Abandoned and alone on his cross,
He had a longing to save lost souls,
From his never-ending desert dryness,
He cried out, I thirst!
Mother Teresa heard his passionate plea,
And she vowed to refuse Jesus nothing,
It came nested as a call within a call,
So she set out in search of lost souls.
Soon she was traveling in complete darkness,
With her Rosary clutched tightly in one hand,
And in the other was Mary's hand guiding her,
She began to walk among the dead and dying.
Her shining countenance cleansed the cataracts of chaos,
Surrounding all the poor and abandoned souls,
Scattered around the dirty streets of Calcutta,
Where poverty and sorrow took up permanent residence.
Her constant worry about relieving the thirst of Jesus,
Kept her determined to travel through her bleakness,
When everything seemed muted and monotonous,
Her shining smile veiled the shadows of her darkness.
She found the bright light hidden within her blackness,
That mysterious link hidden in the absence of light,
She realized she was sharing in the thirst of Jesus,
And it was uniting her with His most Sacred Heart.
Just knowing that Jesus was bending down to kiss her,
Helped her to accept her daily sufferings and sorrows,
She pulled Mary's soft blue woolen cloak around her,
As she tucked herself deeply into Mary's Sacred Heart.
In her visions she heard Mary's appeal to help the poor,
Mother Teresa understood the magnitude of Mary's help,
Mary's desire is to bring each one of us face to face,
With the love of Jesus crucified.
October 28, 2015
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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An incorrigible youth who worries his Mother,
Until the day the Virgin Mary came to him,
Mary offered him a crown of freshly fallen snow,
And another one made of deep, rich, iron soil.
With a craving for conviction and comprehension,
The choice was made and his answer was "Yes,"
And as he joyfully picked up the cross he had chosen,
His exhilarating journey with Mary had begun.
His passion was to conquer all agnostics and atheists,
With the force of his faith, he defeated their doubts,
He showered them with God's abundant love and mercy,
Opening wide the doors of faith, he invited them in.
With dedicated determination and unwavering intensity,
He trekked incessantly through the trenches of unbelievers,
To seek lost souls, so that he could to bring them to Mary,
Thus the Knighthood of the Militia Immaculata was born.
An army of converted souls all marching for the truth,
With Mary as their General, guiding and protecting them,
Freeing from their chains of darkness and ignorance,
All those held prisoner by their sins and sorrows.
He also pondered in his mind that extraordinary union,
Between the Virgin Mary and her Spouse, the Holy Spirit,
A union conceived by a God who is love incarnate,
A love so intense the human mind grapples to grasp it.
Maximillian's steadfast resolve and complete confidence,
Allowed Mary to pull back the shrouded veil of mystery,
To reveal the sovereignty and love of the Holy Spirit,
A fruitful, unconditional love, an uncreated Conception.
October 21, 2015
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Just like Matthew, we are all called by Jesus,
Each morning we wake with a choice to make,
To follow the insolences of a secular society,
Or to give our hearts over to Our Lord, Jesus Christ.
In a world where values are considered old fashioned,
Where many have forged golden idols of materialism,
And technology is the demanding mistress of so many,
Where time with family and friends is becoming extinct.
Attending weekend Mass has become a tedious chore,
Deaf to the prayers, we robotically recite our responses,
Too distracted with personal plans to listen to the homily,
We create a myriad of exotic passport stamp daydreams.
Like the portrayal of Matthew in Caravaggio's painting,
Some of us spend our days endlessly counting our money,
Not wanting to change, we work only for the weekly paycheck,
Comfortable, we bow before the golden idols we have created.
Like tax collectors sitting at their table in the darkness,
Huddled over their money, softly caressing each coin,
Oblivious to the outstretched pointing hand of Jesus,
Some of us are not even aware he is in the room.
Part of feels the pull in our heart to walk toward Jesus,
The fearful part, realizes that our life will have to change,
Not ready to put aside the shiny silver and gold coins,
We wonder if we have the courage to leave them behind.
Each morning Jesus patiently waits in the wings,
Hoping the dialog in our daily scripts will change,
With the light from the window behind him,
Jesus points to us and beckons us to follow Him.
When we make a daily commitment to follow Jesus,
We begin our day with holy prayers and praise to God,
With the cataracts of criticism removed from our eyes,
The world becomes bright and our perspective changes.
Now when we pray, we open a hidden heart door,
Once in the room we see a small, candle flickering,
As we pray the light slowly grows bigger and bigger,
And a flood of warmth flows through our body.
When our prayer time is over, we close the heart door,
And we return to the noisy, secular world around us,
But, we bring the silence and the tiny flame with us,
And it illuminates all our human interactions.
