The Color was Her Answer
One year ago, on March 15, 2012, I left home to visit a very special place – Medjugorje in Bosnia – Hercegovina. There are countless stories of people who have had signs, spiritual gifts, and miracles take place during or after their visit to this small town nestled in a small mountain range in the former Yugoslavia. I am one of those people.
Our Blessed Mother has been visiting and making Herself physically present for over 31 years to six young people. Countless thousands of people have made the pilgrimage to this place; each with their own purpose and their own story. This place is a spiritual home to all people, all faiths, and those with no faith.
My first spiritual gift was the trip itself. In my heart, I absolutely knew that I was meant to go; that I was invited. One evening a few days into the trip, I heard a few of my fellow pilgrims chatting animatedly about the miracle of the sun that they had seen. I had earlier split from that group to tour the cemetery with another pilgrim. On hearing the news from the excited women, I was genuinely elated for them and not the least bit envious. My gift was the trip itself so I was most content. I did notice that the sunset had a beautiful periwinkle glow. The sun itself had already gone down. The next evening, I saw it with one of my fellow pilgrims and then saw it a number of times in the beautiful Medjugorje evenings.
Fast forward to May 2012…
I was driving home and saw the miracle of the sun on the way home from work. Since that time, I’ve been able to see it at sunrise and sunset whenever the weather, time, seasonal timing, and my schedule coincide. I pray very fervently to My Heavenly Family and I watch and enjoy the Gift. Each time is truly gift and I don’t take it for granted. I am grateful for these “Heavenly Kisses.”
I am a daily Communicant and will travel to different churches to fit my schedule whenever necessary. My Lord nourishes me and I look forward to my encounters with Him. This includes Saturdays when I go to Marytown for morning Mass.
This particular morning when I arrived at Marytown a bit early for Mass, I knew that if I could wait oustide for just a bit, I would perhaps receive my “Heavenly Kiss” for the morning. So as not to draw attention to myself, I stepped close to a sitting area with a covered bench and looked to see if it would occur again. . As I had hoped, Mother and Jesus didn’t fail me; They gave me a beautiful Heavenly Kiss. I lovingly lingered in those most precious moments, but knew that I had to go inside. For as much as I loved the Gift, I knew My King awaited me in Person just inside those doors. There is nothing in the world that is more sacred, more incredible, more fulfilling than sitting at My Lord’s Feet… except for receiving the totality of Him into my heart and soul at Communion.
As I stepped into the chapel proper, I was astonished at what I saw. At Marytown, the monstrance holding the Blessed Sacrament is located under a large domed structure, a baldachin. This particular morning, as I stepped inside, I saw the entire area beneath the dome bathed in the very same rose color as I see when I look at the sun. The light did not appear anywhere outside of the structure. I rubbed my eyes to be sure that I hadn’t suffered some form of residue from my encounter outside; I wanted to be very sure that I really knew what I was seeing. My eyes didn’t betray me; the rose was really there, just like I see it outside. I have not seen the rose color indoors since that time.
During one of my earlier Heavenly Kisses when I first started to see the rose color in addition to the beautiful blue that I had always seen, I asked My Family if the rose signified Jesus’ Presence – as in His Precious Blood and Water which was poured out for us when His Side was pierced with the lance. I had a sense this was so, but could not be sure. This was my answer. The rose lingered until just before Mass when Our Lord was taken from the monstrance. Mass was a most peaceful and loving experience that morning.
Submitted by Karen
The Temple on Holy Saturday
The Mel Gibson movie, The Passion, painfully portrays the suffering and death of Our Lord that took place on Good Friday. It was based on revelations given to Blessed Anne Catherine Emmerich. She had revelations, as well, of events that took place on Holy Saturday. She saw the Blessed Virgin, John and others going to the Temple early in the day and being conducted through it by the nephews of Joseph of Arimathea, who had the care of the Temple that morning. They saw the curtain enclosing the Holies of Holies torn in two. In the vestibule, there came upon a large hole in one of its walls, through which Mary walked without difficulty, left from a large stone that had crashed through it. Everywhere, they looked upon cracked walls, displaced beams, leaning pillars and sunken portions of floor. They felt a sadness at all of this. To the Jews, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob was a living God who dwelt among them in the Temple. Emmerich says that, “the Temple and the holy places were to the Jews what the Most Blessed Sacrament is to Christians.”*
On Holy Saturday, the Temple lay in ruins and was quite deserted. It would be built up by His Resurrection on the third day. After that, God would still dwell among His people in the Eucharist. On Holy Saturday, however, the people were still waiting for this.
