Adoro Te

 

St. Thomas Aquinas is rightly known as the Angelic Doctor, perhaps the greatest of theologians, and the sanctity of his thought and devotion comes through in his hymnody, not least Adoro Te, composed for the Feast of Corpus Christi. Here:

Anglo-Catholics, that rare breed, are familiar with this translation:

Humbly I adore thee, Verity unseen,

Who thy glory hiddest ‘neath these shadows mean;

Lo, to thee surrendered, my whole heart is bowed,

Tranced as it beholds thee, shrined within the cloud.

Taste and touch and vision to discern thee fail;

Faith, that comes by hearing, pierces through the veil.

I believe whate’er the Son of God hath told;

What the Truth hath spoken, that for truth I hold.

O memorial wondrous of the Lord’s own death;

Living Bread that givest all thy creatures breath,

Grant my spirit ever by thy life may live,

To my taste thy sweetness never failing give.

Jesus, whom now hidden, I by faith behold,

What my soul doth long for, that thy word foretold:

Face to face thy splendor, I at last shall see,

In the glorious vision, blessed Lord, of thee.

And in the military Latin original, so beautifully moving in the singing:

Adoro te devote, latens Deitas,

Quae sub his figuris vere latitas;

Tibi se cor meum totum subiicit,

Quia te contemplans, totum deficit.

Visus, tactus, gustus in te fallitur,

Sed auditu solo tuto creditur;

Credo quidquid dixit Dei Filius,

Nil hoc verbo veritatis verius.

In Cruce latebat sola Deitas.

At hic latet simul et humanitas:

Ambo tamen credens, atque confitens,

Peto quod petivit latro paenitens.

Plagas, sicut Thomas, non intueor,

Deum tamen meum te confiteor:

Fac me tibi semper magis credere,

In te spem habere, te diligere.

O memoriale mortis Domini,

Panis vivus vitam praestans homini:

Praesta meae menti de te vivere,

Et te illi semper dulce sapere.

Pie pellicane Iesu Domine,

Me immundum munda tuo Sanguine:

Cuius una stilla salvum facere

Totum mundum quit ab omni scelere.

Iesu, quem velatum nunc aspicio,

Oro, fiat illud, quod tam sitio,

Ut te revelata cernens facie,

Visu sim beatus tuae gloriae.

Amen.

Thomas Aquinas (1225 - 1274 A.D.) was  born into a noble family in northern Italy. His Father, Count Landulph of Aquino, was of Lombard descent and his Mother, Theodora, was Norman.

Unsurprisingly, the men of his family were knights and warriors but Thomas chose the religious life and joined the newly formed Domincan Order, much to the annoyance of his brothers and doubtless Father. But if he declined the offer of a temporal sword he most definitely took up its spiritual equivalent.

His writing, like light cast on a darkened city, like a flare of sanctity and truth, illumines and drives back error, evil and disbelief today.

Iesu, quem velatum nunc aspicio, Oro, fiat illud, quod tam sitio.

Yes,

LSP

The Army Arrived

 

Well at least a part of it, and left all its kit in the Anteroom; got to go somewhere, in fairness, and why not lay down on a Moslem rug? That in mind, what do young soldiers do to pass the time? Many things, not least playing computer games with their pals around the world, in which they slay digital enemies.

So that's all good and, speaking of which, have we just witnessed the shortest ever civil war in Russian history? A 24 hour, ahem, coup, in which Prigozhin  gets a dacha in Belarus, WAGNER PMC folds into the Russian Army and 5th columnists and traitors get rounded up and killed while Putin consolidates his power base as rubbish generals are fired?

Possibly, but who knows. perhaps Prigozhin got ferociously drunk, drove most of the way to Moscow with his crew, sobered up, apologized, and made friends. Now he must go to Belarus, because that's so obviously not a potential second front.

I tell you, what a strange 24 hour evolution it's been. Regardless, our plan is this. Worship God in the morning at the Masses and then grill steak. Yes, steak, we can still afford meat here, if only just.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

SSC

 

The local chapter of the SSC (Society of the Holy Cross) met today in Fort Worth and there we were, in the Church of the Holy Apostles on the western border of Cow Town, worshiping God. Great result and you'll be amazed to know there was no interpretive liturgical dance set to the dismal beat of guitars, pan pipes and foot stomping priestesses.

No, none of that, just the Mass and that sung with quiet dignity and reverence, beautiful, well done. After the sacred mysteries we moved next door to the church hall for a Chick-fil-A box lunch and I took the opportunity to admire the church's attractive "Garth," which means "enclosed quadrangle" and glowing stained glass in the church itself.

Uplifting, on both counts, and the Chick boxes weren't bad either, nice. Then, lunch over, we heard a presentation on the recent goings on at GAFCON and I, for one, was left wondering if the Global South Primates have the mettle to squeeze the trigger and declare themselves formally out of communion with Justsin Welby.

Justsin, you may recall, has joyfully embraced the rainbow while pretending not to, and this has enraged our dusky heteronormative brethren. Quite right too, let's see if African sound and fury equates to actual thunder. If it does, I'm prepared to be amazed. Watch this space.

Then, business over, I wandered down to the stream at the bottom of the churchyard, overgrown with riotous spring growth. And there was the water, untouched, it felt, by the march of time. I wanted to fish it but didn't have a rod, maybe next time.