The weekend Mass now becomes a beacon of light,
We see the treasures contained in the Mass Readings,
The jewels hidden in Scriptures sparkle and invite,
Invitations and directions to accompany us on our path.
The homily becomes a key to unlocking the mysteries,
We listen with an ardent ear for the hidden clues,
As we follow in the footsteps of the famous prophets,
The little flame in our heart roars into an inferno.
The light of love now burning in our hearts,
Shines on those who are lost in darkness,
It's flame also brightens the path we walk,
Opening our eyes to a totally different world.
We see the beggars on the street with new eyes,
Hearing the cries of all those who are hungry,
Praying for all those in pain and in agony,
Our hearts expand with love for our neighbors.
When we see through the eyes of Jesus Our Savior,
We do not see others and their outer shell of sin,
Instead we see the blazing glory of their soul,
We see Matthew just as Jesus saw him.
October 10, 2015
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The seeds of God's mercy were first planted by Adam and Eve,
The day that evil slithered into the garden and sin was born,
Violence continues to be an thorn in the flesh of human life,
An enduring example are the frequent wars in the Old Testament.
We need to midrash1 the scripture readings of the Old Testament,
To grasp the relationship between suffering and sinfulness,
To perceive the purpose of waging of war and the destruction of cities,
And to understand why God withheld and then granted his mercy.
Ruthless rulers and their armies all vying to control the world,
But with God's help the ground was crimson with the flowing blood,
Of all those trying to assimilate the Israelites into their culture,
God's mercy was withheld to those unwilling to accept His love.
To a world intent on violence as the answer to all obstacles,
Babylon, who built a tower of their pride and preference for golden idols,
Their conceit was so great they believed, No one sees me2,
But they were to discover the depth of God's love for his Chosen People.
But the Chosen One's fear for the King of Babylon deafened their ears,
From Jeremiah's words that promised God would protect them,
They covered their heads and flew to the land of Egypt,
Where God's mercy did not save them from the army of Babylon.
It is through Daniel and his companions and his prayer to God,
That God's mercy rained down and unveiled the mystery,
The details of the King's dream were revealed in a vision,
God's mercy is again granted to His Chosen People.
The covenant with his Chosen People that was given to Moses,
And His enduring love for them through all their mistakes,
Gives us the courage to share God's mercy with others,
By becoming His hands and His feet to all those we meet.
When we turn off the false reality shows the world projects,
And tune into the reality of our own spiritual souls,
We can hear that voice that ardently wants to help us,
The voice of the Father who loves us so very much.
God protects us as we walk the challenging path of life,
Like a loving, doting Father, He watches over His children,
His mercy is a warm woolen blanket on a cold winter night,
It is a refreshing cool breeze on a sweltering steamy summer day.
God's mercy also contains forgiveness,
Once we remove the cataracts of condescension,
That cloud our eyes from seeing the dragons of our neighbors,
We see the similarities in their dragons and in ours.
God's mercy is there for each and every one of us,
From a loving Father so very anxious to share with us,
More joys and treasures than we can ever possibly envision,
And the secret to receiving them - is to just pray for God's mercy.
1Midrash is a method of interpreting biblical stories
that goes beyond simple distillation of religious, legal, or moral teachings.
It fills in gaps left in the biblical narrative regarding events and
personalities that are only hinted at.
2Isaiah 47:10
October 4, 2015
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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My love for Jesus,
is a pebble in the sand,
His love for me,
is unconditional and grand.
In my weakness,
He is my strength,
In my fearfulness,
He is my courage.
When We are feeling down and low,
He sits with us and holds our hand,
When our eyes are full of tears,
He waters all the flowers in the land.
When the slavery of sin binds us,
He shines His light within our soul,
When demons of despair attack us,
He heals us and makes us whole.
When grief and despair come for a visit,
He opens the door and invites them in,
But when they try to overstay their time,
He ushers them out so fast their heads spin.
When storms blow in as they always do,
He provides us with blankets
As the wind howls and the rain pour down,
His soothing words keep us strong in my faith.
When the sun comes out and shines once again,
We know we are loved by one who is true,
His gifts and his blessings he generously bestows,
So we in turn can honor Him
God loves all His children wherever they are,
He watches over us because He love us,
When we fall down or lose our way,
He picks us up and points us to our path.
July 5, 2015
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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In the obscure darkness that plagues some of us,
Overwhelmed by questions we cannot answer,
Our mind spins like an unstoppable roulette wheel,
Faith evaporates in the shadowy fog of our chaos.
Doubt creeps insidiously upon us,
Hopelessness skulks around every corner,
Covering our confidence with its dark cape,
A sticky, gooey cloak of fear and dissonance.
Fleeing from the fears that haunt us,
Hiding in the obscurity of our unbelief,
Cowering at the sound of our own shadow,
Feeling abandoned and vulnerable.
