...to the Royal couple HRH Prince William Windsor, and Kate Middleton: Duke & Duchess of Cambridge.
And here's hoping that the Lady will be dressed as stunning and chaste as her late mother-in-Law!
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Friday, April 29, 2011
Congratulations
...to the Royal couple HRH Prince William Windsor, and Kate Middleton: Duke & Duchess of Cambridge.
And here's hoping that the Lady will be dressed as stunning and chaste as her late mother-in-Law!
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Monday, April 25, 2011
The "Liturgical Creed"
I believe that the Traditional Rites of East and West contain within themselves so many elements of Apostolic origin that it is impossible to separate these from the elements added by post-Apostolic ecclesiastical tradition.
I believe no man here on earth (Pastor Aeternus, IV, 6) can rightfully determine the complete abrogation, full substitution, or substantial derogation of any received Traditional Rite, of East and West, which contains inextricable Apostolic elements.
I believe Ecclesiastical History continuously proves that the rights of the liturgical rites "established by long and immemorial prescription" have always been respected by the Holy Roman Church, even in ages of great liturgical crises and heresies (Quo Primum; Quod a Nobis).
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost,
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.
Famous FSSP on NLM!
check it out over at New Liturgical Movement, who deigned to check out my Blog and publish one of my photos and linked to me, in accordance with my Creative Commons License. So why not pop over there and boost their stats!
It was fabulous Good Friday Liturgy. Some of us in the congregation were very old-fashioned in our postures with pre-'55 rubrics!
God bless the FSSP in their Reading Apostolate. But what a shame we can't have something like that in Birmingham for the Triduum.
1950 St Michael Miracle
True story of a Soldier and the Intervention of St. Michael
What follows is a letter written by a young Marine to his mother while he was hospitalized after being wounded on a Korean battlefield in 1950. It came into the hands of a Navy Chaplain who read the letter before 5,000 Marines at a San Diego Naval Base in 1951.
The Navy Chaplain had talked to the young man, to his mother, and to the Sergeant in charge of the patrol. This Navy Chaplain, Father Walter Muldy, assured anyone who asked, that this was a true story. This letter was read once a year in the 1960's over a mid-western radio station at Christmas time. We present the letter and let it stand on its own merits.
-
Dear Mom,
I wouldn't dare write this letter to anyone but you because no one else would believe it. Maybe even you will find it hard, but I have to tell somebody.
First off, I am in a hospital. Now don't worry, you hear me, don't worry. I was wounded but I'm okay. The doctor says that I will be up and around in a month. But that is not what I want to tell you.
Remember when I joined the Marines last year; remember when I left, how you told me to say a prayer to St. Michael every day. You really didn't have to tell me that. Ever since I can remember you always told me to pray to St. Michael the Archangel. You even named me after him. Well I have always prayed to St. Michael. When I got to Korea, I prayed even harder. Remember the prayer that you taught me? "Michael, Michael of the morning, fresh corps of Heaven adorning…" You know the rest of it. Well, I said it every day, sometimes when I was marching or sometimes resting, but always before I went to sleep. I even got some of the other fellas to say it.
Well, one day I was with an advance detail way up over the front lines. We were scouting for the commies. I was plodding along in the bitter cold; my breath was like cigar smoke. I thought I knew every guy in the patrol, when along side of me comes another Marine I never met before. He was bigger than any other Marine I'd ever seen. He must have been over 6 feet 4 inches and built in proportion. It gave me a feeling of security to have such a body near me.
Anyway, there we were trudging along. The rest of the patrol spread out. Just to start a conversation I said, "Cold ain't it." And then I laughed. Here I was with a good chance of getting killed any minute and I am talking about the weather!
My companion seemed to understand. I heard him laugh softly.
I looked at him, "I've never seen you before. I thought I knew every man in the outfit."
"I just joined at the last minute," he replied, "the name is Michael."
"Is that so," I said surprised, "that's my name too."
"I know," he said, and then went on saying the prayer, "Michael, Michael of the morning..."
