Vespers Service for Catholics Massacred in Baghdad

While we were in New York a couple weeks ago for the investiture of new members into the Order of Malta we had the priviledge of attending a vespers service held at the Church of the Holy Family, the United Nations parish, to honor the victims of the recent massacre in Baghdad.  Here is a news account from  agenzia fides, the publication of the Pontifical Mission Societies.

Ambassadors and diplomats attended an Evening Prayer Service for the victims of the ferocious 31 October attack on the worshipers of Our Lady of Deliverance Syriac Catholic Cathedral in Baghdad, Iraq, that killed over 50 faithful, including 2 priests. A healthy crowd of friends and parishioners added to the number. According to information sent to Fides, the Evening Prayer Service was promoted by the Holy See Mission to the United Nations, in conjunction with the Syriac Catholic Diocese of Our Lady of Deliverance and the Archdiocese of New York and was held at New York City’s Church of the Holy Family just a block away from the United Nations, on November 12.

Archbishop Francis Chullikatt, Permanent Observer of the Holy See to the UN, who had been Apostolic Nuncio to Iraq and Jordan for the last four years until arriving in New York two months ago, knew quite well the priests who were murdered, Fr. Thaer Abdal and Fr. Wassim Al-Qas Boutrus, as well as other victims. “What happened on October 31st is the worst possible nightmare. And the nightmare is not over,” he said in his greeting, deploring the fact that some of the families who had already lost loved ones on that day were later victims of attacks on their homes. “The situation is intolerable,” he said.

Bishop Yousif Habash, the Syriac Catholic Bishop for the United States and Canada, and several Syriac Catholic priests, led part of the service, chanting prayers in Syriac including the “Proemion of the Martyrs.” The evening included an impassioned plea for peace and reconciliation. Archbishop Cullikatt quoted the Gospel of St. Matthew: “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you”. He said that not only do the dead and their families need prayers, but also those assembled need to pray “so that our hearts do not grow bitter and so that we can do our share in building a world that values and promotes reconciliation, harmony, love and peace among peoples, nations and religions.” (SL) (Agenzia Fides 13/11/2010)

Condividi: Facebook Google

Bishop Habash gave a very moving homily and I hope to obtain the text so I can put it here on my blog.

Vespers Service for Catholics Massacred in Baghdad

While we were in New York a couple weeks ago for the investiture of new members into the Order of Malta we had the priviledge of attending a vespers service held at the Church of the Holy Family, the United Nations parish, to honor the victims of the recent massacre in Baghdad.  Here is a news account from  agenzia fides, the publication of the Pontifical Mission Societies.

Ambassadors and diplomats attended an Evening Prayer Service for the victims of the ferocious 31 October attack on the worshipers of Our Lady of Deliverance Syriac Catholic Cathedral in Baghdad, Iraq, that killed over 50 faithful, including 2 priests. A healthy crowd of friends and parishioners added to the number. According to information sent to Fides, the Evening Prayer Service was promoted by the Holy See Mission to the United Nations, in conjunction with the Syriac Catholic Diocese of Our Lady of Deliverance and the Archdiocese of New York and was held at New York City’s Church of the Holy Family just a block away from the United Nations, on November 12.

Archbishop Francis Chullikatt, Permanent Observer of the Holy See to the UN, who had been Apostolic Nuncio to Iraq and Jordan for the last four years until arriving in New York two months ago, knew quite well the priests who were murdered, Fr. Thaer Abdal and Fr. Wassim Al-Qas Boutrus, as well as other victims. “What happened on October 31st is the worst possible nightmare. And the nightmare is not over,” he said in his greeting, deploring the fact that some of the families who had already lost loved ones on that day were later victims of attacks on their homes. “The situation is intolerable,” he said.

