both of you.”

“My dear Dorian, I should think Miss Vane was ill,” interrupted Hallward. “We will come some other night.”

“I wish she was ill,” he rejoined. “But she seems to me to be simply callous and cold. She has entirely altered. Last night she was a great artist. To-night she is merely a commonplace, mediocre actress.”

“Don’t talk like that about any one you love, Dorian. Love is a more wonderful thing than art.”

“They are both simply forms of imitation,” murmured Lord Henry. “But do let us go. Dorian, you must not stay here any longer. It is not good for one’s morals to see bad acting. Besides, I don’t suppose you will want your wife to act. So what does it matter if she plays Juliet like a wooden doll? She is very lovely, and if she knows as little about life as she does about acting, she will be a delightful experience. There are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating,–people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing. Good heavens, my dear boy, don’t look so tragic! The secret of remaining young is never to have an emotion that is unbecoming. Come to the club with Basil and myself. We will smoke cigarettes and drink to the beauty of Sibyl Vane. She is beautiful. What more can you want?”

“Please go away, Harry,” cried the lad. “I really want to be alone.- -Basil, you don’t mind my asking you to go? Ah! can’t you see that my heart is breaking?” The hot tears came to his eyes. His [39] lips trembled, and, rushing to the back of the box, he leaned up against the wall, hiding his face in his hands.

“Let us go, Basil,” said Lord Henry, with a strange tenderness in his voice; and the two young men passed out together.

A few moments afterwards the footlights flared up, and the curtain rose on the third act. Dorian Gray went back to his seat. He looked pale, and proud, and indifferent. The play dragged on, and seemed interminable. Half of the audience went out, tramping in heavy boots, and laughing. The whole thing was a fiasco. The last act was played to almost empty benches.

As soon as it was over, Dorian Gray rushed behind the scenes into the greenroom. The girl was standing alone there, with a look of triumph on her face. Her eyes were lit with an exquisite fire. There was a radiance about her. Her parted lips were smiling over some secret of their own.

When he entered, she looked at him, and an expression of infinite joy came over her. “How badly I acted to-night, Dorian!” she cried.

“Horribly!” he answered, gazing at her in amazement,–"horribly! It was dreadful. Are you ill? You have no idea what it was. You have no idea what I suffered.”

The girl smiled. “Dorian,” she answered, lingering over his name with long-drawn music in her voice, as though it were sweeter than honey to the red petals of her lips,–"Dorian, you should have understood. But you understand now, don’t you?”

“Understand what?” he asked, angrily.

“Why I was so bad to-night. Why I shall always be bad. Why I shall never act well again.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “You are ill, I suppose. When you are ill you shouldn’t act. You make yourself ridiculous. My friends were bored. I was bored.”

She seemed not to listen to him. She was transfigured with joy. An ecstasy of happiness dominated her.

“Dorian, Dorian,” she cried, “before I knew you, acting was the one reality of my life. It was only in the theatre that I lived. I thought that it was all true. I was Rosalind one night, and Portia the other. The joy of Beatrice was my joy, and the sorrows of Cordelia were mine also. I believed in everything. The common people who acted with me seemed to me to be godlike. The painted scenes were my world. I knew nothing but shadows, and I thought them real. You came,–oh, my beautiful love!–and you freed my soul from prison. You taught me what reality really is. To-night, for the first time in my life, I saw through the hollowness, the sham, the silliness, of the empty pageant in which I had always played. To- night, for the first time, I became conscious that the Romeo was hideous, and old, and painted, that the moonlight in the orchard was false, that the scenery was vulgar, and that the words I had to speak were unreal, were not my words, not what I wanted to say. You had brought me something higher, something of which all art is but a reflection. You have made me understand what love really is. My love! my love! I am sick [40] of shadows. You are more to me than all art can ever be. What have I to do with the puppets of a play? When I came on to-night, I could not understand how it was that everything had gone from me. Suddenly it dawned on my soul what it all meant. The knowledge was exquisite to me. I heard them hissing, and I smiled. What should they know of love? Take me away, Dorian– take me away with you, where we can be quite alone. I hate the stage. I might mimic a passion that I do not feel, but I cannot mimic one that burns me like fire. Oh, Dorian, Dorian, you understand now what it all means? Even if I could do it, it would be profanation for me to play at being in love. You have made me see that.”

He flung himself down on the sofa, and turned away his face. “You have killed my love,” he muttered.

She looked at him in wonder, and laughed. He made no answer. She came across to him, and stroked his hair with her little fingers. She knelt down and pressed his hands to her lips. He drew them away, and a shudder ran through him.

Then he leaped up, and went to the door. “Yes,” he cried, “you have killed my love. You used to stir my imagination. Now you don’t even stir my curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved you because you were wonderful, because you had genius and intellect, because you realized the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You are shallow and stupid. My God! how mad I was to love you! What a fool I have been! You are nothing to me now. I will never see you again. I will never think of you. I will never mention your name. You don’t know what you were to me, once. Why, once . . . . Oh, I can’t bear to think of it! I wish I had never laid eyes upon you! You have spoiled the romance of my life. How little you can know of love, if you say it mars your art! What are you without your art? Nothing. I would have made you famous, splendid, magnificent. The world would have worshipped you, and you would have belonged to me. What are you now? A third-rate actress with a pretty face.”

The girl grew white, and trembled. She clinched her hands together, and her voice seemed to catch in her throat. “You are not serious, Dorian?” she murmured. “You are acting.”

“Acting! I leave that to you. You do it so well,” he answered, bitterly.

She rose from her knees, and, with a piteous expression of pain in her face, came across the room to him. She put her hand upon his arm, and looked into his eyes. He thrust her back. “Don’t touch me!” he cried.

A low moan broke from her, and she flung herself at his feet, and lay there like a trampled flower. “Dorian, Dorian, don’t leave me!” she whispered. “I am so sorry I didn’t act well. I was thinking of you all the time. But I will try,–indeed, I will try. It came so suddenly across me, my love for you. I think I should never have known it if you had not kissed me,–if we had not kissed each other. Kiss me again, my love. Don’t go away from me. I couldn’t bear it. Can’t you forgive me for to-night? I will work so hard, and try to [41] improve. Don’t be cruel to me because I love you better than anything in the world. After all, it is only once that I have not pleased you. But you are quite right, Dorian. I should have shown myself more of an artist. It was foolish of me; and yet I couldn’t help it. Oh, don’t leave me, don’t leave me.” A fit of passionate sobbing choked her. She crouched on the floor like a wounded thing, and Dorian Gray, with his beautiful eyes, looked down at her, and his chiselled lips curled in exquisite disdain. There is always something ridiculous about the passions of people whom one has ceased to love. Sibyl Vane seemed to him to be absurdly melodramatic. Her tears and sobs annoyed him.

“I am going,” he said at last, in his calm, clear voice. “I don’t wish to be unkind, but I can’t see you again. You have disappointed me.”

She wept silently, and made no answer, but crept nearer to him. Her little hands stretched blindly out, and appeared to be seeking for him. He turned on his heel, and left the room. In a few moments he was out of the theatre.

Where he went to, he hardly knew. He remembered wandering through dimly-lit streets with gaunt black-shadowed archways and evil-looking houses. Women with hoarse voices and harsh laughter had called after him. Drunkards had reeled by cursing, and chattering to themselves like monstrous apes. He had seen grotesque children huddled upon door-steps, and had heard shrieks and oaths from gloomy courts.

When the dawn was just breaking he found himself at Covent Garden. Huge carts filled with nodding lilies rumbled slowly down the polished empty street. The air was heavy with the perfume of the flowers, and their beauty seemed to bring him an anodyne for his pain. He followed into the market, and watched the men unloading their wagons. A white-smocked carter offered him some cherries. He thanked him, wondered why he refused to accept any money for them, and began to eat them listlessly. They had been plucked at midnight, and the coldness of the moon had entered into them. A long line of boys carrying crates of striped tulips, and of yellow and red roses, defiled in front of him, threading their way through the huge jade- green piles of vegetables. Under the portico, with its gray sun- bleached pillars, loitered a troop of draggled bareheaded girls, waiting for the auction to be over. After some time he hailed a hansom and drove home. The sky was pure opal now, and the roofs of the houses glistened like silver against it. As he was passing through the library towards the door of his bedroom, his eye fell upon the portrait Basil Hallward had painted of him. He started back in surprise, and then went over to it and examined it. In the dim arrested light that struggled through the cream-colored silk blinds, the face seemed to him to be a little changed. The expression looked different. One would have said that there was a touch of cruelty in the mouth. It was certainly curious.

He turned round, and, walking to the window, drew the blinds up. The bright dawn flooded the room, and swept the fantastic shadows [42] into dusky corners, where they lay shuddering. But the strange expression that he had noticed in the face of the portrait seemed to linger there, to be more intensified even. The quivering, ardent sunlight showed him the lines of cruelty round the mouth as clearly as if he had been looking into a mirror after he had done some dreadful thing.

He winced, and, taking up from the table an oval glass framed in ivory Cupids, that Lord Henry had given him, he glanced hurriedly into it. No line like that warped his red lips. What did it mean?

He rubbed his eyes, and came close to the picture, and examined it again. There were no signs of any change when he looked into the actual painting, and yet there was no doubt that the whole expression had altered. It was not a mere fancy of his own. The thing was horribly apparent.

