Mother of My Lord

When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting,

the infant leaped in her womb,

and Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit,

cried out in a loud voice and said,

“Most blessed are you among women,

and blessed is the fruit of your womb.

And how does this happen to me,

that the mother of my Lord should come to me?

For at the moment the sound of your greeting reached my ears,

the infant in my womb leaped for joy.

Blessed are you who believed

that what was spoken to you by the Lord

would be fulfilled.”

Luke 1:39-56
Oh, come to me across the hills
on any rugged path you find, 
and though it calls you backward still,
leave dusty Galilee behind

to let me hear you say my name.
Call to my now in ancient voice
to crack my chrysalis of shame
as something in me leaps for joy.

O Mother of my Lord, O blest,
how can it be that you should come?
But like the swallow, build your nest
and stoop to rest in this, your home:

no bygone shrine, untouched by years,
but living, breathing dirt and grime.
Come clothe him in my sweat and tears
and cradle him in arms like mine.

Not in a page of history
or atlas of a distant land,
but come, my mother: Visit me;
I'll feel him move beneath my hands.

Bring him to me! Bring me your son,
and quicken me with his own life,
that all my days while yet they run,
may hold the living, present Christ.
Eastern Christian fresco of the Visitation in St. George Church in Kurbinovo, North Macedonia By Unknown author –, Public Domain,

Zechariah & Elizabeth

Yesterday, we had John the Baptist in the Gospel again. As he waited for the Savior, so his parents had waited for him. Here they are:


 I write these words because I have no speech;
 I have no speech because I spoke my scorn.
 And so the Lord requites us, each for each:
 a sin with loss, a long night with new morn.
 I would have been a fool to take his word,
 so now I am ten thousand times a fool
 to doubt a messenger sent by the Lord,
 although the hope he held out then seemed cruel.
 I am an old, old man, as Abraham
 was old when Sarah laughed at promises
 that she should bear a son.  It seemed a sham
 to mock a husband for his weaknesses.
 As God will not be mocked, so mocks he not,
 and I in deadly earnest keep my peace
 because I told his angel he'd forgot
 the covenants that promised us increase:
 a righteous man with arrows for his bow,
 an olive flourishing inside the home.
 What had my great sin been, I longed to know.
 But now a hope as sweet as honeycomb
 o'erflows its savor through my life and limbs.
 The Lord did not forget, though he delayed.
 A child is coming, and I wait for him;
 the long night wavers, and I wait for day. 

After this time his wife Elizabeth conceived, and she went into seclusion for five months, saying, “So has the Lord done for me at a time when he has seen fit to take away my disgrace before others.”

Luke 1: 24-25
 Not all my days of sacrifice,
 my nights of whispered prayer,
 my tears and curses--none suffice
 to make me fit to bear.
 Yet God at last has bent his eyes
 on me in my despair
 and given me this paradise
 beyond any compare.
 For all the days of all my years,
 I've walked the world about
 upheld by faith beyond all fears,
 borne down within by doubt.
 As sons and daughters blessed my peers,
 they cast me further out,
 'til waters rose and drowned in tears
 my barren years of drought.
 And now a green shoot grows in me
 where all had desert been.
 A saving ark rides on the sea
 and bears a life within.
 Though I have walked at large and free,
 my heart was chained herein,
 so I withdraw to wait and see
 what God shall make begin. 
By Clarence Eugene Woodman; The Catholic Publication Society – This file has been extracted from another file: Manualofprayersf00cath.djvu, Public Domain,