Grief and sadness secretly slithers into our heart,
Bringing bone chilling rain on a bright, sunny day,
Deafened by the shrieking silence of our aloneness,
It echoes insistently in our bare, empty rooms.
When our connection to God seems to disintegrate,
Even though a small part of us knows He is with us,
Our ego cannot withstand the ostracism we presume,
It shatters our heart in the agonizing silence.
We remember the closeness we used to share,
Memories of the nights we cried ourselves to sleep,
Wrapped in the arms of His unconditional love,
We miss His presence in our hollow, aching heart.
Our prayers and petitions seem to fall on deaf ears,
The dryness and darkness are deep and endless,
The strength we once had has melted with the rain,
We try to hold on, but hands are weak and slippery.
All our unanswered dreams flash in front of us,
Blinding us from the true source of our strength,
Desperate to hold onto the view we have of ourselves,
Our ego grasps at everything it sees to hold onto.
Feeling ourselves falling into the darkness of oblivion,
The Holy Spirit reminds us what the Lord said to Paul,
My grace is sufficient for you,
For power is made perfect in weakness.
Trusting in the God who loves us unconditionally,
We gently close our eyes and our faith returns,
Smiling, we let go of our need to control our lives,
And embrace with both hands the glorious mystery.
July 4, 2015
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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We are all called in some way,
Our ministries are as varied,
As the grains of sand on the beach,
And as unique as a fragile snowflake.
Some discern their call early in life,
As tsunami waves crash over the bow.
Young hands hold onto the railing,
Knowing that He will keep them safe.
Years pass by like snapshots in a slideshow,
His whispers patiently wait in the wind,
Floating down to rest on weary ears,
Those ready to hear and drink in their goodness.
Their call may take them on grand adventures,
Traveling to far away foreign countries,
With just a single pair of sandals,
As they share God's love with all His children.
Or they may be called to stay close to home,
Helping the needy in their own neighborhoods,
Showing others God's love for them,
By clothing the naked and feeding the hungry.
For those restrained with limbs that refuse to move,
Militant muscles that have a mind of their own,
However, in the great silence of their struggles,
They offer their suffering for the salvation of souls.
While other may feel the call to fly solo,
Their prayers float on warm zepher breezes,
Joining with those from other prayer warriors,
They form an unbreakable chain of God's love.
Many join groups of like-minded souls,
Traveling together and supporting each other,
Easing the burdens of those with heavy loads,
Finding the lost and bringing them to Jesus.
In a world filled with the screams,
Of a selfish, secular society,
God's voice can be dulled by the drones of demons,
Intend on drowning the world with despair.
Following God's will is not always easy,
When the path is strewn with boulders,
Or dead ends appear around every corner,
His infinite love and mercy are only a prayer away.
May 31, 2015
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Luke 15:11-31
Whether adversity or boredom, many of us run away,
Leaving the Father, seeking a more modern fast paced reality,
Wanting to follow the secular, “I did it my way” philosophy,
Confident we know it all and have all the possible answers.
We race through a maze of mindless distractions,
Traveling down endless dusty roads of restlessness,
Souls spiraling out of control into an unknown void,
We abandon our hearts and push them into the darkness.
We flee from the fetters of responsibility,
Breaking free from the bonds of boredom,
Following the secular pull toward the grandiose,
Feeling besieged becomes our new best friend.
Until the day our great hunger gets out attention,
Yearning for the pods on which the swine feed ,
We slowly begin to realize what we left behind,
Ashamed, we wonder how we can ever go back.
Trading in our Lethargic Lent for a Life Giving Lent,
We don a cloak of humility and call out to our Father,
“I have sinned against heaven and against you,
I no longer deserve to be called your son. ”
We think our traveling has taken us miles from home,
However, the journey back home only takes a few steps,
The moment we begin the trip back, our Father see us,
Filled with compassion, He runs towards us and kisses us.
The kiss of God's grace is available to all of us,
We do absolutely nothing to earn it,
God loves us with an unconditional love,
He patiently waits for us to call him.
He also patiently waits for the older son,
Quietly listening as the son rants and raves,
About all the injustices he feels tearing at his heart,
Jealous of the attention his younger brother is getting.
Like the Pharisees, who weld God's law like a choke hold,
Suffocating the laws of Moses with their strict obedience,
Judging, demeaning and disdaining those who question them,
Expecting everyone to follow their lead explicitly.
Using prayer time, to treat God like a vending machine,
Offering materialistic prayers and expecting instant gratification,
Instead of following His will and learning how to love Him better,
We obey the Commandments in order to dictate our will to God.