Today, we likewise await the joy of Easter. After that, He will once again dwell among us in the Eucharist.
*Emmerich, Blessed Anne Catherine, The Life of Jesus Christ (Rockford, Illinois, Tan Books and Publishers, 2004), vol. IV, p. 346.
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Battle for a Soul
St. James Church, Medjugorje, March 22, 2012
This is the story of the battle for a soul that has changed my life. It is a heavenly personal battle of the love of Jesus and our Blessed Mother Mary that will never, never give up, and of the agony and passion with which they fight right now for every soul, and for all eternity.
My husband and I and some dear friends were at Eucharistic Adoration at St. James Church in Medjugorje. It was the last night of our pilgrimage to Medjugorje, where our Blessed Mother has been visiting visionaries daily since 1981. The entire church was packed; every pew and the aisles were filled with people sitting, kneeling and standing in every inch of space just to be in the sacred presence of Jesus.
We were standing at the back of the church in the center aisle, at the very last pew. I had a direct view of the monstrance that holds the sacred host. I also had a clear view of the statue of the Blessed Mother which is off to the right of the altar and of the small crucifix that was on the altar between the monstrance and the statue.
I had two rosaries with me. The first rosary was my Father’s, from his first communion. My Grandmother had given it to me years before, and I had brought it to Medjugorje with the intention of praying for him and his health, and giving it back to him upon our return. The second rosary I bought the first day of our trip. I had been holding these two rosaries and praying on them at every event and for every blessing we received the entire week.
A light shined on the monstrance and the sacred host. During Adoration, they sing songs and say prayers in the multiple languages of the pilgrims.
But almost immediately, for me, the crowd seemed to fall away. The sacred host began to glow and grow larger in my sight; even the monstrance fell away from my view. I had the need to pray directly to our Lord, Jesus with all my heart. It was a prayer I had heard only a time or two before:
Oh, my Jesus. Forgive us our sins. Save us from the fires of hell. Lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of thy mercy.
At the time, I had no idea that this prayer was called the Fatima prayer; named so because it was given by our Blessed Mother to the visionaries at Fatima. All I knew was that I desperately needed to pray the prayer withl my very soul.
I first started praying the prayer on my rosary – every bead – with all my heart. My eyes on the Host, only the host. Faster and faster, more urgency, more emphasis. I can’t remember ever being so deep in prayer. Every bead faster, the same prayer, but more powerful with every breadth. Focused only on the Christ – critically important. If the sounds of the others’ prayers or a song came to me, I pushed them away. Only my prayer, only my Lord.
I glanced over to the statue of the Blessed Mother, but she urged me back to her Son – this is only a statue – look to the true Christ. The same thing with the crucifix. Look only to the Christ – the Host – the living presence of God. Not even the monstrance in my view. Pure white, pure Jesus. Mother Mary urging me directly to her Son. Tears streaming down my face.
When I finished the prayers on the beads of my rosary, I started praying the same prayer on the beads of my Father’s rosary. I don’t know how many times I said the prayer. Faster still, more urgent.
All of a sudden, I became aware that my prayer had changed. No longer was I praying the Fatima prayer, but I was now ‘talking’ directly to a soul. I was saying, “No, look one more time at Jesus’ eyes. See his endless love. See his endless mercy. Don’t choose hell! Look again! Look one more time! Look again, look at Jesus! Don’t choose hell! Look again!”
I was praying for a tortured soul standing on the brink – making the choice between heaven and hell. I don’t know who’s soul – it didn’t matter. The same words over and over, endless tears, agony. “Don’t choose hell! Look at His eyes! See His endless mercy, His endless love. Don’t look away! Don’t choose hell! Don’t choose hell!”
At some point, I became aware that I was speaking directly to Jesus – my eyes still fixed on the Body of Christ and begging him to save this tortured soul. “Dear Jesus, look again, one more time. Look into his eyes, don’t let him choose hell. Look again! Please, please Dear Jesus!!”
At the same time, begging, pleading to the troubled soul, “Look again. Look at His eyes, His endless love, His endless mercy. Don’t choose hell! Don’t choose hell! Don’t choose hell!”