He threw himself into a chair, and began to think. Suddenly there flashed across his mind what he had said in Basil Hallward’s studio the day the picture had been finished. Yes, he remembered it perfectly. He had uttered a mad wish that he himself might remain young, and the portrait grow old; that his own beauty might be untarnished, and the face on the canvas bear the burden of his passions and his sins; that the painted image might be seared with the lines of suffering and thought, and that he might keep all the delicate bloom and loveliness of his then just conscious boyhood. Surely his prayer had not been answered? Such things were impossible. It seemed monstrous even to think of them. And, yet, there was the picture before him, with the touch of cruelty in the mouth.

Cruelty! Had he been cruel? It was the girl’s fault, not his. He had dreamed of her as a great artist, had given his love to her because he had thought her great. Then she had disappointed him. She had been shallow and unworthy. And, yet, a feeling of infinite regret came over him, as he thought of her lying at his feet sobbing like a little child. He remembered with what callousness he had watched her. Why had he been made like that? Why had such a soul been given to him? But he had suffered also. During the three terrible hours that the play had lasted, he had lived centuries of pain, aeon upon aeon of torture. His life was well worth hers. She had marred him for a moment, if he had wounded her for an age. Besides, women were better suited to bear sorrow than men. They lived on their emotions. They only thought of their emotions. When they took lovers, it was merely to have some one with whom they could have scenes. Lord Henry had told him that, and Lord Henry knew what women were. Why should he trouble about Sibyl Vane? She was nothing to him now.

But the picture? What was he to say of that? It held the secret of his life, and told his story. It had taught him to love his own beauty. Would it teach him to loathe his own soul? Would he ever look at it again?

No; it was merely an illusion wrought on the troubled senses. The horrible night that he had passed had left phantoms behind it. Suddenly there had fallen upon his brain that tiny scarlet speck that [43] makes men mad. The picture had not changed. It was folly to think so.

Yet it was watching him, with its beautiful marred face and its cruel smile. Its bright hair gleamed in the early sunlight. Its blue eyes met his own. A sense of infinite pity, not for himself, but for the painted image of himself, came over him. It had altered already, and would alter more. Its gold would wither into gray. Its red and white roses would die. For every sin that he committed, a stain would fleck and wreck its fairness. But he would not sin. The picture, changed or unchanged, would be to him the visible emblem of conscience. He would resist temptation. He would not see Lord Henry any more,–would not, at any rate, listen to those subtle poisonous theories that in Basil Hallward’s garden had first stirred within him the passion for impossible things. He would go back to Sibyl Vane, make her amends, marry her, try to love her again. Yes, it was his duty to do so. She must have suffered more than he had. Poor child! He had been selfish and cruel to her. The fascination that she had exercised over him would return. They would be happy together. His life with her would be beautiful and pure.

He got up from his chair, and drew a large screen right in front of the portrait, shuddering as he glanced at it. “How horrible!” he murmured to himself, and he walked across to the window and opened it. When he stepped out on the grass, he drew a deep breath. The fresh morning air seemed to drive away all his sombre passions. He thought only of Sibyl Vane. A faint echo of his love came back to him. He repeated her name over and over again. The birds that were singing in the dew-drenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her.

[pamphletstoinspire]

Easter Sunday.

The Temple of Christ's Body is restored; He is risen, alleluia! Today is the Feast of Feasts!

On this, the holiest day of the entire year, and for the entire Octave of Easter, Latin Catholics greet each other with the words of Luke 24:34, “Surrexit Dominus vere, alleluia!” (“The Lord is risen indeed!”). The person so greeted responds, “Et apparuit Simoni, alleluia!” (“And hath appeared unto Simon!”). Catholics may even answer their telephones with this greeting. An old Ukrainian legend relates that, after His Resurrection, Christ threw Satan into a deep pit, chaining him with twelve iron chains. When Satan has chewed through each of the twelve chains, the end of the world will come. All year long, the Evil One gnaws at the iron, getting to the last link in the last chain — but too late, for it is Easter, and when the people cry “Christ is risen!” all of Satan's efforts are reversed. When the faithful stop saying the Easter acclamation, the end of time has come…

Throughout the entire Easter Season, the Angelus prayer that is offered, when possible, at the ringing of the Angelus bells, is replaced by the joyous Regina Coeli, which begins, “Queen of Heaven rejoice, alleluia: For He whom you merited to bear, alleluia, Has risen as He said, alleluia.”

On this most beautiful of Feasts, the Easter table should be adorned with the best of everything — the most beautiful china, a pure, white tablecloth, the best possible wine, flowers (especially pussy willow, lilies, and spring bulb flowers), etc., all with the colors white and gold — symbolizing purity and glory — and the traditional symbols of Easter predominating. And we should look our best, too; it is common for those who can afford it to buy a new outfit to wear on this day. This custom springs from the idea of “newness” inherent in the entire Season — the new members of the Church baptized at the Vigil in their new Baptismal albs, the New Law, a new life in Christ. 

by Fr. Francis Xavier Weninger, 1876

“And on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalen cometh early, when it was yet dark, unto the sepulcher.”–John xx, 1.

Alleluia! Once more we greet the joyous Easter-day, the glorious festival, the feast of feasts! Alleluia! the lofty note of triumph resounds throughout high heaven to salute the Lamb of God, the mighty Conqueror, while earth takes up the glad refrain, and Alleluia wakes happy, holy thoughts in Christian souls, absorbed in fervent homage in many a temple wherein is celebrated this great festival with all the splendor of our Holy Church. And yet, alas! to how many it brings no real heartfelt joy!

How many, who call themselves Christians, unite in a merely external manner in the celebration of today! To outward seeming they rejoice; but only a superficial joy is theirs. To them the spiritual delight, the real happiness–in a word, the Alleluia of the Paschal time–brings no deep meaning; while to those who have, from spiritual death, risen to the life of grace, and then, with zealous earnestness, continue their efforts to attain perfection, this feast will prove a happy day indeed. The joy of Easter will penetrate the very marrow of the soul.

So it was with Mary Magdalen, and so, too, it will be with every Christian who, like that great saint, and also like Mary the Immaculate Mother of Christ, is sincerely disposed for a proper participation in the joy of Easter. And today, my brethren, I will explain to you in what this special preparation for it consists; so that to each and every one of you it may be given to feel the delight of Mary Magdalen, when she beheld her risen Lord.

O Mary, thrice happy Mother of Jesus, may we participate in the joy felt by Magdalen on that Eastermorn! May a faint reflex of your sentiments, as you embraced your beloved Son and Lord, arisen from the dead, fall upon our hearts today! I speak in the name of the newly-risen Jesus, to the greater glory of God!

Dear brethren, let us dwell for a few moments upon the scene! The Redeemer, Master of life and death, had scarcely burst the bonds of His prison-house, when countless souls, ransomed by His infinite mercy from Limbo, hovered over His sepulcher. Myriads of angels too were there, bowing in homage before their King. The rosy dawn dispelled the lingering shades of night which had hung like a pall over Jerusalem, and revealed the uncertain steps of one whose attitude of deep dejection betrayed her grief. It was Mary Magdalen.

She approaches the tomb. It is empty, and now a new anxiety weighs upon her; when suddenly Christ stands before her, not as she had known Him in life, but in the dress of a gardener. Not recognizing Him she asks: “If thou hast taken Him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him and I will take Him away.” Now the Lord calls her by name: “Mary,” and she feels that it is the voice of Jesus, the voice which uttered the consoling words: “Thy sins are forgiven thee.” It was a voice she could not fail-to know. She looks up at Him; she recognizes Him; she falls prostrate at His feet. “Jesus, Master, you live! Alleluia!” Heavenly joy thrills her heart as she hastens to the disciples with the glad tidings that Jesus lived, and had appeared to her.

Each child of the Church should share the joy of Magdalen, the penitent and forgiven. And if in it he has no part, where can be found the cause? I answer: Something is wanting in the preparation of the heart. Look at Mary Magdalen, and learn from her. She rejoiced, because her's was a soul purified by sorrow and tears of repentance. In her we behold the Magdalen, who, sinking beneath the burden of her contrition, gave vent to her feelings at the feet of Jesus.

Christian! if you feel not the joyous influence of the Paschal time, is it not that you are, as yet, unreconciled with your risen Lord? that your soul is marred with the disfiguring stain of mortal sin? For others the Easter jubilee; for you the mournful memories of Good Friday! For, alas! you have crucified your Saviour in your heart. Let me beg that you will not refuse to unite with those fervent souls whose Alleluia resounds throughout the earth, but that, by fervent prayer, you will obtain the grace of contrition, and, having “arisen with Christ,” by a worthy confession you may rejoice with His faithful followers.

And you, lukewarm and indifferent Christian, what sentiments does this glorious day awaken within your heart? Alas! it is cold; the Alleluia finds no responsive echo there. And what wonder? You may not indeed have crucified your Saviour by mortal sin; but the many venial faults which sully the purity of your soul, drive Him from you, and sorrowfully He stands afar off.

Mary Magdalen knelt at His feet. It was her dearest joy to be near her Lord, but that privilege was never hers, until by tears of sorrow she had cleansed her soul from the slightest stain of sin. She was a penitent soul. Imitate her example, purify your soul from its sins and faults, and then, with the illustrious penitent, can you truly welcome your risen Lord.