Bishop Yousif Habash, the Syriac Catholic Bishop for the United States and Canada, and several Syriac Catholic priests, led part of the service, chanting prayers in Syriac including the “Proemion of the Martyrs.” The evening included an impassioned plea for peace and reconciliation. Archbishop Cullikatt quoted the Gospel of St. Matthew: “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you”. He said that not only do the dead and their families need prayers, but also those assembled need to pray “so that our hearts do not grow bitter and so that we can do our share in building a world that values and promotes reconciliation, harmony, love and peace among peoples, nations and religions.” (SL) (Agenzia Fides 13/11/2010)

Condividi: Facebook Google

Bishop Habash gave a very moving homily and I hope to obtain the text so I can put it here on my blog.

The Power of Suffering to Comfort and Heal the World

In his book The Divine Pity, a study on the social implication of the Beatitudes, Fr. Gerald Vann O.P. gives a beautiful summmation of the Beatitude, Blessed are they that mourn, on the power of suffering to comfort and heal the world,

that whatever suffering and sorrow may come to you, and whenever it come, it can be used, and ought to be used, in the power and in the company of Christ for the healing and the comforting of the world as a whole; and in that suffering of the sorrow of the world as a whole you can find your understanding and your heart immeasurably enlarged, enlarged indeed to something remotely approaching the fullness of the stature of Christ.

And in order to be among those that mourn it is necessary to start by

making sure that you are temperate in your attitude toward creatures: that you are reverent towards men and women and animals and inanimate things. You must not be sentimental: you must not make reverence synonymous with fear or softness or blindness. There is an order in created things, and the less are meant to serve the greater, and to serve them according to their nature. [And here comes a note for PETA] It is not reverence but irreverence to treat your pets as though they were beings of a superior order: it is a failure to respect their nature. It is not reverence but irreverence to refuse from mistaken humanitarianism to punish a disobedient child. But you can be reverent to the nature and personality of the child you are punishing, though it is very different reverence from the reverence the child owes to you.

The Power of Suffering to Comfort and Heal the World

In his book The Divine Pity, a study on the social implication of the Beatitudes, Fr. Gerald Vann O.P. gives a beautiful summmation of the Beatitude, Blessed are they that mourn, on the power of suffering to comfort and heal the world,

that whatever suffering and sorrow may come to you, and whenever it come, it can be used, and ought to be used, in the power and in the company of Christ for the healing and the comforting of the world as a whole; and in that suffering of the sorrow of the world as a whole you can find your understanding and your heart immeasurably enlarged, enlarged indeed to something remotely approaching the fullness of the stature of Christ.

And in order to be among those that mourn it is necessary to start by

making sure that you are temperate in your attitude toward creatures: that you are reverent towards men and women and animals and inanimate things. You must not be sentimental: you must not make reverence synonymous with fear or softness or blindness. There is an order in created things, and the less are meant to serve the greater, and to serve them according to their nature. [And here comes a note for PETA] It is not reverence but irreverence to treat your pets as though they were beings of a superior order: it is a failure to respect their nature. It is not reverence but irreverence to refuse from mistaken humanitarianism to punish a disobedient child. But you can be reverent to the nature and personality of the child you are punishing, though it is very different reverence from the reverence the child owes to you.

Catholic Economics 101 - It's Not Your Money

We hear much debate about taxes and tax cuts, about "the rich" paying their fair share, or the statement that, "it's my money." Without getting into the debate over how much tax we should each pay, keeping in mind that forced restribution of wealth is not a Catholic social teaching, it would be helpful if we all remembered this principle from the prayer of St. Ignatius and used our resources accordingly.

All that I am and all that I possess You have given me. I surrender it all to You to be disposed of according to Your will.

Catholic Economics 101 - It's Not Your Money

We hear much debate about taxes and tax cuts, about "the rich" paying their fair share, or the statement that, "it's my money." Without getting into the debate over how much tax we should each pay, keeping in mind that forced restribution of wealth is not a Catholic social teaching, it would be helpful if we all remembered this principle from the prayer of St. Ignatius and used our resources accordingly.

All that I am and all that I possess You have given me. I surrender it all to You to be disposed of according to Your will.

