Views of a new Catholic in an old world on the joy and inexhaustible meaning found in the Faith
A very long time ago (or so it seems from my end), every title of the posts in this space were ledes to an exposition upon the statement “Why I Am Catholic.” The titles themselves were basically one line answers to the statement all in themselves. I can’t promise that they will always be like that from now on. But nowadays I do find I yearn to return to this practice. It is something that I believe I am called to do. [Read more...]
I don’t know if you listen to NPR but they’ve been doing a little series this week called “Losing Our Religion.” It is about the group of folks who when asked what their religion is, they state “none.” Noting that many people turn towards religion when they encounter difficulties and tragedies, this series has been about people who have often times done the exact opposite.
They’ve left their religions, but not necessarily their belief in God (though some have), for various reasons. [Read more...]
Bach knows coffee…
Johann Sebastian Bach loved coffee, before coffee houses were cool. He and his musician friends hung out at a place in Liepzig that was something along the lines of Central Perk in the television series Friends, and they jammed, and penned masterpieces, and stuff.
Being the giant of music knowledge that I am, I found all this out today via a Google search (about 5 minutes ago) because I love books, coffee, and music. [Read more...]
A poem by Kenhelm Digby Best, priest of the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, London, 1900.
Fraternal Correction
Ah! there are untamed spirits, rough and rude,
Rugged as unwrought iron, unsubdued
Till fire hath filled it with a glowing heat—
And love alone with such souls can compete.
But, soon as love hath made these souls less like
Their wretched self, some deem it time to strike—
Unskilful smiths! they only beat the mass
Into its own cold hardness—while, alas!
Had they loved on, and not been violent,
How easily the stubborn had been bent!
Reproof that irritates, and frequent test
Make untried tempers brittle at the best—
Morose and murmuring, instead of gay,
For perseverance less and less they pray—
Till, finally, it needs but one blow more
To strew the shivered fragments on the floor.
More poems like this one are available on the YIMCatholic Bookshelf.
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