I was too amazed to say anything for a minute. How did he know my name, and a prayer that you had taught me? Then I smiled to myself, every guy in the outfit knew about me. Hadn't I taught the prayer to anybody who would listen? Why now and then, they even referred to me as St. Michael.
Neither of us spoke for a time, and then he broke the silence.
"We're going to have some trouble up ahead." He must have been in fine physical shape for he was breathing so lightly I couldn't see his breath. Mine poured out in great clouds. There was no smile on his face now. Trouble ahead, I thought to myself; well with the commies all around us, that's no great revelation.
Snow began to fall in thick great globs. In a brief moment the whole countryside was blotted out, and I was marching in a white fog of wet sticky particles. My companion disappeared.
"Michael!" I shouted in sudden alarm. I felt his hand on my arm, his voice was rich and strong, "This will stop shortly."
His prophecy proved to be correct. In a few minutes the snow stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The sun was a hard shining disc. I looked back for the rest of the patrol. There was no one in sight. We lost them in the heavy fall of snow. I looked ahead as we came over a little rise. Mom, my heart stopped. There were seven of them, seven commies in their padded pants and jackets and their funny hats. Only there wasn’t anything funny about them now. Seven rifles were aimed at us.
"Down Michael!" I screamed, and hit the frozen earth. I heard those rifles fire almost as one. I heard the bullets. There was Michael still standing.
Mom, those guys couldn't have missed, not at that range. I expected to see him literally blown to bits, but there he stood, making no effort to fire himself. He was paralyzed with fear. It happens sometimes, Mom, even to the bravest. He was like a bird fascinated by a snake. At least that's what I thought then. I jumped up to pull him down and that was when I got mine. I felt a sudden flame in my chest. I often wondered what it felt like to be hit. Now I know.
I remember feeling strong arms about me, arms that laid me ever so gently on a pillow of snow. I opened my eyes, for one last look. I thought I was dying. Maybe I was even dead. I remember thinking, “Well, this is not so bad.”
Maybe I was looking into the sun. Maybe I was in shock, but it seemed I saw Michael standing erect again, only this time his face was shining with a terrible splendor.
As I say, maybe it was the sun in my eyes, but he seemed to change as I watched him. He grew bigger, his arms stretched out wide, maybe it was the snow falling again but there was a brightness around him like the wings of an angel. In his hand was a sword. A sword that flashed with a million lights.
Well, that's the last thing I remember until the rest of the fellas came up and found me; I don't know how much time had passed. Now and then I had but a moment's rest from the pain and fever. I remember telling them of the enemy just ahead.
"Where's Michael?" I asked. I saw them look at one another. "Where's who?" asked one.
"Michael, that big Marine I was walking with just before the snow squall hit us."
"Kid," said the sergeant, "you weren't walking with anyone. I had my eyes on you the whole time. You were getting too far out. I was just going to call you in, when you disappeared in the snow."
He looked at me, curiously. "How did you do it, kid?"
"How did I do what?" I asked half angry, despite my wound. "This Marine named Michael and I were just..." "Son," said the sergeant kindly, "I picked this outfit myself and there just ain't another Michael in it. You are the only Mike in it."
He paused for a minute. "Just how did you do it, kid? We heard shots, yet there hasn't been a shot fired from your rifle, and there isn't a bit of lead in them seven bodies over the hill there."
I didn't say anything; what could I say? I could only look open-mouthed with amazement.
It was then, the sergeant spoke again. "Kid," he said gently, "every one of those seven commies was killed by a sword stroke."
That is all I can tell you, Mom. As I say, it may have been the sun in my eyes, it may have been the cold or the pain, but that is what happened.
Love, Michael
Saint Michael the Archangel,
defend us in battle;
be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray:
and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host,
by the power of God,
thrust into hell Satan and all the evil spirits
who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.
Amen.
................................................................
Sancte Michael Archangele,
defende nos in proelio;
contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium.
Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur:
tuque, Princeps militiae Caelestis, satanam aliosque spiritus malignos,qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo,divina virtute in infernum detrude. Amen
What follows is a letter written by a young Marine to his mother while he was hospitalized after being wounded on a Korean battlefield in 1950. It came into the hands of a Navy Chaplain who read the letter before 5,000 Marines at a San Diego Naval Base in 1951.