Sister Marie de Mandat-Grancey - Updated Status

The first step toward beatification of Sister Marie de Mandat-Grancey will take place on Friday, January 21st, 2011 in the Diocese of Kansas City at the Immaculate Conception Cathedral.  Sister Marie is the foundress of Mary's House in Ephesus, Turkey.  She has a remarkable story and it would be wonderful to see her raised to the altar of sainthood.  Visit the website set up for her cause to learn more and print off a prayer card.  She came from a noble family of France and had a great love and care for the sick and poor. 

Sister Marie de Mandat-Grancey - Updated Status

The first step toward beatification of Sister Marie de Mandat-Grancey will take place on Friday, January 21st, 2011 in the Diocese of Kansas City at the Immaculate Conception Cathedral.  Sister Marie is the foundress of Mary's House in Ephesus, Turkey.  She has a remarkable story and it would be wonderful to see her raised to the altar of sainthood.  Visit the website set up for her cause to learn more and print off a prayer card.  She came from a noble family of France and had a great love and care for the sick and poor. 

Church Closings and How We Can Respond

Msgr. Charles Pope has a good article today on the topic of Church closings.  He also includes some practical solutions to the problem compared to the emotional reactions most often seen in the local media which generally include some form of dissent from Catholic teaching.  Here's the link to the Archdiocese of Washington blog.

Church Closings and How We Can Respond

Msgr. Charles Pope has a good article today on the topic of Church closings.  He also includes some practical solutions to the problem compared to the emotional reactions most often seen in the local media which generally include some form of dissent from Catholic teaching.  Here's the link to the Archdiocese of Washington blog.

5 Virtues Catholic Parents Should Teach Their Children - Talk By Fr. Rocky

Five Virtues All Catholic Parents Should Pass On To Their Children

Date: Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Time: 7:00 PM
Location: Maternity of Mary, St Paul

More info at Relevant Radio Do you worry about your children and grandchildren? What do they need to succeed in life? Will they have a life of fulfillment and purpose?

Come and find out! The event is free and open to the public - we simply ask that you bring a friend or family member with you!

5 Virtues all Catholic Parents Should Pass On To Their Children

Wednesday, November 3, 2010
7:00 pm
Maternity of Mary, St Paul

Presented by Fr. Francis J. Hoffman
"Fr. Rocky", Priest of Opus Dei, Executive Director of Relevant Radio©, Co-Host of Go Ask Your Father™



For more information, please call 6512.643.4116.

Sponsored by Relevant Radio© www.relevantradio1330.com

5 Virtues Catholic Parents Should Teach Their Children - Talk By Fr. Rocky

Five Virtues All Catholic Parents Should Pass On To Their Children

Date: Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Time: 7:00 PM
Location: Maternity of Mary, St Paul

More info at Relevant Radio Do you worry about your children and grandchildren? What do they need to succeed in life? Will they have a life of fulfillment and purpose?

Come and find out! The event is free and open to the public - we simply ask that you bring a friend or family member with you!

5 Virtues all Catholic Parents Should Pass On To Their Children

Wednesday, November 3, 2010
7:00 pm
Maternity of Mary, St Paul

Presented by Fr. Francis J. Hoffman
"Fr. Rocky", Priest of Opus Dei, Executive Director of Relevant Radio©, Co-Host of Go Ask Your Father™



For more information, please call 6512.643.4116.

Sponsored by Relevant Radio© www.relevantradio1330.com

All Souls Poem by Kenelm Digby

The following excerpt from the poem for the feast of All Souls was written by Kenelm Digby, the author of the classic work of chivalry, The Broadstone of Honour, which was later condensed and published as Maxims of Christian Chivalry, which I have linked to on my recommended books.  (h/t to Why I Am Catholic for finding this) 


                  All Souls

There's a race that we love, though it thinks it can soar
Above truths that it held to in ages of yore.
We deem it pretension; and we judge it from acts;
Let us single but one out of numberless facts,

Not confined to the circle which doubts or denies
That a prayer can be needed when any one dies,
But e'en showing this error extending as wide
As the nation renouncing the primitive side.