Faster, deeper, pleading. Tears. Terrible agony and pain shooting up my back. Never such pain, but my eyes still fixed on our Lord, shining, brighter, bigger, stronger.
A war for a soul. Any soul, this soul. A ‘knowing’ now came to me, that our Blessed Lord Jesus and our Blessed Mother fight this hard over this soul, over every soul! The fight is this hard, every time, because it is a fight for all time!
Suddenly I was begging Jesus, “No! Jesus you MUST save this soul! You MUST save ten souls, a hundred souls, a Million souls, a Billion souls” over and over. I think back now and can’t believe I would have the audacity to speak to our Lord this way, but at the time, it was the prayer that needed to be prayed and Jesus was with me.
I am not sure how long it all lasted – the tears, the pain, the agony over the soul – so much to bear. Then I realized I was back to the original prayer.
Oh, my Jesus. Forgive us our sins. Save us from the fires of hell. Lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of thy mercy.
A seat opened up and my friend tried to lead me to the seat. At first I resisted, I didn’t want anything to break the connection with our Lord. But then I took the spot, kneeled and continued my prayer. The pain in my back still agonizing, paralyzing. An overwhelming sense of urgency to not let this soul go. Pleading, begging our Lord.
The tears came harder, faster. I felt a warm ‘hug’ cover my entire back. It was the end. They took my Lord away. The people were gone. I was sobbing. Spent. Empty. I don’t remember the people leaving, just my husbandhelping me up. They were turning off the lights, we had to go.
I didn’t think my legs could carry me even out of the church. We got out of the church and sat on the steps. I told my husband, “I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough. It’s too hard!” How do the visionaries do this day after day? So much burden, yet so much love!? He told me, “Pray.”
The warm ‘hug’ was not from a person, it would have been impossible given where and how I was kneeling, so it was a special blessing sent from our Lord.
So much has happened since that night in Medjugorje. Countless blessing that have come down like soft golden raindrops. They are warm and comforting – and the blessings are so happy and joyous – so happy that when they hit the ground, they bounce and make more blessings.
I don’t know the answer to what happened to that tortured soul. What confirms for me this was all real, is that I feel no desire, somewhat surprisingly to myself, to to know who the soul was or what happened to him or her. I am satisfied that I am not supposed to know. What I do know, and what we are all supposed to understand, is the intensity of the battle over EVERY soul, EVERY time. YOUR soul. Jesus and Blessed Mother fight this fight for EVERY soul, every time, for all time!
Prayer and the rosary are our most powerful weapons. For ourselves, for our loved ones. For everyone! We need to pray for one another. We need to prayer for the souls in most need of God’s mercy. We need to pray for the souls in purgatory. For the souls in this world and the next. We need to pray, pray, pray.
Submitted by Diane
He Knew What It Meant
“For almost fifty years, I never thought much about having any relationship with Mary. Then she reached down to me. A young man I knew had fallen into a coma. The doctors feared he would not survive, or if he did, would at least have permanent brain damage. I was praying for him during an adoration hour before the Blessed Sacrament. The church was empty. It was about 4:30 a.m. I had prayed to Jesus for over 30 minutes, imploring Him in every way I could. When I could think of nothing else to say, I begged the Blessed Mother to take my prayer to her Son. All at once, I heard ‘God.’ It was clear and distinct. Instinctively, I looked up and around, but no one else was there. Inside, I knew what it meant, that my prayer was being taken to God. A week later, the young man recovered. He had no brain damage and returned to a completely normal life. Recently, I began to read St. Louis de Montfort’s book on the total consecration to Jesus through Mary. At the end of the second to last chapter, he writes that she is an echo. When we say ‘Mary,’ she says ‘God.’ As soon as I read that, I stopped myself, and put the book down. St. Louis was right. That is exactly what she does.”*
On Holy Thursday, the Lord gave us Himself in the Blessed Sacrament, to stay with us after he left this life. The next day, He told John, “behold, your mother.” Who was John that he should tell him this? Who was John to her, other than a person, just like any other person? If she was a mother to John, then she is a mother to all of us. She is a mother to all of us for precisely the reason given in the story above – to take our prayers to Her Son. There, before the Lord still with us, a prayer was submitted, and a prayer was heard.
This Lent, let us trust that He hears all that we submit when we are in His Presence. Let us offer Him all the praise, honor and glory it is ours to give.
*The Miraculous Medal Magazine, Fall, 2011.