The Navy Chaplain had talked to the young man, to his mother, and to the Sergeant in charge of the patrol. This Navy Chaplain, Father Walter Muldy, assured anyone who asked, that this was a true story. This letter was read once a year in the 1960's over a mid-western radio station at Christmas time. We present the letter and let it stand on its own merits.
-
Dear Mom,
I wouldn't dare write this letter to anyone but you because no one else would believe it. Maybe even you will find it hard, but I have to tell somebody.
First off, I am in a hospital. Now don't worry, you hear me, don't worry. I was wounded but I'm okay. The doctor says that I will be up and around in a month. But that is not what I want to tell you.
Remember when I joined the Marines last year; remember when I left, how you told me to say a prayer to St. Michael every day. You really didn't have to tell me that. Ever since I can remember you always told me to pray to St. Michael the Archangel. You even named me after him. Well I have always prayed to St. Michael. When I got to Korea, I prayed even harder. Remember the prayer that you taught me? "Michael, Michael of the morning, fresh corps of Heaven adorning…" You know the rest of it. Well, I said it every day, sometimes when I was marching or sometimes resting, but always before I went to sleep. I even got some of the other fellas to say it.
Well, one day I was with an advance detail way up over the front lines. We were scouting for the commies. I was plodding along in the bitter cold; my breath was like cigar smoke. I thought I knew every guy in the patrol, when along side of me comes another Marine I never met before. He was bigger than any other Marine I'd ever seen. He must have been over 6 feet 4 inches and built in proportion. It gave me a feeling of security to have such a body near me.
Anyway, there we were trudging along. The rest of the patrol spread out. Just to start a conversation I said, "Cold ain't it." And then I laughed. Here I was with a good chance of getting killed any minute and I am talking about the weather!
My companion seemed to understand. I heard him laugh softly.
I looked at him, "I've never seen you before. I thought I knew every man in the outfit."
"I just joined at the last minute," he replied, "the name is Michael."
"Is that so," I said surprised, "that's my name too."
"I know," he said, and then went on saying the prayer, "Michael, Michael of the morning..."
I was too amazed to say anything for a minute. How did he know my name, and a prayer that you had taught me? Then I smiled to myself, every guy in the outfit knew about me. Hadn't I taught the prayer to anybody who would listen? Why now and then, they even referred to me as St. Michael.
Neither of us spoke for a time, and then he broke the silence.
"We're going to have some trouble up ahead." He must have been in fine physical shape for he was breathing so lightly I couldn't see his breath. Mine poured out in great clouds. There was no smile on his face now. Trouble ahead, I thought to myself; well with the commies all around us, that's no great revelation.
Snow began to fall in thick great globs. In a brief moment the whole countryside was blotted out, and I was marching in a white fog of wet sticky particles. My companion disappeared.
"Michael!" I shouted in sudden alarm. I felt his hand on my arm, his voice was rich and strong, "This will stop shortly."
His prophecy proved to be correct. In a few minutes the snow stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The sun was a hard shining disc. I looked back for the rest of the patrol. There was no one in sight. We lost them in the heavy fall of snow. I looked ahead as we came over a little rise. Mom, my heart stopped. There were seven of them, seven commies in their padded pants and jackets and their funny hats. Only there wasn’t anything funny about them now. Seven rifles were aimed at us.
"Down Michael!" I screamed, and hit the frozen earth. I heard those rifles fire almost as one. I heard the bullets. There was Michael still standing.
Mom, those guys couldn't have missed, not at that range. I expected to see him literally blown to bits, but there he stood, making no effort to fire himself. He was paralyzed with fear. It happens sometimes, Mom, even to the bravest. He was like a bird fascinated by a snake. At least that's what I thought then. I jumped up to pull him down and that was when I got mine. I felt a sudden flame in my chest. I often wondered what it felt like to be hit. Now I know.