'Tis the day of the dead, it was once here well known;
Yes, but then all such fancies have hence long flown.
For religion reform'd is now far too wise
To demand of our time such a fond sacrifice.

For suppressing the custom, this way is the first;
But then who can feel certain that it is the worst?
Although heads remain firm, one quickly discovers
That hearts pretty nearly agree with the others.

'Tis the day of the dead, and it comes once a year,
But sooth few are now found to attend to it here.
For some are too busy, aye with too much in hand,
To suppose that a moment they have at command.

And there's always some pressure on that very day,
Which must keep both the busy and idle away;
Our profession, affairs, visits--these are supreme--
And to think of suspending them, merely a dream.

'Tis the day of the dead, and it comes with the cold,
With the fall of the leaf and the soft drench'd black mould;
The long damp waving grass and the tall dripping trees
Would do quite as much hurt as the wild wintry breeze.

'Tis the day of the dead, and long has it gone by;
Mediaevalists only can like thus to sigh:
If you will talk and have us both pray and feel so,
'Tis in warm and gay churches we should all of us kneel.

For what can one place be now more than another,
Unless superstition your reason will smother?
These old customs romantic and certainly wild
Belong to the vulgar for too often beguiled.

'Tis the day of the dead, but then what would they say
Who might hear that through graves thus we too would stray?
You and I, my good friend, must now be like others,
However thus any one talks on and bothers.

'Tis the day of the dead--but no great bell sounds
To invite us in thought from our brief earthly bounds:
Through the streets one runs hastening, another one stays;
All for business or pleasure; in brief no one prays.

Oh! England, that once wert believing and holy,
So free too from Pagan-like dull melancholy,
Aye so quick to attend to religion's great voice,
Inviting gravely to mourn or gladly rejoice,

Just behold thy graves now left so lonely ever!
With the tears of fond memory on them never!
So deserted by all their surviving best friends:
And you'll see at least here where thy long boasting ends.

But the scene changes now to a different shore,
Where religion exits as in ages of yore,
Where no one pretends that men are not clever,
The true and the false to distinguish and sever.

'Tis the day of the dead, and it comes once a year:
The crowds are now moving, none ashamed to appear.
So the busiest men all engaged in their trade
Leave their shops and their ledgers, and thoughtful are made.

The statesman. the senator, the great and the small,
View the spot loved by each one, and kneeling down fall,
Yet at home much to do! constant work for their head!
But now all is forgotten excepting the dead.

Then the maiden so pale, and the old pensive sire,
With the youth for the day free, in deep black attire,
The widow, the orphan, and the seamstress so shy,
Gently pass to the spot where their loved ones still lie.

The little one grasping, and with such a tight hold,
The frock of sweet sissy, who herself's not too bold;
Though all walk on order like relatives dear,
By their looks even charity letting appear.

Then some strew their pale flowers, and some light the lamp,
Unlocking in silence the cold monument damp,
And kneel like mute statues, and others stray on,
And all love to linger, and thence none will be gone.

There is woodbine that flourishes best o'er a grave;
Each alley, death's violets--Pervenche--will pave;
Poet's fictions of worms all engender'd below
Yield to wreaths of immortals which friends will bestow.

'Tis the day of the dead; it comes bright or cold,
But all are not nervous like some timid and old;
The slopes amid flowers, and the high stirring breeze,
Have enchantment for him who both feels and who sees.

So the tortuous path and the dark cypress spire,
He will follow half pleased, e'en, and he will admire;
The tombs shining graceful, or the green mossy sod--
Oh, how all of these lift up his heart unto God!

The day of the dead--to our old faith we owe it;
Both dear to the Christian and dear to the poet.
Our fathers they taught us on the graves thus to stray,
Although still in churches each morning we pray.

And the men of our age with their courage so high,
Have yet time thus, and hearts too, to breathe a soft sigh.
And let no one suppose we are sorrowful made
By wandering so thoughtful through this peacful shade.

'Tis the day of the dead, and the day of each home,
While recalling each household, wherever we roam;
'Tis the day of our fathers, of sons, and of brothers,
The day of our sisters so fond, and of mothers.