Secondly.–Mary Magdalen had disposed her heart for the celebration of Easter by meditation. She was a contemplative soul. Absorbed in adoration at the feet of Jesus, she listened to the words of divine wisdom which issued from His lips, and, according to Christ Himself, she “chose the better part.”

But how many Christians, celebrating Easter exteriorly, do not meditate, and hence a cold and lifeless faith is theirs, causing them to listen with indifference when the most sublime truths of religion are presented for their instruction. Nay, even the good and pious are not free from censure in this regard. They believe, they pray, but they do not meditate; and even by them the solemn mysteries of our redemption are not celebrated according to the spirit of our Holy Mother Church. Her wish and desire is that we may endeavor to bring the truths of holy faith before our mental vision, in as vivid a manner as though we had lived at the time those wonderful scenes in the great work of our redemption took place, and had witnessed them in the very order in which they transpired. Then we will begin to realize the reward which in an eternity of bliss awaits the purified soul and feel the sweetness of its Alleluia on earth.

Thirdly.–Mary Magdalen's heart was prepared by works of self-denial. She was a mortified soul, and how could it have been otherwise with her? Was she not the same to whom was given the grace to behold, with her own eyes, the dreadful spectacle of a lacerated, scourged, nay, even of a crucified and dying Saviour? Was she not the same devoted lover of Jesus upon whom, as she knelt beneath the cross, His tears and blood fell down? And her entire subsequent life, when she dwelt in solitude in the little hermitage in Gaul, was spent in acts of penance, although, from the Redeemer Himself, she had heard the blessed words: “Thy sins are forgiven thee!”

And you, Christians, if your hearts are not entoning the Alleluia today with her exultation, why is it? Because you do not love the cross, and strive to escape from the observance of the holy season, which this day terminates. Immediately preceding the festivity of Easter, the Church, during the days set apart for penance, strives to instill into the hearts of her children that penitential spirit, which will impel them to take up the cross and follow their suffering Redeemer to Calvary. Have you spent the holy season according to that spirit? Then, indeed, you may rejoice with Mary Magdalen today. But, if not, although the grandeur of the ceremonies which are displayed before you can not fail to produce an impression and excite some joy, it will be but a transitory impression and a superficial joy, in which the Alleluia has no part.

Fourthly–Mary Magdalen, in her longing after the divine word gave up every thing, and followed her Saviour in His apostolic missions. Trampling under foot the opinion of the world, and casting aside the promptings of human respect, in the presence of Him she found her greatest happiness. Such sentiments animated her, when, at the banquet given by the haughty Pharisee, she knelt publicly at the feet of Jesus. With such feelings she sought Him on Good Friday, prostrating herself before Him; and so also on the Easter-morn did she seek for, and find her risen Lord.

Child of the one true Church, do you wish to rejoice with Mary Magdalen? Then with her resolve to follow your Lord, and for this end seek Him with neverflagging earnestness; and, having found Him, contemplate in Him the adorable model, by imitating which you will one day behold Him face to face. Souls who are satisfied to lead an ordinary Christian life, who do not hunger and thirst after perfection, who lead not an interior life, do not participate in the joy of this great penitent, and alas! they will never understand it.

In conclusion, the soul of Mary Magdalen was a grateful and loving soul towards Jesus. She recognized Him on that Easter-morn by His voice; and as He spoke her name, “Mary!” the thought of the countless favors she had received at His sacred hands rushed swiftly over her. Her heart overflowed with its burden of gratitude; and oh! she felt how sweet it would be to cancel that debt by the perfect love with which she would regard her Saviour during an eternity of purest bliss. Then, indeed, could she worthily celebrate the feast of feasts!–the glorious Easter jubilee in heaven!

Mary's love was sincere, magnanimous, self-sacrificing, and constant. Of this Christ Himself has given testimony: “She hath loved much.” This mighty love not only gained for her an unconditional pardon of her former sins, but it became the source of numberless graces for her future life. And the same is promised to every member of the one true Church, whose love for Jesus is sincere, magnanimous, self-sacrificing, and constant, like that of Mary Magdalen.

The recurrence of Easter, my brethren, should increase every year our confidence in divine Providence, and remind us of the unwearied solicitude with which God has, from our very infancy up to the present moment, watched over us, guided our footsteps through the dangers which encompass us, and through His Holy Spirit is ever whispering to us to renounce our sins, to “love much,” that He may “forgive us much.” If we listen to that whisper we will indeed “arise with Christ; “we will participate to the utmost in the true spiritual jubilee of this blessed day.

Thus, my brethren, let your preparation for Easter be according to the disposition of St. Magdalen; and you will celebrate with Magdalen, in the spirit of the Church, Easter on earth, and soon, with Magdalen also, Easter in heaven forever. Amen!

“And the disciple whom Jesus loved came to the sepulcher.”–John xx.

As often as the Church, in commemoration of the glorious Resurrection, celebrates the yearly recurrence of the Paschal time, and entones the joyous Alleluia with her children, so often do we recall to mind those privileged souls who, the Gospel tells us, had the happiness of hearing the glad tidings: “Jesus, lives; He has arisen,” of listening to, of beholding the risen Jesus. This privilege was not limited to one or two; but was enjoyed by a number of the disciples, who believed and hoped in the Lord. Often, too, we go in spirit to the sepulcher with the holy women who went thither bearing ointments, and think of that bliss which filled their hearts when, from the angel of the Lord, they heard the welcome words: “He is arisen.” We think of Mary Magdalen, whose joy found utterance in the single word, as she knelt before her Lord, “Rabboni.”

We behold the wondering Apostles, when, on the evening of the same day, as they were assembled together “with closed doors,” their Master stood before them and pronounced the blessed words: “Pax vobis”–“Peace be unto you.”

But there is one Apostle, St. John, upon whom our attention should be particularly centered, that we may attain a better understanding of the state in which the Christian must be before the real joy of Easter can illumine his soul. We have seen him at the Last Supper; we have beheld him at the foot of the cross, and let us hope that we may have shared, to some extent, in the love which filled his heart at those solemn times. Let me, brethren, today present, for your contemplation, St. John, the disciple of love. Let us glance at him as he stands by the sepulcher of the Risen One, and endeavor to picture the joy which overflowed his heart as he beheld the Lord.

O Mary, Mother most joyful, infuse into our hearts that bliss which filled your own upon that first happy Easter-morn, that we, like St. John, may experience its most wonderful effects for the salvation of our souls! I speak in the name of the newly-risen Jesus, for the greater honor and glory of God!

“He is risen; we have heard it even from the angels!” said the holy women, as they returned from the sepulcher. And as the Apostles heard the wondrous tale, two of their number immediately arose and hastened away; but the “dearly beloved Apostle,” St. John, in the fervor of his love, left St. Peter far behind, and, arriving first at the sepulcher, found the stone rolled away. St. Peter, however, was the first to enter the empty tomb. In him, therefore, is illustrated the Apostle of faith, while St. John typifies the disciple of love. In the divine economy, every thing is full of a deep, mysterious meaning, and herein we learn that faith must first penetrate the soul before the flame of divine love is enkindled in the heart. John followed Peter, and, as he placed his hand upon the winding-sheet, which, but the evening before he had wrapped about the sacred body of his Lord, a flood of joy rushed over his soul, and filled his heart with happiness, as he felt that Jesus had indeed arisen, that Jesus lived.

We will today consider the character of his holy Easter joy, and endeavor to understand how mighty and sanctifying it was rendered by the excessive ardor of his love for Christ. To clearly realize the intense joy of this saintly disciple, we must recall the feelings which agitated his heart while, for love of the crucified One, he stood beneath the cross, and think of those words of Holy Scripture: “According to the greatness of my sorrows your consolations gladdened my soul.” St. John stood at the foot of the cross wholly absorbed in compassion, adoration, gratitude, and resolution, according to the will of God, to follow Jesus unto death, through love; and, therefore, the Alleluia of the Easter joy, in which his heart rejoiced at the tomb of the arisen Jesus, was a participation in the sentiments of adoration, thanksgiving, and determination to be faithful to his calling as Apostle in proportion to his love for Christ.

The one who loves, so rejoices at the happiness of the beloved object that it would seem as if he were happier to see the joy of his friend than to feel his own. For example, what joy is experienced by a mother whose child has met with some great good or benefit, or has been unexpectedly saved from some impending danger! But of true friendship Holy Writ testifies that it is stronger than all other love–witness that of David and Jonathan.

But incomparably more tender was the friendship of St. John for his Saviour, and in the same measure his heart rejoiced at the certainty that He had burst the bonds of the grave and lived once more. This joy must have stirred his heart to its very depths, and moved him, in a much greater degree, than it affected St. Peter and the other Apostles, because he had beheld his Saviour in agony upon the cross, in suffering and in death. His loving heart was more sensitive than theirs.

The Alleluia of his Easter joy was the outburts of his overflowing friendship. It was, at the same time, one of adoration and thanksgiving for the consummation of the Redemption. Until that time the life and labors of the Lord had been, as it were, veiled in the obscurity of a mystical darkness; but by the Alleluia which came forth from the heart of Jesus as He rose from the tomb, all radiant with celestial light, this vail was rent, and that Easter morn forever dispersed the gloom. St. John, as he stood by the grave of the risen Jesus, realized more clearly than ever the whole order of salvation; and what an “Exultet” arose in his heart as he entoned it, in the same sense in which it is sung by the Church on Holy Saturday, to announce the joyful truth that Christ had risen. As often as we hear it, our souls are filled with the joy of this holy Easter day. St. John entoned it at the sepulcher, in the name of the whole human family. Even as the Church sends forth her most joyful chants, so sang his heart, overflowing with the joy of that Easter day: “O Ineffable Miracle of Grace! to forgive Thy servant his sins, Thou hast delivered up Thy Son!”