Sometimes as He was On The Cross
St. Theresa of Avila was a simple nun. She preferred a life with few material possessions, in humble service to God. This simple nun, however, was connected with many extraordinary events. They included physical healings and even one instance where life was restored to a dead child.* Many a witness also reported seeing her rise in the air and levitate after her receipt of the Blessed Sacrament.** There were also people who saw her in two different places at the same time, a gift manifested by some saints that is known as bilocation. While each of these is notable, none of them is that aspect of her life for which she is best remembered.
Despite a meager education, she wrote books on “mental prayer” and contemplation that have become classics of Catholic literature. It was her ability, in common language, to peel back the curtain on the most hazy of subjects that earned her recognition as a Doctor of the Universal Church. In these works, she tried to help others quiet their minds and open their hearts to receive what He may wish to impart. She had many such experiences herself. They frequently occurred before the Holy Eucharist.
She describes them: “Almost invariably, the Lord showed Himself to me in His resurrected body, and it was thus too that I saw Him in the Host. Only occasionally, to strengthen me when I was in tribulation, did He show me His wounds, and then He would appear sometimes as He was on the Cross and sometimes as in the Garden. On a few occasions I saw Him wearing the crown of thorns and sometimes He would also be carrying the Cross – because of my necessities, as I say, and those of others – but always in His glorified flesh. Many are the affronts and trials that I have suffered through telling this and many are the fears and persecutions that it has brought me … Nevertheless, I could never regret having seen these heavenly visions and I would not exchange them for all the good things and delights of this world. I always considered them a great favor from the Lord.” ***
Perhaps these were merely the imaginings of a desirous mind. Perhaps she only conjured up things she wanted to see. We should therefore be able to discount this. Do we also discount all the physical healings that took place with her intercession? Do we discount the witnesses who saw her rise in the air during an ecstasy of prayer? Do we discount those who saw her in one location while she was in another?
This Lent, let us not look a reason to disbelieve. Let us remember the virtuous and inspiring life of St. Theresa and know that what she saw on this earth we will one day see as well when we are beyond it.
*Walsh, William Thomas, St. Theresa of Avila (Rockford, Illinois, Tan Books and Publishers, Inc., 1987) p. 186-87.
**Ibid, p. 137.
***Taken from an account in My Daily Eucharist by Joan Carter McHugh, containing an excerpt from The Life of Teresa of Jesus: The Autobiography of St. Teresa of Avila, E. Allison Peers.
The Flowers of the Mass
Nicholas de La Flue was a successful landowner, with a large family and a desirable home. He was also a devout man. Each night, he led his family in praying the Rosary. After all the others had gone to bed, he stayed up many nights in hours of prayer. At the age of 50, he had a particularly moving experience that led him to consider devoting the rest of his life to God alone. After much reflection and discussion, both with his wife and the priest to whom he turned for counsel, he left his family. He spent the next twenty years in seclusion and prayer in the hills of Switzerland. It is reported that, during that time, he subsisted on the Eucharist alone. He was later canonized and is a beloved saint of the Swiss people.
Once, he and a brother shared the same vision. “While this good man was one day present at Mass, he saw a large tree full of the most beautiful flowers. He soon noticed that the flowers began to fall down upon those who were present. But some of the flowers, as soon as they fell, became withered and dry, while others retained their freshness and fragrance. After Mass, he related this vision to his brother, and requested him to explain its meaning. The brother replied that he, too, had seen the vision, and he explained it as follows: ‘The tree,’ said he, ‘ is the Holy Mass; the beautiful flowers which it bears are the fruits of the Holy Mass; the withering of many of the flowers signifies that many of the graces which our Lord distributes in the Mass are lost, because Christians are not recollected and devout while they assist at this sacrifice, or because they afterwards allow worldly thoughts to stifle all the good inspirations which they have received; the flowers, which retained their odor and beauty, signify the permanent fruits which those Christians derive from the Mass who assist at it with reverence and devotion, and who, after having left the church, are still mindful of the great blessings which they have received from this holy sacrifice. ‘”*
This Lent, when we attend Mass, let us try to retain some of the flowers.
*Muller, Michael, The Blessed Eucharist, Our Greatest Treasure (Fr. Pustet, New York and Cincinnati, 1880) p. 267.
