438.
Catholic Prayers
We pray to the Father
And to the Blessed Mother
To the Son and the Holy Ghost
The saints, angels, heavenly host
We pray to many, but worship one
We recognize God and His growing clan
For heaven is glorious, His dominion grows!
-12/15/2015
(Dumarao)
*45th Daily Reflection from Catechism Booklet
404.
The Marks of the Catholic Church
The Catholic Church is one
Its supreme head is the Pope
Infallible & authoritative like the sun
The Catholic Church is holy
For its founder itself is Jesus Christ
The Son of God, so blessed is He
The Catholic Church is universal
Aiming to reach all nations of the world
Its dominion has gone international
The Catholic Church is apostolic
Propagated by the apostles of Christ
Whose mission is prophetic & angelic.
-11/22/2015
(Dumarao)
*11th Daily Reflection from Catechism Booklet
396.
The Catholic Church
The Catholic Church –
Founded by our Savior
For the glory of our Creator
The Catholic Church is superior
The pioneer & supreme body
Of all members of Christianity
House of prayer & worship, a spiritual sanctuary!
-11/10/2015
(Dumarao)
*10th Daily Reflection from Catechism Booklet
Under mists, we march through darkness
to the sound of Aztec drums.
Not conquerors or conquered,
but soldiers of your Sacred Heart.
With gentle words you shaped centuries
as you did thousands of years ago
Transforming cruel, broken misunderstanding
into faith and hope and love.
Holy mother.
Faithful virgin.
Our queen.
And my heart quickens as I think
of how the demons must wail at your presence
at how all evil recoils in self-destructive loathing
as it beholds your purest beauty.
Mary - this day, this life - I dedicate to your Son, my God,
through your humble and perfect intercession.
Pious, poetic handmaiden,
Queen of all eternity -
Pray for us.
2025-12-12
written fairly quickly up to 11:35 AM
At the bottom of our garden
there's a wayward wandering Jew
but I have yet to spot
a crawling Christian or dot a hiking Hindu
I'm adding to the landscape
if it takes me all week
going in steadfast search of
a meandering Moslem or a sauntering Sikh
yet as no rockery looks good without
and planting both who could really resist
for the ladybirds bees and butterflies
a creeping Catholic and a bustling Buddhist
Your Word, O Lord, is loveliness.
Thus it is fitting that your Gospels
are clad in shining gold and silver
Made to gleam and impress and remind us
that your living wisdom is a treasure beyond all else.
Yet - fair and proper as it is -
I think of the humble, well-worn
simple and plain Bible of a saint
Tattered cover and crinkled pages
Borne through sweltering jungles
Stained by rain and sea and sun
And my heart burns at its beauty.
And even lovelier still is that
which I cannot see -
Your holy Word known so well by your saint
Imprinted upon their very heart.
2025-10-26
written ~1:50 PM
Twenty-four days before Christmas in 1958 there was a huge fire
at Our Lady of the Angels, a Catholic grade school in Chicago
Eighty-seven children and three nuns died in this fire.
One of the children who passed was Mary’s little sister, Karen.
She was to be a first grader forever.
Mary was in the fourth grade at the time.
Mary spent years trying to forget that day, the worst day ever.
The frantic nuns, the commotion, the smoke, the frenzy.
Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting on the sidewalk across the street.
Watching the school burn up, wondering where Karen was.
A sister who never came home.
Mary felt shame for leaving her.
She had wanted to run in there and rescue Karen.
But the adults restrained her.
Her family waited for hours hoping for a miracle.
Watching the front door, praying Karen would walk inside.
She never did.
Eighty-six other children did not return home either.
Probably led to heaven by the three nuns.