“Of what avail had it been for us to be born into the world had we not received the grace of redemption? O happy fault which gave us such a Deliverer!”

St. John also thanked God, as he had never done before, for the grace of the election which, in the kingdom of Christ, became his portion, recognizing more clearly than ever the privileges which he enjoyed before all men, even the Apostles, especially that one which gave him the care of Mary, the Immaculate Virgin, the Queen of heaven, the Mother of his Lord. How he rejoiced that he would have her example and her prayers! for it would be her duty to care for her adopted son as became a tender and loving mother. Well may St. Paul exclaim: “I chastise my body that I may not become a castaway.” No marvel was it that St. Peter trembled when he thought upon the judgment which would come after death; but St. John, the adopted son of Mary, was, through her, assured of his eternal salvation. And in relation to the duties of his apostleship in general, as he stood by the Saviour's tomb, how greatly encouraged he felt!–how firmly he resolved to be a fruitful branch in the vineyard of the Lord!

What invigorates the soul in its apostolic calling is the strengthening power of faith, hope, and charity, united with an earnest love of our neighbor. These were precisely the sentiments which prevailed in the heart of St. John as he burst forth in that glorious Alleluia by the grave of Christ.

The certainty of the Resurrection, as St. Paul affirms, is a pledge of the whole treasure of faith, “If Christ had not risen again, as He said,” writes the Apostle of the nations, “we would have been miserably deceived and disappointed and left without a name.” But He did arise, and we possess our holy faith with its promises for time and eternity. We also shall arise and live with Him forever. But St. Paul was not at the sepulcher; he did not touch the sacred body of Christ, but the beloved disciple did. With what strong testimony for the truth of the Resurrection, therefore, could John announce the Gospel with the assertion that he had lived with the Redeemer on the most intimate terms of holy union; that he beheld Him when He breathed forth His last sigh upon the cross; and looked upon Him after He had risen from the dead. The sentiments of his heart were that of triumphant faith.

What invigorates a soul in the exercise of its apostolic calling is victorious hope. “The Lord, who calls me to this office, is also my strength, and will, at some future day, be my reward.” Who experienced this in a higher degree than St. John? To whom was more fully and more bountifully given the vivifying power of Christian hope than to him who was permitted, while still on earth, to pierce the golden vista of the celestial vault, and gaze upon the mysteries of heaven?

Finally, what urges the true Apostle on in his holy mission more than any other thing is love–the love of God and man. In these respects, St. John was, as you know, eminently called the disciple of love. His very Epistles, contained in Holy Writ, stand, and will remain forever, undying testimonials of this his apostolic love. This, dearly beloved in Christ, is the character of the Easter-day of St. John and of his Easter Alleluia; and these the conditions, to feel it re-echoed in our own hearts. Amen!

“In Thy light we shall see light.”–Ps. xxxv.

The glorious orb of day was still invisible to the expectant world in the early Easter-morn, when the earth trembled as if moved by some terrible convulsion of nature and an angel of the choir of the Powers, radiant and beautiful, hovered above the sepulcher wherein lay the Body of Christ, and descending rolled the stone away. Instantaneously the glorified soul approached, the Sacred Body was transfigured, and the Lord arose, body and soul, more brilliant than the sun, which now burst forth in all its splendor to pay fitting tribute to Him Who gave it light–Who came forth the Victor of all the powers of evil, the Conqueror of death and hell. Then were seen the millions of holy souls who, for four thousand years, had languished in the gloomy prison of Limbo, full of trust in the Lord, and waited until “patience had her perfect work.”

Adam and Eve, the venerable patriarchs and prophets, St. Joseph, St. John the Baptist, with legions of holy angels, surround the Redeemer, the Sun of justice, the Lord Who had risen in all the grandeur of His Majesty. Yet a little while and He will ascend from the Mount of Olives, penetrate the heavens, and take His place at the right hand of the Father, clothed with the glory which flows from His divinity to His humanity, and send throughout high heaven celestial light to intensify the bliss of the angels and saints therein. In other words, all that which causes heaven to be heaven, will be imparted in its full extent by Christ to all the blessed therein. Let us today, therefore, look up to Him as the Sun in the kingdom of eternal beatitude. Let us picture to ourselves the heavens opening to our wondering view, while strains of sweetest music fall on our raptured ear. It is the angels entoning their Easter hymn.

O Mary, Queen of heaven, enthroned at the side of thy divine Son, pray for us that we may one day see Him in His glory and share in His beatification forever! I speak in the holy name of Jesus, Who arose from the dead, to the greater honor and glory of God!

What causes heaven to be heaven is, first, its external magnificence. When God created the visible world, the angels burst forth in praise, as Holy Scripture says in the Book of Job, on beholding such a stream of divine power and wisdom and goodness. Even after the sin of our first parents it still presented a scene of beauty and grandeur, and it does so still.

What a wonderfully majestic spectacle is afforded by the “deep and dark blue ocean” as it seems blended with the brilliant skies which it reflects in its depths! What a glorious radiance is cast upon the changing waters by the setting sun as he sinks to rest–as he gilds the ever-tossing waves with tints of the most gorgeous hue. The world of stars which sparkle in the darkness of the night, form a most enchanting sight; how then would it be, were we permitted to contemplate those wonders of creation through that lofty arch of the heavens, so far above the stars, and view the essence of those objects of which we now only behold the exterior appearance?

But as a diamond, encircled by precious stones, emits rays of dazzling light from the center of a diadem, so does the glorified humanity of Christ shine forth amid the angels and saints, as the mystical Sun, compared to which, our sun is naught but a waning light. In this glorious radiance of the humanity of Christ, the Blessed eternally contemplate the crown of the creation, especially if we consider its transfiguration at the end of time.

As God the Father created the world by the Son, so do we contemplate in the light which is Christ, the ideal of the creation as it was conceived by the eternal Father, and consider it so in all its relations to the creation of grace through the same Jesus Christ. No one can so well explain the beauty of a work as the author thereof. Contemplative soul, look up to Christ, Who has arisen, and rejoice; soon shalt thou see Him in His glory.

What adds to the happiness of heaven is, secondly, the sight of the glorified world of spirits. The angels are the blossoms of the creation. The doctors of the Church with St. Bernardine of Sienna affirm that God created more angels than visible corporeal beings because He was Himself a Spirit. Those beautiful spirits are divided into nine choirs, each end higher than the other, as we are taught to believe by our holy faith, viz: Angels, Archangels, Principalities, Thrones, Dominations, Powers, Virtues, Cherubim, and Seraphim. Each choir is higher, and therefore more beautiful than the other. We will one day behold in heaven the reason of this, but some of it we are already permitted to know.

For all their beatitude and glory, the angels are mediately indebted to Jesus. The holy Fathers assert that it was the confession and adoration of the Son of God, Who was to become man, into which mystery God permitted them to glance, which confirmed them forever in grace. And after Christ ascended into heaven the angels beheld, according to their ranks, the increase of glory which they were to receive from the glorified King of that celestial realm. This increase of glory, conferred separately on-every choir, like rays of light, is centered in the brilliant humanity of Christ, the King of every choir of them.

It is somewhat similar to the choirs of the Saints, which are different too, glorified by their individual graces. In heaven we will one day, through the grace of God, behold Adam and Eve, the Patriarchs, the Prophets, the Holy Innocents, the Virgins, the Confessors, the Bishops, the Martyrs, and the Apostles of Christ. Each of these choirs is distinguished by a particular degree of glory. By whatever degrees of glory these choirs are distinguished, transfigured, and beatified, their different glories, with those of Mary herself, the Queen of the Saints, are as so many rays which are concentrated in Christ as the Sun.

What adds to the individual bliss enjoyed by the saints of God in heaven, is the fact that it is a reward conferred upon them for the holy lives which, in imitation of Christ, they led upon earth. But, as the Church at the Council of Trent taught, God crowns only the gifts of His grace whose Creator is Christ. The rays of all the merits of the saints unite therefore in Him, the author of grace.

What causes heaven to be heaven is the united enjoyment of all its joys through Christ our Lord. In that blissful home all will be united in love with Christ and with one another, as He is one with the Father and the Holy Ghost. Heaven is mine; all is mine through Jesus Christ! Such will one day be the outburst of joy of every sanctified soul.

What causes heaven to be heaven is the thought that it was already lost to us, and that Christ, the Redeemer, regained and re-opened it for all. Alleluia! What enhances its bliss since Christ ascended thither, is the character it possesses as the kingdom of triumph. Here, too, we have no reason to envy the angels, for upon one occasion only had they an opportunity of acquiring merit through Christ, when they confessed and adored the Son of God made man, and were thereby confirmed in grace. Although they are, as St. Paul calls them, ministering spirits, they but fulfill the will of God without increasing their happiness or merit. This is not the case with us children of men. Every breath, every thought, every desire, every work, through divine grace, may be an occasion of merit for us to increase our glory in heaven, which is, therefore, for us also the kingdom of triumph.