The Three Hundred Witnesses
“St. Dominic was once saying Mass in London, England, in the presence of the King and Queen and three hundred other persons. As he was making the memento for the living, he suddenly became enraptured, remaining motionless for the space of a whole hour. All present were greatly astonished, and did not know what to think or to make of it. The king ordered the Server to pull the priest’s robe, that he might go on with his Mass. But on attempting to do so, the Server became so terribly frightened that he was unable to comply with the king’s order. After an hour’s time, St. Dominic was able to continue the Mass, when, behold ! at the elevation of the Sacred Host, the king and all who were present saw, instead of the Host in the hands of the priest, the holy Infant Jesus, at the sight of which all experienced great interior joy. At the same time they beheld the Mother of God in great brilliancy and splendor, and surrounded by twelve bright stars. She took the hand of her Divine Infant to bless with it all those who were present at the Mass. At this blessing many experienced an ineffable joy, and shed tears of tenderness. At the elevation of the chalice every one saw a cross uprising from it, with Jesus Christ hanging upon it in a most pitiable condition, and shedding all His Blood. The Blessed Virgin was also seen sprinkling, as it were, the sacred blood over the people, upon which every one received a clear knowledge of his sins, and a deep sorrow for the same, so much so that every one who saw them could not help weeping with them.
“Mass being ended, St. Dominic ascended the pulpit, and addressed the people as follows: ‘… You have all seen with your own eyes, and experienced in your own hearts, the wonderful things which Jesus -Christ has done in the Most Blessed Sacrament … It is not only one or a few of you who have seen these wonderful things, but the entire three hundred here assembled have witnessed them. Now, if there be but one little spark of divine love in your hearts, sentiments of gratitude and hymns of praise in honor of the Divine goodness and Majesty ought to flow incessantly from your lips.’”*
Is it to be doubted that something special indeed occurred before this group of 300 witnesses? Is it to be thought that the people who reported the event, in which the heavy weight of sin was emphasized, all lied? Is it to be thought that they all simply exaggerated, along the same lines, or that their stories were later changed to be consistent, again by those believing in the sacrifice on the Cross for our sins?
This Lent, let us believe, rather than disbelieve. Let us give thanks for the sacrifice on the Cross.
*Muller, Michael, The Blessed Eucharist, Our Greatest Treasure (Fr. Pustet, New York and Cincinnati, 1880) p. 215-215.
He Closed One Eye for Awhile
Fr. Anthony Urbanek served as a priest in Milwaukee, Wisconsin during the years 1847 to 1848. A certain family named Pollworth lived relatively close to the city at that time. Fr. Urbanek began to engage in something of an ongoing interchange with Mr. Pollworth. They often discussed the tenets of the Catholic faith, but Mr. Pollworth always disputed them. He was an unshakable advocate of his own Protestant beliefs. While his wife was Catholic, he would never allow his children to be baptized.
At one point, Fr. Urbanek challenged Mr. Pollworth to say one “Hail Mary” each Sunday. Mr. Pollworth laughed in reply, but agreed to do so nonetheless.
“About fourteen days after the promise was made, he suddenly accosted his wife thus: ‘I am going to Milwaukee now to buy some new clothes for the children.’ The astonished wife asked: ‘But why at this time so particularly?’ ‘Well, I have at last made up my mind to let the children be Baptized,’ was his reply. The news spread like wildfire through the entire neighborhood. ‘Pollworth has, at length, consented to have his children Baptized,’ was in everyone’s mouth.
“Moreover, he begged the Rev. Mr. Urbanek to have the ceremony performed with the greatest solemnity. His request was granted. The Rev. Pastor invited another priest and two clerics to assist at the Baptism, which took place before High Mass. After Mass, the Most Blessed Sacrament was exposed and the hymn Pange Lingua sung by the choir. The newly Baptized children stood close to the altar steps and their father immediately behind them. During the singing of the hymn, it suddenly occurred to Mr. Pollworth to look at the Blessed Sacrament, but being forced by the immense crowd that was pressing towards the sanctuary to stand if he would not kneel upon his children, he feared lest a free glance at the Sacred Host might have the appearance of irreverence. However, he was not long able to resist the inclination. He looked towards the altar and saw the Sacred Host as it always is, but it soon increased to the size of a mill-stone, and in the center of it there appeared the Good Shepherd with a lamb upon His shoulders. This sight did not perplex the man: he wished to convince himself of what he seemed to see. He accordingly closed one eye for awhile and thus looked at the apparition, and then again with both eyes, until he was fully satisfied that there was no illusion in the matter. Besides, it was a clear noon-day, and he was standing scarcely two steps from the altar.