'Tis the day for the young, for the old, and for all,
And which needs not of priests the particular call.
Thus domestic, ancestral, the day has its claims
Still on every being who human remains.

See whole families walk in groups as they pass.
Do they weep for a brother, a boy, or a lass?
Do they think of a mother, a sister, or bride?
Oh, then mark with what pains will they seek tears to hide!

And when now fresh processions are seen to arrive,
What a sympathy moves all the rest who survive!
During eight days, from morning till evening 'tis so,
And all raise up to Heaven the hearts from below.

'Tis the day of the dead, and here no one is found
To take his way reckless to a diffent ground;
It is known, and respected, and honor'd here still,
By ll those who have even the faintest weak will

Thus to follow the customs so closely allied
With the faith of the Church that is elsewhere denied;
For the worst and most thoughtless, the wildest here then
Will remember that they too are mortal and men.

'Tis the day of the dead, do you hear the strange bell?
Hark! it tolls thus all day, through the night too as well:
The guards are there mounted to keep the long way,
Such multitudes hasten to weep and to pray.

O then France, sprightly France, still so faithful and true
To defend what their fathers all believed in and knew,
With soft hearts that are warm, and aye kindled with light,
The same that dispell'd once, the old sad Pagan night,

Now behold thy deck'd graves thus from year unto year,
So bedew'd and refresh'd with poor grateful tear,
Thus frequented at times as the sweetest of fields,
And see there what good fruits now thy old faith still yields.

Thou art praised for thy science, thy art, and thy grace,
For courage so high that belongs to thy race,
But when all is admired, and all has been said,
There is nothing surpasses thy love for the dead

All Souls Poem by Kenelm Digby

The following excerpt from the poem for the feast of All Souls was written by Kenelm Digby, the author of the classic work of chivalry, The Broadstone of Honour, which was later condensed and published as Maxims of Christian Chivalry, which I have linked to on my recommended books.  (h/t to Why I Am Catholic for finding this) 


                  All Souls

There's a race that we love, though it thinks it can soar
Above truths that it held to in ages of yore.
We deem it pretension; and we judge it from acts;
Let us single but one out of numberless facts,

Not confined to the circle which doubts or denies
That a prayer can be needed when any one dies,
But e'en showing this error extending as wide
As the nation renouncing the primitive side.

'Tis the day of the dead, it was once here well known;
Yes, but then all such fancies have hence long flown.
For religion reform'd is now far too wise
To demand of our time such a fond sacrifice.

For suppressing the custom, this way is the first;
But then who can feel certain that it is the worst?
Although heads remain firm, one quickly discovers
That hearts pretty nearly agree with the others.

'Tis the day of the dead, and it comes once a year,
But sooth few are now found to attend to it here.
For some are too busy, aye with too much in hand,
To suppose that a moment they have at command.

And there's always some pressure on that very day,
Which must keep both the busy and idle away;
Our profession, affairs, visits--these are supreme--
And to think of suspending them, merely a dream.

'Tis the day of the dead, and it comes with the cold,
With the fall of the leaf and the soft drench'd black mould;
The long damp waving grass and the tall dripping trees
Would do quite as much hurt as the wild wintry breeze.

'Tis the day of the dead, and long has it gone by;
Mediaevalists only can like thus to sigh:
If you will talk and have us both pray and feel so,
'Tis in warm and gay churches we should all of us kneel.

For what can one place be now more than another,
Unless superstition your reason will smother?
These old customs romantic and certainly wild
Belong to the vulgar for too often beguiled.

'Tis the day of the dead, but then what would they say
Who might hear that through graves thus we too would stray?
You and I, my good friend, must now be like others,
However thus any one talks on and bothers.

'Tis the day of the dead--but no great bell sounds
To invite us in thought from our brief earthly bounds:
Through the streets one runs hastening, another one stays;
All for business or pleasure; in brief no one prays.