Life is, as Holy Writ testifies, a warfare against the enemies of salvation; but Christ conquered them, and we can do likewise through Him. We know not what joys of heaven would have awaited us if we had never sinned; but this much is certain, it would never have become what it is now, the kingdom of triumph, which character elevates its joy in an immeasurably great degree. In conclusion, beloved in Christ, “what is heaven?” Listen! It is God. “I myself,” says the Lord. “I am your infinite reward.” Yes! It is the beatific vision of God, an intimate union with Him who is all delight, beatitude, and love. All this we shall possess through Christ. The end and aim of the creation is God Himself, the glorification of His perfections in their exterior relations. We distinguish, in this regard, His omniscience, omnipotence, wisdom, mercy, longanimity, justice, truth, majesty,–His beauty, beatitude, and love. But all these divine attributes concentrate their most brilliant radiance in the work of Redemption, consummated by Christ. So, then, it is Christ through Whom we are permitted to contemplate God in the triumph of His perfections in heaven, and be there inseparably united with Him.

That is proved by His prayer as High Priest: “Father, I pray Thee, let them be one with Us, as We are one;” and again: “No one knoweth the Father save the Son, and those to whom the Son will reveal Him.” This is verified by Christ the Sun, in the kingdom of light, as it is written: “In Thy light we will see light.”

The various ways in which God so wonderfully conducts us to our destiny, in conjunction with the fate of all, will then decidedly prove that it is Christ to whom we are indebted for the possession of heaven. Therefore, one day, the tribute of praise will resound before His throne in heaven: “Worthy is the Lamb to receive divinity, adoration, gratitude: Who has redeemed us with His blood, and has made us as kings in His celestial realm.” St. John asserts: “The city of God needs no light, for Christ is her light.” He, the glorious Sun of Redemption and Salvation. Amen! 

THE RESURRECTION OF OUR LORD EASTER SUNDAY by Fr. Raphael Frassinetti, 1900

Gospel. Mark xvi. 1-7. At that time: Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Salome bought sweet spices, that coming they might anoint Jesus. And very early in the morning, the first day of the week, they came to the sepulchre, the sun being now risen. And they said one to another: Who shall roll us back the stone from the door of the sepulchre? And looking, they saw the stone rolled back: for it was very great. And entering into the sepulchre, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed with a white robe: and they were astonished. Who saith to them: Be not affrighted: ye seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: He is risen, He is not here: behold the place where they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he goeth before you into Galilee: there you shall see him, as he told you.

No longer are there tears in our eyes; no longer are heard wailings of grief, but hymns of the greatest joy. Our Lord is risen. Jesus, the good God, is risen glorious and triumphant from the tomb. Let us rejoice! Let those tremble and despair who are His enemies! The Jews bragged of the success of their execrable work; but their triumph is short. They did not see that all this happened to Our Lord, because He desired it so. They triumphed for a while, when they had shut up His body in the tomb, but Christ, full of life and immortal, now passes through the stone vault and is truly risen. He is indeed risen and endowed with greater beauty; clothed in light, like that of the sun; the crown of thorns is changed into a beautiful diadem, the wounds into signs of victory; the blasphemies of the Jews into the exultation of the angels; His sorrowful death into a most happy life. O day of happiness for the whole earth! “This is the day which the Lord hath made; let us exult and rejoice therein.” What fruit shall we draw from this feast? It is this: Jesus Christ is risen from the dead to die no more; so also when we rise from our death of sin, we should die no more, but continue in the life of grace.

It is a fact that many rise from the sleep of death during these days of the paschal joy; because the Church has made an express law that every Catholic must go to confession and communion at Easter. Therefore many, obedient to the law, confess, bewail their sins and promise to remain faithful to the graces of a new life. Many, however, are not steadfast; a few days have scarcely passed before they forget, and by sin fall back again into death. Have such really risen? It appeared as if they had, but if they had been really converted they would certainly not have fallen back into sin so easily and in so short a time.

I should like to believe that all you, my dear young friends, who have gone to confession, have really made up your minds not to fall into sin again. Just think what a terrible thing it is to be in the state of moral death; by sin you become an enemy of God and you cease to be the brother of Jesus Christ. The character of the soul is goodness; and so beautiful is it that God loves it and takes special delight in it. You are by Baptism brothers of Jesus Christ, associates of the angels, of the Blessed Virgin and the saints in heaven. It is worth your while, then, my dear young people, to preserve with the greatest care the purity which you have again acquired by the use of the sacraments. Unhappy beings, if you become bad again, you are throwing away your last chance of salvation; it is very hard to rise from the state of sin to life; the devil will make every effort to hold on to you; he will redouble his watchfulness, will strengthen his net about you, will double the chains that already bind you. He will send his servants to you, who will surround you in such a manner that nothing good can come near you. He will make the life of a sinner seem most delightful, so that in your blindness you would not change it if you could. That is the great difficulty–that we are our own obstacles. We would not love God if we could, we would not serve Him if we could–such are the machinations of the devil to keep you in his service. So you see it is not as easy as you think to return to God. Without grace we can do nothing, and we cannot run to Him and stay away from Him at will. When God has seen you unfaithful to Him several times, after having been saved by His mercy, He will no longer give you those extraordinary graces which brought you out of your evil ways heretofore; now He will let you go, He will abandon you as a thoroughly worthless subject.

From these considerations you can gather that it is most important for us to be in the state of grace, for on it our salvation depends. It is also very essential never to think lightly of the state of grace, not to let it go and come as we often do in the Sacrament of Penance; we return again and again to confession accusing ourselves of the same sins, and thus we continue until the day of our death. When once we have risen as Christ has risen, to die no more, we also must begin a new life. If in the past we have been so fond of the world that we thought of nothing else, now in our new life we must live with Jesus Christ; we will renounce the world to flee from those unlawful pleasures, to lead a celestial life, to be in heaven rather than upon this earth. “If you have risen with Christ, relish the things of heaven, not the things of earth.” Do not run after the pleasures of this world with such a relish; look for the joys of heaven, pray to God, use the sacraments frequently, and hear the word of God; then this new life will also be a resurrection for you, a glorious day; and will foreshadow the day on which you will be crowned with the crown of perseverance. 

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EASTER SUNDAY

The Temple of Christ's Body is restored; He is risen, alleluia!

Today is the Feast of Feasts!

On this, the holiest day of the entire year, and for the entire Octave of Easter, Latin Catholics greet each other with the words of Luke 24:34, “Surrexit Dominus vere, alleluia!” (“The Lord is risen indeed!”). The person so greeted responds, “Et apparuit Simoni, alleluia!” (“And hath appeared unto Simon!”). Catholics may even answer their telephones with this greeting. An old Ukrainian legend relates that, after His Resurrection, Christ threw Satan into a deep pit, chaining him with twelve iron chains. When Satan has chewed through each of the twelve chains, the end of the world will come. All year long, the Evil One gnaws at the iron, getting to the last link in the last chain — but too late, for it is Easter, and when the people cry “Christ is risen!” all of Satan's efforts are reversed. When the faithful stop saying the Easter acclamation, the end of time has come…

Throughout the entire Easter Season, the Angelus prayer that is offered, when possible, at the ringing of the Angelus bells, is replaced by the joyous Regina Coeli, which begins, “Queen of Heaven rejoice, alleluia: For He whom you merited to bear, alleluia, Has risen as He said, alleluia.”

On this most beautiful of Feasts, the Easter table should be adorned with the best of everything — the most beautiful china, a pure, white tablecloth, the best possible wine, flowers (especially pussy willow, lilies, and spring bulb flowers), etc., all with the colors white and gold — symbolizing purity and glory — and the traditional symbols of Easter predominating. And we should look our best, too; it is common for those who can afford it to buy a new outfit to wear on this day. This custom springs from the idea of “newness” inherent in the entire Season — the new members of the Church baptized at the Vigil in their new Baptismal albs, the New Law, a new life in Christ. by Fr. Francis Xavier Weninger, 1876

“And on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalen cometh early, when it was yet dark, unto the sepulcher.”–John xx, 1.

Alleluia! Once more we greet the joyous Easter-day, the glorious festival, the feast of feasts! Alleluia! the lofty note of triumph resounds throughout high heaven to salute the Lamb of God, the mighty Conqueror, while earth takes up the glad refrain, and Alleluia wakes happy, holy thoughts in Christian souls, absorbed in fervent homage in many a temple wherein is celebrated this great festival with all the splendor of our Holy Church. And yet, alas! to how many it brings no real heartfelt joy!

How many, who call themselves Christians, unite in a merely external manner in the celebration of today! To outward seeming they rejoice; but only a superficial joy is theirs. To them the spiritual delight, the real happiness–in a word, the Alleluia of the Paschal time–brings no deep meaning; while to those who have, from spiritual death, risen to the life of grace, and then, with zealous earnestness, continue their efforts to attain perfection, this feast will prove a happy day indeed. The joy of Easter will penetrate the very marrow of the soul.

So it was with Mary Magdalen, and so, too, it will be with every Christian who, like that great saint, and also like Mary the Immaculate Mother of Christ, is sincerely disposed for a proper participation in the joy of Easter. And today, my brethren, I will explain to you in what this special preparation for it consists; so that to each and every one of you it may be given to feel the delight of Mary Magdalen, when she beheld her risen Lord.