I remember feeling strong arms about me, arms that laid me ever so gently on a pillow of snow. I opened my eyes, for one last look. I thought I was dying. Maybe I was even dead. I remember thinking, “Well, this is not so bad.”
Maybe I was looking into the sun. Maybe I was in shock, but it seemed I saw Michael standing erect again, only this time his face was shining with a terrible splendor.
As I say, maybe it was the sun in my eyes, but he seemed to change as I watched him. He grew bigger, his arms stretched out wide, maybe it was the snow falling again but there was a brightness around him like the wings of an angel. In his hand was a sword. A sword that flashed with a million lights.
Well, that's the last thing I remember until the rest of the fellas came up and found me; I don't know how much time had passed. Now and then I had but a moment's rest from the pain and fever. I remember telling them of the enemy just ahead.
"Where's Michael?" I asked. I saw them look at one another. "Where's who?" asked one.
"Michael, that big Marine I was walking with just before the snow squall hit us."
"Kid," said the sergeant, "you weren't walking with anyone. I had my eyes on you the whole time. You were getting too far out. I was just going to call you in, when you disappeared in the snow."
He looked at me, curiously. "How did you do it, kid?"
"How did I do what?" I asked half angry, despite my wound. "This Marine named Michael and I were just..." "Son," said the sergeant kindly, "I picked this outfit myself and there just ain't another Michael in it. You are the only Mike in it."
He paused for a minute. "Just how did you do it, kid? We heard shots, yet there hasn't been a shot fired from your rifle, and there isn't a bit of lead in them seven bodies over the hill there."
I didn't say anything; what could I say? I could only look open-mouthed with amazement.
It was then, the sergeant spoke again. "Kid," he said gently, "every one of those seven commies was killed by a sword stroke."
That is all I can tell you, Mom. As I say, it may have been the sun in my eyes, it may have been the cold or the pain, but that is what happened.
Love, Michael
Saint Michael the Archangel,
defend us in battle;
be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray:
and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host,
by the power of God,
thrust into hell Satan and all the evil spirits
who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.
Amen.
................................................................
Sancte Michael Archangele,
defende nos in proelio;
contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium.
Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur:
tuque, Princeps militiae Caelestis, satanam aliosque spiritus malignos,qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo,divina virtute in infernum detrude. Amen
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Maundy Thursday
I have been on leave, and maundate, have been serving my little ones in their playing court football, climbing trees in Saltwell Nature Reserve, and getting generally dirty!
Spy Wednesday we had a Latin Low Mass with the long readings from Isaiah and St Luke's Passion. I think I'm glad it was not sung, especially with the kids, who will be going to a couple of High Liturgies this Triduum these next 2 days.
We are also watching the Passion of the Christ which is our annual custom, with the kids firmly in bed!
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Sunday, April 17, 2011
A very medical Palm Sunday
Forget the 'Passion Sunday' you may hear (that was last week) today is Palm Sunday. A restrained and yet intensified aspect of Lent and Passiontide: the point of entry into Holy Week and the culmination of our Lord's Passion. For that reason in the traditional liturgy the procession would have been clothed Violet, with the Cross veiled, and Ministers wearing folded chasubles. No Red Vestments for the Mass: The violet colour of Lent and our Lord's royalty was retained. Although modern liturgy gave way to a forward-facing table to distribute palms (a Bugnini innovation which led to the 'table-altar); the traditional form involved a miniature 'mass' with blessing having its own collect and preface, and distribution of blessed palms (corresponding to the consecration of the species at Mass with communion).
The congregation would then join a procession to a stational church, all holding blessed palms signifying the triumphant entry of Christ into Jerusalem.
Glória, laus et honor tibi sit, Rex Christe, Redémptor: Cui pueríle decus prompsit Hosánna pium.
R. Glória, laus et honor tibi sit, Rex Christe, Redémptor: Cui pueríle decus prompsit Hosánna pium.
This quickly turns into sorrow, as arrival in the second church gives way to the Red Vestments and Mass proper, whose chant includes Psalm 21. Then the solemn singing of St Matthew's Passion during the Gospel, sung by coped clerics. This has been set to music by many famous composers.