To become the older brother who seeks the lost should be our goal,
When we start putting our own selfish comforts and needs aside,
And go out to find all those who are lost and bring them home,
We need to act like the Good Shepherd who seeks the lost sheep.
So, whether we feel like either the older or younger son,
No matter how far we think we have traveled from God,
He is patiently waiting for us to call out to Him,
The minute we turn back to Him, He is there ready to kiss us.
1From a 03-07-15 homily by Father Aurelijus Gricius, OFM
March 10, 2015
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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When the sores of leprosy come upon us,
Whether it be the demons of depression,
Or fear that our faith may led to suffering,
Or just the lukewarm feelings that can set in.
We hang out with those in own small group,
Going about doing our day-to-day tasks,
Never stepping outside our own inner circle,
We drift along thinking we are doing okay.
We attend Mass on a regular weekly basis,
Hearing the homily, but not really listening,
Thinking the message has to be for others,
Assuming that it cannot possibly be for us.
We notice a small sore forming on our hand,
But because our schedule is so very hectic,
We ignore it and put our focus on the day ahead,
Thinking we will get back to it at some point.
However, days and weeks flash quickly by,
Meanwhile the sore insidiously spreads,
An invisible infection festers just under the skin,
Spreading sickness throughout the whole body.
Egotistical thoughts take over our mind,
Puffing up our persona we become great,
Deaf to the whispers that God is sending us,
Believing we are actually following God's will.
Selfish designs slip through without notice,
Personal pursuits hijack our good thoughts,
Putting aside our caring and concern for others,
We focus on those within our own inner circle.
Hiding in our own small camp of contentment,
Living in the outskirts of our church community,
Performing our spiritual duties in robotic fashion,
We blind our eyes and hearts to those in need.
Until one day a bright light shines on our small world,
Clearing away the fog of selfishness and indifference,
We look down and see our dusty, disheveled clothes,
We finally feel the spiritual sores that pain our body.
Looking around we see the poor with new eyes,
Ashamed that we have become so self-centered,
We cover our upper lip and cry out for all to hear,
Unclean! Unclean! Unclean!1
We reach up and take the hand that beckons to us,
We open our hearts and allow God's love to pour in,
We raise our foreheads to receive the healing ashes,
The beginning of a Lent that will change our lives.
1Leviticus 13:45
February 16, 2015
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Each day we yearn for God,
Rising above our humanness,
We strive for new heights,
Savoring the sacred moments.
Opening Scripture and reading,
Our minds soar with the Psalmists,
As we walk the streets of the Gospels,
Our memories merge with the Prophets.
Somehow our hearts feel at home,
Basking in the glow of the words,
Waiting in anticipation for the next word,
Holding our breath in the blank spaces.
Rising from the pages are the shrines,
Seeing firsthand the Ark of the Covenant,
Gazing up at the Temple of Jerusalem,
Walking with the people in the courtyard.
Shuffling through the shifting sands,
Traveling through the deserts of old,
Listening to the messages of the Prophets,
As they speak the words God gave them.
Walking with the wisdom of the words,
Repeating them until they resonate,
Feeling the fervor these words bring,
As they burn intensely in our hearts.
As our footsteps follow our spiritual ancestors,
We get answers to questions unknown to us,
Slowly our day-to-day worries and concerns,
Return us back to our current time.
Each time we break open the Scriptures,
And return to our sacred pilgrimage,
We get one step closer to our goal,
Of bringing Jesus with us every day.
January 29, 2015
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The alabaster jar sits on the shelf,
Its outer shell is worn and cracked,
Falling from the shelf many, many times,
Each time loving hands softly pick it up,
And carefully place it back on the shelf.
People walk by and look at the vessel,
Belittling and dismissing it for its looks,
Preferring the fresh, new, expensive ones,
Missing the glow emanating ever so quietly,
From between its cracks and crevices.
Remembering the penitent woman1,
Boldly coming to where Jesus was,
Bathing His feet with her tears,
Drying them gently with her hair,
Kissing her tears from His feet.
The alabaster jar remembers its joy,
Holding the ointment used to anoint His feet,
But now, it sits alone on the shelf unsure,
Feeling worthless, used up and left behind,
Waiting and worrying and wondering.
Hearts, like the alabaster jar on the shelf,
Closed up and sealed off from the world,
Wrapped up in their misery and pain,
Coveting the ointment still left inside,
Cowering in fear alone on the shelf.
God calls us to open our hearts to Him,
He whispers to us high on the shelf,
Loving us no matter what our choice is,
Whether we drown out His voice,
Or willingly go to wherever He is.
He grants us the courage we need,
To jump down from the shelf into the world,
His mercy will heal all our cracks and crevices,
His unconditional love makes us whole,
Making us eager to help all those in need.
1Luke 7:37
January 27, 2015
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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