After the lapse of about five minutes, the vision disappeared, and the Sacred Host resumed its original appearance. On leaving the church, Pollworth asked some of his neighbors whether they had seen nothing singular during the divine service, but when he perceived that they knew nothing of the apparition, he said no more. The next day he invited the priest to pay him a visit, and as soon as Rev. Mr. Urbanek entered the house, Pollworth said: ‘Now, indeed, is the lost sheep at last found, after its long straying among the briars. I wish to become a Catholic.’ A few days later he was received into the Church, and after he had made his Profession of Faith, he solemnly attested by oath to the truth of the vision above related. … The Right Rev. Bishop granted to the congregation of the church in which the wonder had taken place the privilege of having, on every 16th of July, the day of the apparition, a solemn procession with the Blessed Sacrament, exactly as on Corpus Christi. Pollworth and his family always go to Holy Communion on this day.”*
*Muller, Michael, The Blessed Eucharist, Our Greatest Treasure (Fr. Pustet, New York and Cincinnati, 1880) p. 215-215
The Doctor Could Not Explain It
There was a woman sitting in the audience at a large healing service in Los Angeles. She had a heart condition and had come with her son. As the Sacred Host was displayed for all the people to venerate, the priest announced that a woman in the audience was being healed that very minute. He said the woman had 90% blockage in her arteries. The woman’s son recalls being angered by this. He knew that this would give his mother hope and he thought it would only be false hope. He was upset that the priest would say such a thing as he did.
A week later, the woman went to the hospital for open-heart surgery. The doctor came in and informed her that he was going to run a camera down her throat and examine the condition of her arteries one more time. Shortly afterwards, he returned and informed the family that they could take her home. He could not explain it, but her heart had been healed. There was no blockage. She had the arteries of thirty-year-old woman.
(This story comes from an account given by Jesse Romero on a CD entitled Life-Changing Stories of the Eucharist, published by Lighthouse Catholic media.)
I’m Not Dreaming, Am I?
“The patient … was a man who lived in Lisbon, Portugal, who suffered from Parkinson’s disease. As the creeping paralysis rose from his lower limbs, advancing closer and closer to the heart, the patient was plunged into deep melancholy. His wife pleaded with him repeatedly to go only ninety miles away to Fatima. In mockery, because he knew that, like himself, his attending physician did not believe in miracles, he said to his wife in the doctor’s presence: ‘I’ll go if he goes.’
“It occurred to the doctor that a trip to the church at Fatima might cheer his patient, or at least it would be a distraction, so he surprised the ill man by saying: ‘All right, let’s go.’
“The six apparitions of the Virgin Mary at Fatima took place on the 13th day of six consecutive months, so that day is particularly celebrated at the Shrine. As this was the 13th day of October there was a large crowd of pilgrims. The non-believing doctor and his non-believing patient were among the first in the rows of invalids. I (the writer of this book) was carrying the canopy over the Holy Eucharist as It was raised by the priest to bless the patient.
“The man suddenly pushed himself up in his wheelchair. Trembling, he began to move and feel his legs. Then he cried out to those around him: ‘I’m not dreaming, am I? I am not dreaming?’
… “The doctor’s mouth fell open in amazement as he slowly sank to his knees. Tears began to roll down his cheeks. ‘This was not for you,’ he exclaimed through sobs. ‘This was for me.’”*
As stated above, the man who wrote the above account witnessed it. He also wrote, “it did not seem real.” Perhaps that is the problem with such stories, them seem too wondrous to be real. For that reason, we tend to put them out of our mind. We cannot comprehend them, so we put them aside. Of course, that is precisely what we cannot do. We must consider them. We must consider that, if there is no other explanation, the explanation must be the Real Presence. When He said, “This is My Body,” He was giving us the Truth. When a man, who does not believe, and who mocked the very belief in miracles, is suddenly and fully cured when the Sacred Host is brought near him, we should do nothing else but turn our thoughts toward it, linger on it, and consider all it implies.
This Lent, let us linger on it. Let us consider all it implies.
*(Haffert, John, The World’s Greatest Secret (Asbury, N.J., The 101 Foundation, Inc., 1985) p. 104-106.)