But today I am sitting in the Doctors mess at a local psychiatric hospital, responding to bleeps and starting some revision for this summer's exam. It is through my own loss of the Mass on this day, as I work the 12-hour shift, that I most sharply experience Lent. My work, a burden at weekends, can be offered up as I watch the Holy Sacrifice on my iPod!
Please remember to make your UK response to the
RCPsych's draft consultation to the DoH's investigation into the effects of Induced abortion on mental health.
Studies vary in their conclusions, and with regards validity; but some find Abortions are harmful, in it's resultant mental health. But other studies find that women have just as many psychological problems following birth of an unwanted pregnancy.
But NONE of them would have the legal effect of justifying the Abortion legislation; 97% cases being performed on the grounds of avoiding mental and physical health problems which continuing to birth would cause. The only kind of evidence the DoH should be satisfied with, is a demonstrable better mental and physical health in the abortion group. This draft publication and literature review clearly do not show this.
Therefore the very basis of the clause in the law should be closely examined and hopefully removed, which would eliminate 'abortion on demand' and at least result in the consent counseling including that any women susceptible to mental health problems are at increased risk of developing 'post-Abortion syndrome'.
This, paradoxically, (perhaps poetic irony) nullifies the rationale of 97% of the use of the 1967 Act.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Not that I'll be going, but...
Picture: from recent Pontifical EF Mass in Amsterdam. Not going is also avoiding occasions of sin, but this photo is a truly beautiful example of the fullest expression of the Roman Rite of the Catholic Faith is Christ Jesus truly present in the Mass!
Also being advertised by Joe Shaw:
The Association Youth and Tradition
And the Sodality Priestly Friends of Summorum Pontificum
Rome, 13-15 May 2011
Present
The Third Conference on the Motu Proprio Summorum Pontificum of
the Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI
“Hope for the entire Church”
Monday, April 11, 2011
Back from Retreat!
Another wonderful St Catherine's Trust Family Retreat! This time at the earlier liturgical point of the commencement of Passiontide (previously it has often been during Eastertide).
Despite the sombre tone to the liturgy, which culminated in the statues, crucifixes and images being veiled on Sunday; we were basked in glorious sunshine for the whole duration. This was particularly splendid for the Marian Procession on Saturday afternoon around the grounds of the school, which the children had made beautiful little banners for. Despite the retreat taking place during Lent this year, the children were not deprived of their Easter egg hunt!It has always been an important weekend for us to unwind and address our spiritual concerns, pulling our lives firmly into focus. The abundance of small children there help with this; injecting real joy and laughter into our time there. It is quite easy to stand back and realise one is looking at the future of the Catholic Church in these Isles. Deo Gratias!
More of my Images: Flickr
St Catherine's Trust
LMS Chairman's Blog
Monday, April 04, 2011
My LMS Blog
If you're interested in upcoming Latin Masses in Birmingham, the don't forget to check my LMS Blog
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Sunday, April 03, 2011
Fr Leo Chamberlain criticises the LMS and Joe Shaw
The Latin Mass Society got too much "party spirit"? Criticism of the Novus Ordo "will not do"? I'd say both these characteristics make the LMS as strong as it is today. Otherwise all the volunteer workers, including me, simply wouldn't bother!
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Saturday, April 02, 2011
Coughton Court
Although my battery ran out, I was able to get some nice photos of this magnificent Catholic Recusent home, which is still the property of the Throckmorton family, but open to the National Trust visitors.The house is built around a sixteenth century gate tower, with handsome tudor timberwork surrounding it. Visitors are able to follow the history of the Throckmorton family, seeing two priest hides and being able to scale the tower and look out over spectacular Warwickshire countryside. We also enjoyed the intricate gardens which have been arranged by the daughter of Mrs McLaren-Throckmorton, the present owner of the estate.
During the seventeenth century when Catholicism was illegal in this country, the house was ransacked and searched several times, but they were not able to discover the Mass Cabinet; a late 17th Century Anglo-Dutch veneered cabinet which opens to reveal an altar recess which hides away a tabernacle and alcoves for liturgical vessels.
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