O Mary, thrice happy Mother of Jesus, may we participate in the joy felt by Magdalen on that Eastermorn! May a faint reflex of your sentiments, as you embraced your beloved Son and Lord, arisen from the dead, fall upon our hearts today! I speak in the name of the newly-risen Jesus, to the greater glory of God!

Dear brethren, let us dwell for a few moments upon the scene! The Redeemer, Master of life and death, had scarcely burst the bonds of His prison-house, when countless souls, ransomed by His infinite mercy from Limbo, hovered over His sepulcher. Myriads of angels too were there, bowing in homage before their King. The rosy dawn dispelled the lingering shades of night which had hung like a pall over Jerusalem, and revealed the uncertain steps of one whose attitude of deep dejection betrayed her grief.

It was Mary Magdalen.

She approaches the tomb. It is empty, and now a new anxiety weighs upon her; when suddenly Christ stands before her, not as she had known Him in life, but in the dress of a gardener. Not recognizing Him she asks: “If thou hast taken Him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him and I will take Him away.” Now the Lord calls her by name: “Mary,” and she feels that it is the voice of Jesus, the voice which uttered the consoling words: “Thy sins are forgiven thee.” It was a voice she could not fail-to know. She looks up at Him; she recognizes Him; she falls prostrate at His feet. “Jesus, Master, you live! Alleluia!” Heavenly joy thrills her heart as she hastens to the disciples with the glad tidings that Jesus lived, and had appeared to her.

Each child of the Church should share the joy of Magdalen, the penitent and forgiven. And if in it he has no part, where can be found the cause? I answer: Something is wanting in the preparation of the heart. Look at Mary Magdalen, and learn from her. She rejoiced, because her's was a soul purified by sorrow and tears of repentance. In her we behold the Magdalen, who, sinking beneath the burden of her contrition, gave vent to her feelings at the feet of Jesus.

Christian! if you feel not the joyous influence of the Paschal time, is it not that you are, as yet, unreconciled with your risen Lord? that your soul is marred with the disfiguring stain of mortal sin? For others the Easter jubilee; for you the mournful memories of Good Friday! For, alas! you have crucified your Saviour in your heart. Let me beg that you will not refuse to unite with those fervent souls whose Alleluia resounds throughout the earth, but that, by fervent prayer, you will obtain the grace of contrition, and, having “arisen with Christ,” by a worthy confession you may rejoice with His faithful followers.

And you, lukewarm and indifferent Christian, what sentiments does this glorious day awaken within your heart? Alas! it is cold; the Alleluia finds no responsive echo there. And what wonder? You may not indeed have crucified your Saviour by mortal sin; but the many venial faults which sully the purity of your soul, drive Him from you, and sorrowfully He stands afar off.

Mary Magdalen knelt at His feet. It was her dearest joy to be near her Lord, but that privilege was never hers, until by tears of sorrow she had cleansed her soul from the slightest stain of sin. She was a penitent soul. Imitate her example, purify your soul from its sins and faults, and then, with the illustrious penitent, can you truly welcome your risen Lord.

Secondly.–Mary Magdalen had disposed her heart for the celebration of Easter by meditation. She was a contemplative soul. Absorbed in adoration at the feet of Jesus, she listened to the words of divine wisdom which issued from His lips, and, according to Christ Himself, she “chose the better part.”

But how many Christians, celebrating Easter exteriorly, do not meditate, and hence a cold and lifeless faith is theirs, causing them to listen with indifference when the most sublime truths of religion are presented for their instruction. Nay, even the good and pious are not free from censure in this regard. They believe, they pray, but they do not meditate; and even by them the solemn mysteries of our redemption are not celebrated according to the spirit of our Holy Mother Church. Her wish and desire is that we may endeavor to bring the truths of holy faith before our mental vision, in as vivid a manner as though we had lived at the time those wonderful scenes in the great work of our redemption took place, and had witnessed them in the very order in which they transpired. Then we will begin to realize the reward which in an eternity of bliss awaits the purified soul and feel the sweetness of its Alleluia on earth.

Thirdly.–Mary Magdalen's heart was prepared by works of self-denial. She was a mortified soul, and how could it have been otherwise with her? Was she not the same to whom was given the grace to behold, with her own eyes, the dreadful spectacle of a lacerated, scourged, nay, even of a crucified and dying Saviour? Was she not the same devoted lover of Jesus upon whom, as she knelt beneath the cross, His tears and blood fell down? And her entire subsequent life, when she dwelt in solitude in the little hermitage in Gaul, was spent in acts of penance, although, from the Redeemer Himself, she had heard the blessed words: “Thy sins are forgiven thee!”

And you, Christians, if your hearts are not entoning the Alleluia today with her exultation, why is it? Because you do not love the cross, and strive to escape from the observance of the holy season, which this day terminates. Immediately preceding the festivity of Easter, the Church, during the days set apart for penance, strives to instill into the hearts of her children that penitential spirit, which will impel them to take up the cross and follow their suffering Redeemer to Calvary. Have you spent the holy season according to that spirit? Then, indeed, you may rejoice with Mary Magdalen today. But, if not, although the grandeur of the ceremonies which are displayed before you can not fail to produce an impression and excite some joy, it will be but a transitory impression and a superficial joy, in which the Alleluia has no part.

Fourthly–Mary Magdalen, in her longing after the divine word gave up every thing, and followed her Saviour in His apostolic missions. Trampling under foot the opinion of the world, and casting aside the promptings of human respect, in the presence of Him she found her greatest happiness. Such sentiments animated her, when, at the banquet given by the haughty Pharisee, she knelt publicly at the feet of Jesus. With such feelings she sought Him on Good Friday, prostrating herself before Him; and so also on the Easter-morn did she seek for, and find her risen Lord.

Child of the one true Church, do you wish to rejoice with Mary Magdalen? Then with her resolve to follow your Lord, and for this end seek Him with neverflagging earnestness; and, having found Him, contemplate in Him the adorable model, by imitating which you will one day behold Him face to face. Souls who are satisfied to lead an ordinary Christian life, who do not hunger and thirst after perfection, who lead not an interior life, do not participate in the joy of this great penitent, and alas! they will never understand it.

In conclusion, the soul of Mary Magdalen was a grateful and loving soul towards Jesus. She recognized Him on that Easter-morn by His voice; and as He spoke her name, “Mary!” the thought of the countless favors she had received at His sacred hands rushed swiftly over her. Her heart overflowed with its burden of gratitude; and oh! she felt how sweet it would be to cancel that debt by the perfect love with which she would regard her Saviour during an eternity of purest bliss. Then, indeed, could she worthily celebrate the feast of feasts!–the glorious Easter jubilee in heaven!

Mary's love was sincere, magnanimous, self-sacrificing, and constant. Of this Christ Himself has given testimony: “She hath loved much.” This mighty love not only gained for her an unconditional pardon of her former sins, but it became the source of numberless graces for her future life. And the same is promised to every member of the one true Church, whose love for Jesus is sincere, magnanimous, self-sacrificing, and constant, like that of Mary Magdalen.

The recurrence of Easter, my brethren, should increase every year our confidence in divine Providence, and remind us of the unwearied solicitude with which God has, from our very infancy up to the present moment, watched over us, guided our footsteps through the dangers which encompass us, and through His Holy Spirit is ever whispering to us to renounce our sins, to “love much,” that He may “forgive us much.” If we listen to that whisper we will indeed “arise with Christ; “we will participate to the utmost in the true spiritual jubilee of this blessed day.

Thus, my brethren, let your preparation for Easter be according to the disposition of St. Magdalen; and you will celebrate with Magdalen, in the spirit of the Church, Easter on earth, and soon, with Magdalen also, Easter in heaven forever. Amen!

“And the disciple whom Jesus loved came to the sepulcher.”–John xx.

As often as the Church, in commemoration of the glorious Resurrection, celebrates the yearly recurrence of the Paschal time, and entones the joyous Alleluia with her children, so often do we recall to mind those privileged souls who, the Gospel tells us, had the happiness of hearing the glad tidings: “Jesus, lives; He has arisen,” of listening to, of beholding the risen Jesus. This privilege was not limited to one or two; but was enjoyed by a number of the disciples, who believed and hoped in the Lord. Often, too, we go in spirit to the sepulcher with the holy women who went thither bearing ointments, and think of that bliss which filled their hearts when, from the angel of the Lord, they heard the welcome words: “He is arisen.” We think of Mary Magdalen, whose joy found utterance in the single word, as she knelt before her Lord, “Rabboni.”

We behold the wondering Apostles, when, on the evening of the same day, as they were assembled together “with closed doors,” their Master stood before them and pronounced the blessed words: “Pax vobis”–“Peace be unto you.”

But there is one Apostle, St. John, upon whom our attention should be particularly centered, that we may attain a better understanding of the state in which the Christian must be before the real joy of Easter can illumine his soul. We have seen him at the Last Supper; we have beheld him at the foot of the cross, and let us hope that we may have shared, to some extent, in the love which filled his heart at those solemn times. Let me, brethren, today present, for your contemplation, St. John, the disciple of love. Let us glance at him as he stands by the sepulcher of the Risen One, and endeavor to picture the joy which overflowed his heart as he beheld the Lord.