Oh! England, that once wert believing and holy,
So free too from Pagan-like dull melancholy,
Aye so quick to attend to religion's great voice,
Inviting gravely to mourn or gladly rejoice,

Just behold thy graves now left so lonely ever!
With the tears of fond memory on them never!
So deserted by all their surviving best friends:
And you'll see at least here where thy long boasting ends.

But the scene changes now to a different shore,
Where religion exits as in ages of yore,
Where no one pretends that men are not clever,
The true and the false to distinguish and sever.

'Tis the day of the dead, and it comes once a year:
The crowds are now moving, none ashamed to appear.
So the busiest men all engaged in their trade
Leave their shops and their ledgers, and thoughtful are made.

The statesman. the senator, the great and the small,
View the spot loved by each one, and kneeling down fall,
Yet at home much to do! constant work for their head!
But now all is forgotten excepting the dead.

Then the maiden so pale, and the old pensive sire,
With the youth for the day free, in deep black attire,
The widow, the orphan, and the seamstress so shy,
Gently pass to the spot where their loved ones still lie.

The little one grasping, and with such a tight hold,
The frock of sweet sissy, who herself's not too bold;
Though all walk on order like relatives dear,
By their looks even charity letting appear.

Then some strew their pale flowers, and some light the lamp,
Unlocking in silence the cold monument damp,
And kneel like mute statues, and others stray on,
And all love to linger, and thence none will be gone.

There is woodbine that flourishes best o'er a grave;
Each alley, death's violets--Pervenche--will pave;
Poet's fictions of worms all engender'd below
Yield to wreaths of immortals which friends will bestow.

'Tis the day of the dead; it comes bright or cold,
But all are not nervous like some timid and old;
The slopes amid flowers, and the high stirring breeze,
Have enchantment for him who both feels and who sees.

So the tortuous path and the dark cypress spire,
He will follow half pleased, e'en, and he will admire;
The tombs shining graceful, or the green mossy sod--
Oh, how all of these lift up his heart unto God!

The day of the dead--to our old faith we owe it;
Both dear to the Christian and dear to the poet.
Our fathers they taught us on the graves thus to stray,
Although still in churches each morning we pray.

And the men of our age with their courage so high,
Have yet time thus, and hearts too, to breathe a soft sigh.
And let no one suppose we are sorrowful made
By wandering so thoughtful through this peacful shade.

'Tis the day of the dead, and the day of each home,
While recalling each household, wherever we roam;
'Tis the day of our fathers, of sons, and of brothers,
The day of our sisters so fond, and of mothers.

'Tis the day for the young, for the old, and for all,
And which needs not of priests the particular call.
Thus domestic, ancestral, the day has its claims
Still on every being who human remains.

See whole families walk in groups as they pass.
Do they weep for a brother, a boy, or a lass?
Do they think of a mother, a sister, or bride?
Oh, then mark with what pains will they seek tears to hide!

And when now fresh processions are seen to arrive,
What a sympathy moves all the rest who survive!
During eight days, from morning till evening 'tis so,
And all raise up to Heaven the hearts from below.

'Tis the day of the dead, and here no one is found
To take his way reckless to a diffent ground;
It is known, and respected, and honor'd here still,
By ll those who have even the faintest weak will

Thus to follow the customs so closely allied
With the faith of the Church that is elsewhere denied;
For the worst and most thoughtless, the wildest here then
Will remember that they too are mortal and men.

'Tis the day of the dead, do you hear the strange bell?
Hark! it tolls thus all day, through the night too as well:
The guards are there mounted to keep the long way,
Such multitudes hasten to weep and to pray.

O then France, sprightly France, still so faithful and true
To defend what their fathers all believed in and knew,
With soft hearts that are warm, and aye kindled with light,
The same that dispell'd once, the old sad Pagan night,

Now behold thy deck'd graves thus from year unto year,
So bedew'd and refresh'd with poor grateful tear,
Thus frequented at times as the sweetest of fields,
And see there what good fruits now thy old faith still yields.

Thou art praised for thy science, thy art, and thy grace,
For courage so high that belongs to thy race,
But when all is admired, and all has been said,
There is nothing surpasses thy love for the dead