There once was an old Pope from Rome
who had the Good Book a huge tome
an altar ego and mass appeal
so he made the Vatican home
2015 he addressed the environment
on climate change caused by man
and issued a Catholic Church encyclical
the first-ever since Popes began
let's trust instructing his cardinals
to avoid any more scandals
when pontificating and preaching to the choir
to burn less incense and light fewer candles
altho' it's a slippery slope here's the dope
and no I won't soft-soap
there's not much hope of Pope on a rope
but I can cope so I won't mope
now hear my voice as it's a choice
if I may be quite so bold
religion is discretionary not hereditary
and the herd of sheep in the fold should be told
The one true Church established by Father Christ is the Roman Catholic Church
It is the Church which our Divine Lord started when He picked the 12 Apostles
And made St. Peter as their head
We know that the Roman Catholic Church is the one true Church established by Father Christ
Because it alone has the mark of the true Church
A mark is a sign that points out something
The marks of the Church points it out as the Church which Father Christ started
The chief marks of the Roman Catholic Church are 4
It is one
Holy
Catholic or Universal
And apostolic
All are obliged to belong to the Roman Catholic Church
Is the some way
In order to be saved
The Roman Catholic Church is a congregation of all baptized persons
United in the same true faith
The same sacrifice
And under the Holy Father
The Pope
Father Christ founded the Roman Catholic Church to bring all men to Eternal salvation
Father Christ gave the power to teach
To sanctify
And to rule the members of His Church to the Apostles
The 1st Bishops of the Church
The successors of Apostles are the Bishops of the Roman Catholic Church
Father Christ gave special power in His Roman Catholic Church
To St. Peter
By making Him the head of the Apostles
The chief teacher
And ruler of the entire Church
The Successor of St. Peter is the Holy Father
The Bishop of Rome
The priests
Especially Parish Priests
Help the Bishop in the care of the Souls
Never did I think
I would ever wish
to see another Nun
now there is you
in costume
I am a heretic,
always have been
dressed like a
has been priest
both of us ready
to get on our knees
you threaten me
with lipstick,
a seductive red
I would be dead
by morning
just want to bury
my teeth in your
neck and shoulders,
caress your thighs
with tongue and fingers
feel you tremble
at my touch
blessed are we
for we will sin
enjoying our
explorations of
each other
everywhere
we see fit
me into you
like some sacrament.
I did not ask to be baptized ~ I see no need to play by their rules
Would that we listened to his mercy,
to his gentle, soft voice as he begged
to heal our wounds.
Would that we looked twice at his loving gaze,
at the selfless passion that saw
a broken truth he wished to heal.
Would that we lived as he taught us,
putting our eternal souls - our greatest treasures -
above drunken bursts of pleasure in a dying world.
But now he has come.
Not as a babe, but as Pantokrator.
The burning Word - white-hot
and searing away the shadows of our fallen Earth.
And while those who walked in Wisdom
cry with relief and joy as they flock to
his invincible banner,
We who dismissed him cry with fear
as we stumble away from his blinding radiance,
for we know that looking upon it
would destroy us.
Written after confession
8 February 2025
My daddy—he once told me
don’t ever play with nuns
they’ll hit you with their rulers
it won’t be any fun
I snuck out of that prison
and now I’m on the run
Once freed from that schoolhouse
I sunbathed in the sun
I stayed out late, I went on dates
looking out for number-one
When I think of what I went through
of all the tired repressive lies
I keep running wise, in slick disguise
my purpose is renewed
Don’t ever let ‘em tell you
you can’t have any fun
If they preach that hackneyed drivel
grab some things and run
.
.
Songs for this:
Cold Heart (PNAU Remix) by Elton John & Dua Lipa
I'm Still Standing by Elton John
Webster: hackneyed = uninteresting, unfun, dull and unoriginal.
*stolen almost directly, in spirit anyway, from that freewheeling rebel, Johnny Cash
**My first 8 years of school were parochial
Fall is breathing its dying breaths
and a chill settles deeper into the air.
The first flakes of snow have dusted the ground
leaving the world glimmering,
starlight reflecting off each crystal
and casting a beautifully eerie glow.
Nighttime silence is unbroken
save for the sound of my surreptitious breaths,
which cloud in front of me as they’re slowly released.
I can sense God here.
An all-encompassing presence that fills the emptiness with calm
despite the uncertain shadows lining the ground.
For a moment, just a moment,
(I refuse to allow myself longer),
I am not alone,
and I take comfort in His grace
until I’m greeted inside by the laughter of my family
and the warm glow of the fireplace.
This I can be certain is real,
this tangible, palpable love.
This is what I’ll live with my heart set on.
Where I land in the end is known only
to the holy adjudicator.
But as my mother’s love is enduring and unconditional
(unlike His, daily damning innocents and the joyously enamored),
I choose to establish my acts within such power
rather than living by divine ideal.
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