O Mary, Mother most joyful, infuse into our hearts that bliss which filled your own upon that first happy Easter-morn, that we, like St. John, may experience its most wonderful effects for the salvation of our souls! I speak in the name of the newly-risen Jesus, for the greater honor and glory of God!

“He is risen; we have heard it even from the angels!” said the holy women, as they returned from the sepulcher. And as the Apostles heard the wondrous tale, two of their number immediately arose and hastened away; but the “dearly beloved Apostle,” St. John, in the fervor of his love, left St. Peter far behind, and, arriving first at the sepulcher, found the stone rolled away. St. Peter, however, was the first to enter the empty tomb. In him, therefore, is illustrated the Apostle of faith, while St. John typifies the disciple of love. In the divine economy, every thing is full of a deep, mysterious meaning, and herein we learn that faith must first penetrate the soul before the flame of divine love is enkindled in the heart. John followed Peter, and, as he placed his hand upon the winding-sheet, which, but the evening before he had wrapped about the sacred body of his Lord, a flood of joy rushed over his soul, and filled his heart with happiness, as he felt that Jesus had indeed arisen, that Jesus lived.

We will today consider the character of his holy Easter joy, and endeavor to understand how mighty and sanctifying it was rendered by the excessive ardor of his love for Christ. To clearly realize the intense joy of this saintly disciple, we must recall the feelings which agitated his heart while, for love of the crucified One, he stood beneath the cross, and think of those words of Holy Scripture: “According to the greatness of my sorrows your consolations gladdened my soul.” St. John stood at the foot of the cross wholly absorbed in compassion, adoration, gratitude, and resolution, according to the will of God, to follow Jesus unto death, through love; and, therefore, the Alleluia of the Easter joy, in which his heart rejoiced at the tomb of the arisen Jesus, was a participation in the sentiments of adoration, thanksgiving, and determination to be faithful to his calling as Apostle in proportion to his love for Christ.

The one who loves, so rejoices at the happiness of the beloved object that it would seem as if he were happier to see the joy of his friend than to feel his own. For example, what joy is experienced by a mother whose child has met with some great good or benefit, or has been unexpectedly saved from some impending danger! But of true friendship Holy Writ testifies that it is stronger than all other love–witness that of David and Jonathan.

But incomparably more tender was the friendship of St. John for his Saviour, and in the same measure his heart rejoiced at the certainty that He had burst the bonds of the grave and lived once more. This joy must have stirred his heart to its very depths, and moved him, in a much greater degree, than it affected St. Peter and the other Apostles, because he had beheld his Saviour in agony upon the cross, in suffering and in death. His loving heart was more sensitive than theirs.

The Alleluia of his Easter joy was the outburts of his overflowing friendship. It was, at the same time, one of adoration and thanksgiving for the consummation of the Redemption. Until that time the life and labors of the Lord had been, as it were, veiled in the obscurity of a mystical darkness; but by the Alleluia which came forth from the heart of Jesus as He rose from the tomb, all radiant with celestial light, this vail was rent, and that Easter morn forever dispersed the gloom. St. John, as he stood by the grave of the risen Jesus, realized more clearly than ever the whole order of salvation; and what an “Exultet” arose in his heart as he entoned it, in the same sense in which it is sung by the Church on Holy Saturday, to announce the joyful truth that Christ had risen. As often as we hear it, our souls are filled with the joy of this holy Easter day. St. John entoned it at the sepulcher, in the name of the whole human family. Even as the Church sends forth her most joyful chants, so sang his heart, overflowing with the joy of that Easter day: “O Ineffable Miracle of Grace! to forgive Thy servant his sins, Thou hast delivered up Thy Son!”

“Of what avail had it been for us to be born into the world had we not received the grace of redemption? O happy fault which gave us such a Deliverer!”

St. John also thanked God, as he had never done before, for the grace of the election which, in the kingdom of Christ, became his portion, recognizing more clearly than ever the privileges which he enjoyed before all men, even the Apostles, especially that one which gave him the care of Mary, the Immaculate Virgin, the Queen of heaven, the Mother of his Lord. How he rejoiced that he would have her example and her prayers! for it would be her duty to care for her adopted son as became a tender and loving mother. Well may St. Paul exclaim: “I chastise my body that I may not become a castaway.” No marvel was it that St. Peter trembled when he thought upon the judgment which would come after death; but St. John, the adopted son of Mary, was, through her, assured of his eternal salvation. And in relation to the duties of his apostleship in general, as he stood by the Saviour's tomb, how greatly encouraged he felt!–how firmly he resolved to be a fruitful branch in the vineyard of the Lord!

What invigorates the soul in its apostolic calling is the strengthening power of faith, hope, and charity, united with an earnest love of our neighbor. These were precisely the sentiments which prevailed in the heart of St. John as he burst forth in that glorious Alleluia by the grave of Christ.

The certainty of the Resurrection, as St. Paul affirms, is a pledge of the whole treasure of faith, “If Christ had not risen again, as He said,” writes the Apostle of the nations, “we would have been miserably deceived and disappointed and left without a name.” But He did arise, and we possess our holy faith with its promises for time and eternity. We also shall arise and live with Him forever. But St. Paul was not at the sepulcher; he did not touch the sacred body of Christ, but the beloved disciple did. With what strong testimony for the truth of the Resurrection, therefore, could John announce the Gospel with the assertion that he had lived with the Redeemer on the most intimate terms of holy union; that he beheld Him when He breathed forth His last sigh upon the cross; and looked upon Him after He had risen from the dead. The sentiments of his heart were that of triumphant faith.

What invigorates a soul in the exercise of its apostolic calling is victorious hope. “The Lord, who calls me to this office, is also my strength, and will, at some future day, be my reward.” Who experienced this in a higher degree than St. John? To whom was more fully and more bountifully given the vivifying power of Christian hope than to him who was permitted, while still on earth, to pierce the golden vista of the celestial vault, and gaze upon the mysteries of heaven?

Finally, what urges the true Apostle on in his holy mission more than any other thing is love–the love of God and man. In these respects, St. John was, as you know, eminently called the disciple of love. His very Epistles, contained in Holy Writ, stand, and will remain forever, undying testimonials of this his apostolic love. This, dearly beloved in Christ, is the character of the Easter-day of St. John and of his Easter Alleluia; and these the conditions, to feel it re-echoed in our own hearts. Amen!

“In Thy light we shall see light.”–Ps. xxxv.

The glorious orb of day was still invisible to the expectant world in the early Easter-morn, when the earth trembled as if moved by some terrible convulsion of nature and an angel of the choir of the Powers, radiant and beautiful, hovered above the sepulcher wherein lay the Body of Christ, and descending rolled the stone away. Instantaneously the glorified soul approached, the Sacred Body was transfigured, and the Lord arose, body and soul, more brilliant than the sun, which now burst forth in all its splendor to pay fitting tribute to Him Who gave it light–Who came forth the Victor of all the powers of evil, the Conqueror of death and hell. Then were seen the millions of holy souls who, for four thousand years, had languished in the gloomy prison of Limbo, full of trust in the Lord, and waited until “patience had her perfect work.”

Adam and Eve, the venerable patriarchs and prophets, St. Joseph, St. John the Baptist, with legions of holy angels, surround the Redeemer, the Sun of justice, the Lord Who had risen in all the grandeur of His Majesty. Yet a little while and He will ascend from the Mount of Olives, penetrate the heavens, and take His place at the right hand of the Father, clothed with the glory which flows from His divinity to His humanity, and send throughout high heaven celestial light to intensify the bliss of the angels and saints therein. In other words, all that which causes heaven to be heaven, will be imparted in its full extent by Christ to all the blessed therein. Let us today, therefore, look up to Him as the Sun in the kingdom of eternal beatitude. Let us picture to ourselves the heavens opening to our wondering view, while strains of sweetest music fall on our raptured ear. It is the angels entoning their Easter hymn.

O Mary, Queen of heaven, enthroned at the side of thy divine Son, pray for us that we may one day see Him in His glory and share in His beatification forever! I speak in the holy name of Jesus, Who arose from the dead, to the greater honor and glory of God!

What causes heaven to be heaven is, first, its external magnificence. When God created the visible world, the angels burst forth in praise, as Holy Scripture says in the Book of Job, on beholding such a stream of divine power and wisdom and goodness. Even after the sin of our first parents it still presented a scene of beauty and grandeur, and it does so still.

What a wonderfully majestic spectacle is afforded by the “deep and dark blue ocean” as it seems blended with the brilliant skies which it reflects in its depths! What a glorious radiance is cast upon the changing waters by the setting sun as he sinks to rest–as he gilds the ever-tossing waves with tints of the most gorgeous hue. The world of stars which sparkle in the darkness of the night, form a most enchanting sight; how then would it be, were we permitted to contemplate those wonders of creation through that lofty arch of the heavens, so far above the stars, and view the essence of those objects of which we now only behold the exterior appearance?

But as a diamond, encircled by precious stones, emits rays of dazzling light from the center of a diadem, so does the glorified humanity of Christ shine forth amid the angels and saints, as the mystical Sun, compared to which, our sun is naught but a waning light. In this glorious radiance of the humanity of Christ, the Blessed eternally contemplate the crown of the creation, especially if we consider its transfiguration at the end of time.

As God the Father created the world by the Son, so do we contemplate in the light which is Christ, the ideal of the creation as it was conceived by the eternal Father, and consider it so in all its relations to the creation of grace through the same Jesus Christ. No one can so well explain the beauty of a work as the author thereof. Contemplative soul, look up to Christ, Who has arisen, and rejoice; soon shalt thou see Him in His glory.

What adds to the happiness of heaven is, secondly, the sight of the glorified world of spirits. The angels are the blossoms of the creation. The doctors of the Church with St. Bernardine of Sienna affirm that God created more angels than visible corporeal beings because He was Himself a Spirit. Those beautiful spirits are divided into nine choirs, each end higher than the other, as we are taught to believe by our holy faith, viz: Angels, Archangels, Principalities, Thrones, Dominations, Powers, Virtues, Cherubim, and Seraphim. Each choir is higher, and therefore more beautiful than the other. We will one day behold in heaven the reason of this, but some of it we are already permitted to know.

For all their beatitude and glory, the angels are mediately indebted to Jesus. The holy Fathers assert that it was the confession and adoration of the Son of God, Who was to become man, into which mystery God permitted them to glance, which confirmed them forever in grace. And after Christ ascended into heaven the angels beheld, according to their ranks, the increase of glory which they were to receive from the glorified King of that celestial realm. This increase of glory, conferred separately on-every choir, like rays of light, is centered in the brilliant humanity of Christ, the King of every choir of them.

It is somewhat similar to the choirs of the Saints, which are different too, glorified by their individual graces. In heaven we will one day, through the grace of God, behold Adam and Eve, the Patriarchs, the Prophets, the Holy Innocents, the Virgins, the Confessors, the Bishops, the Martyrs, and the Apostles of Christ. Each of these choirs is distinguished by a particular degree of glory. By whatever degrees of glory these choirs are distinguished, transfigured, and beatified, their different glories, with those of Mary herself, the Queen of the Saints, are as so many rays which are concentrated in Christ as the Sun.

What adds to the individual bliss enjoyed by the saints of God in heaven, is the fact that it is a reward conferred upon them for the holy lives which, in imitation of Christ, they led upon earth. But, as the Church at the Council of Trent taught, God crowns only the gifts of His grace whose Creator is Christ. The rays of all the merits of the saints unite therefore in Him, the author of grace.

What causes heaven to be heaven is the united enjoyment of all its joys through Christ our Lord. In that blissful home all will be united in love with Christ and with one another, as He is one with the Father and the Holy Ghost. Heaven is mine; all is mine through Jesus Christ! Such will one day be the outburst of joy of every sanctified soul.

What causes heaven to be heaven is the thought that it was already lost to us, and that Christ, the Redeemer, regained and re-opened it for all. Alleluia! What enhances its bliss since Christ ascended thither, is the character it possesses as the kingdom of triumph. Here, too, we have no reason to envy the angels, for upon one occasion only had they an opportunity of acquiring merit through Christ, when they confessed and adored the Son of God made man, and were thereby confirmed in grace. Although they are, as St. Paul calls them, ministering spirits, they but fulfill the will of God without increasing their happiness or merit. This is not the case with us children of men. Every breath, every thought, every desire, every work, through divine grace, may be an occasion of merit for us to increase our glory in heaven, which is, therefore, for us also the kingdom of triumph.

Life is, as Holy Writ testifies, a warfare against the enemies of salvation; but Christ conquered them, and we can do likewise through Him. We know not what joys of heaven would have awaited us if we had never sinned; but this much is certain, it would never have become what it is now, the kingdom of triumph, which character elevates its joy in an immeasurably great degree. In conclusion, beloved in Christ, “what is heaven?” Listen! It is God. “I myself,” says the Lord. “I am your infinite reward.” Yes! It is the beatific vision of God, an intimate union with Him who is all delight, beatitude, and love. All this we shall possess through Christ. The end and aim of the creation is God Himself, the glorification of His perfections in their exterior relations. We distinguish, in this regard, His omniscience, omnipotence, wisdom, mercy, longanimity, justice, truth, majesty,–His beauty, beatitude, and love. But all these divine attributes concentrate their most brilliant radiance in the work of Redemption, consummated by Christ. So, then, it is Christ through Whom we are permitted to contemplate God in the triumph of His perfections in heaven, and be there inseparably united with Him.

That is proved by His prayer as High Priest: “Father, I pray Thee, let them be one with Us, as We are one;” and again: “No one knoweth the Father save the Son, and those to whom the Son will reveal Him.” This is verified by Christ the Sun, in the kingdom of light, as it is written: “In Thy light we will see light.”

The various ways in which God so wonderfully conducts us to our destiny, in conjunction with the fate of all, will then decidedly prove that it is Christ to whom we are indebted for the possession of heaven. Therefore, one day, the tribute of praise will resound before His throne in heaven: “Worthy is the Lamb to receive divinity, adoration, gratitude: Who has redeemed us with His blood, and has made us as kings in His celestial realm.” St. John asserts: “The city of God needs no light, for Christ is her light.” He, the glorious Sun of Redemption and Salvation. Amen!

THE RESURRECTION OF OUR LORD EASTER SUNDAY by Fr. Raphael Frassinetti, 1900

Gospel. Mark xvi. 1-7. At that time: Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Salome bought sweet spices, that coming they might anoint Jesus. And very early in the morning, the first day of the week, they came to the sepulchre, the sun being now risen. And they said one to another: Who shall roll us back the stone from the door of the sepulchre? And looking, they saw the stone rolled back: for it was very great. And entering into the sepulchre, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed with a white robe: and they were astonished. Who saith to them: Be not affrighted: ye seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: He is risen, He is not here: behold the place where they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he goeth before you into Galilee: there you shall see him, as he told you.

No longer are there tears in our eyes; no longer are heard wailings of grief, but hymns of the greatest joy. Our Lord is risen. Jesus, the good God, is risen glorious and triumphant from the tomb. Let us rejoice! Let those tremble and despair who are His enemies! The Jews bragged of the success of their execrable work; but their triumph is short. They did not see that all this happened to Our Lord, because He desired it so. They triumphed for a while, when they had shut up His body in the tomb, but Christ, full of life and immortal, now passes through the stone vault and is truly risen. He is indeed risen and endowed with greater beauty; clothed in light, like that of the sun; the crown of thorns is changed into a beautiful diadem, the wounds into signs of victory; the blasphemies of the Jews into the exultation of the angels; His sorrowful death into a most happy life. O day of happiness for the whole earth! “This is the day which the Lord hath made; let us exult and rejoice therein.” What fruit shall we draw from this feast? It is this: Jesus Christ is risen from the dead to die no more; so also when we rise from our death of sin, we should die no more, but continue in the life of grace.

It is a fact that many rise from the sleep of death during these days of the paschal joy; because the Church has made an express law that every Catholic must go to confession and communion at Easter. Therefore many, obedient to the law, confess, bewail their sins and promise to remain faithful to the graces of a new life. Many, however, are not steadfast; a few days have scarcely passed before they forget, and by sin fall back again into death. Have such really risen? It appeared as if they had, but if they had been really converted they would certainly not have fallen back into sin so easily and in so short a time.

I should like to believe that all you, my dear young friends, who have gone to confession, have really made up your minds not to fall into sin again. Just think what a terrible thing it is to be in the state of moral death; by sin you become an enemy of God and you cease to be the brother of Jesus Christ. The character of the soul is goodness; and so beautiful is it that God loves it and takes special delight in it. You are by Baptism brothers of Jesus Christ, associates of the angels, of the Blessed Virgin and the saints in heaven. It is worth your while, then, my dear young people, to preserve with the greatest care the purity which you have again acquired by the use of the sacraments. Unhappy beings, if you become bad again, you are throwing away your last chance of salvation; it is very hard to rise from the state of sin to life; the devil will make every effort to hold on to you; he will redouble his watchfulness, will strengthen his net about you, will double the chains that already bind you. He will send his servants to you, who will surround you in such a manner that nothing good can come near you. He will make the life of a sinner seem most delightful, so that in your blindness you would not change it if you could. That is the great difficulty–that we are our own obstacles. We would not love God if we could, we would not serve Him if we could–such are the machinations of the devil to keep you in his service. So you see it is not as easy as you think to return to God. Without grace we can do nothing, and we cannot run to Him and stay away from Him at will. When God has seen you unfaithful to Him several times, after having been saved by His mercy, He will no longer give you those extraordinary graces which brought you out of your evil ways heretofore; now He will let you go, He will abandon you as a thoroughly worthless subject.

From these considerations you can gather that it is most important for us to be in the state of grace, for on it our salvation depends. It is also very essential never to think lightly of the state of grace, not to let it go and come as we often do in the Sacrament of Penance; we return again and again to confession accusing ourselves of the same sins, and thus we continue until the day of our death. When once we have risen as Christ has risen, to die no more, we also must begin a new life. If in the past we have been so fond of the world that we thought of nothing else, now in our new life we must live with Jesus Christ; we will renounce the world to flee from those unlawful pleasures, to lead a celestial life, to be in heaven rather than upon this earth. “If you have risen with Christ, relish the things of heaven, not the things of earth.” Do not run after the pleasures of this world with such a relish; look for the joys of heaven, pray to God, use the sacraments frequently, and hear the word of God; then this new life will also be a resurrection for you, a glorious day; and will foreshadow the day on which you will be crowned with the crown of perseverance.

From: www.pamphletstoinspire.com