God bless,

LSP

Rehab - Another Triumph Of The Will

People often tell me, they say, "LSP, do the rehab." And I do, it goes like this. Look at your sturdy wooden cane and thank God it's not some flimsy piece of tariff-ridden aluminium rubbish that's made in China. Perhaps this cane is a badge of rank. 

Buoyed up by the positive thought, use the thing to navigate across the Compound's attractive front porch and into the waiting rig. Then drive to one of the Missions for Sunday Mass, reflecting on the weaponlike aspect of the stick at your side. Too bad it doesn't conceal a sword or a Derringer. Reverie over, use it to nav from the car park to the sacristy, where the lights are mysteriously off.

Non Illuminatio

Struck by the lack of illumination, observe your MC sitting in the dark and greet him with a sunny "Hello Dracula" while waving the stick about, Bram Stoker style. He was trying to sleep, the MC, not Mr. Stoker, because "a dog got me up at 4.00 a.m." Bless him.

Commiserate over the furry alarm clock issue, vest, pray and make your way to the back of the church for the "entrance procession," stick in hand. Use it to lean on, point it at people, practice drill movements with it, whatever, a useful prop. But Bronc Dracula has other ideas.

Bronc

"You're not using that for Mass," he says with steely cowboy resolve. You can't argue with that, so I hung the wretched thing up on a coat rack as if a testimony to a miraculous cure, and the Mass began. 

No cane, no walker, and there it was, genuflections to boot. First time I'd genuflected since I was kicked off the horse, and it felt good, a veritable triumph of the will or more precisely, modern medicine.

Thanks, MC, sometimes it doesn't hurt to be pushed and if it does, so be it. Now in fairness, my friend's been thrown off more horses than I've ridden, and I've ridden a few. You can see, perhaps, why I wasn't about to argue the stick. Respect, and don't look or be weak in front of the team, especially when one of them's a Bronc Dracula.

Leni

And that, vast international readership, is the story of that. A short tale of God, Church, Rehab and Country Life in Texas.

Ride on,

LSP

MAGA Shines Upon Texas

The MAGA Light shines brightly in Texas, perhaps because Rick "He May Be A Fool But He's Our Fool" Perry is the nation's new Energy Secretary. Well, there was plenty of energy spilling out of the heavens on the way to Mass this evening.

And there was steak, which is cheap and plentiful in Trump's America. I mean for goodness sake, you can buy a solid Threeper for $15 at the commissary.

MAGA At Every Level

I like Strips, seared in heavy metal, brought to heat in a 400* oven and served with whatever. Maybe vegetables, maybe not. Some, most, would call that winning. Unless they're Austin vegans who live off tofu, bark, nuts and other people's money.

Austin Hippies Goofing Off

They scorn the MAGA Light, like Soros, who lost a billion big ones after the election. Bad luck, George, you lose, Trump wins.

Hangin' At The Tower

In other news, Le Pen was seen in the Golden Tower. Who knows, maybe France will become great again, too.

Ban the Burqa,

LSP

Tranquil

They say that at the Mass, or the Eucharist, please don't say "Yewkrist," time and eternity intersect as the sacrificial act of Calvary breaks through into the present moment, uniting us with the redemptive love of Christ. His Sacrifice becomes our sacrifice, however imperfectly, and finding atonement in Him we glimpse, fleetingly for sure, the peace which passes all understanding.

Just Some Goon With his Hand up a Puppet

Of course that doesn't happen at a Clown Mass, I thought to myself bitterly, casting off in search of Behemoth Bluegill. And there's a whole lot of something that passes all understandng when the liturgical dancers kick off, and some priestess goons around pretending to be something she doesn't even believe in anyway.

Nice Little Fryer!

Then the reverie was broken by a fish plowing into my hook and the fun was on. A nearby kid asked his dad why I was catching fish, "Well, he's got worms!" It's true, I did, and after reeling in Leviathan, I gave them a couple and a hook. "Thank you, sir, you're a gentleman and a scholar," said the Father; he was keen for his boy to get a fish, and so was I. He did, too, with a little patience.

You know, I think there's something pretty good about a Father and his son, or sons, out on the water fishing. 

As the sun set, I headed for the Compound, tranquil. And that was that.

LSP

Come Hell or High Water

What do you do when the lightning fills the sky and thunder crashes like the guns of Kursk, as a mighty deluge of rain pours down from the sky? You can sit at home like some kind of pajama boy in a onesie and cower in your parents' basement sipping lattes and hot chocolate. Sure, you can do that, that's one option. Or you can climb into your rig, crank up the jukebox, and drive through the storm to Mass.

I chose to avoid Hell and brave the high water, which isn't as amusing as it sounds when you're hydroplaning across a flooded country two lane. Slow down, you're of no liturgical use, in this world, if you wipe out and die in the wilds of Hill County.

Slow Down, Fool.

The storm raged throughout the Mass, like Hillary Clinton thwarted of a speaking fee, or Satan, falling to earth like lightning.

Wake of the flood,

LSP

Go Fishing, After Mass

God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation 

than angling.  

Izaak Walton

With Walton's Compleat Angler in mind I went fishing, after Mass. It was good to stand on the bluffs overlooking Lake Whitney and cast off in the hope of big fish, though I was more in it for relaxation and quiet concentration than anything else.

Not knowing the water, I tried the shotgun approach, which means throwing in a variety of lures to see if anything works, in this case plastics, spinners, a silver spoon and a crankbait shad. No result with the plastic worms and the spoon got hung up as I bounced it off the bottom. Contrary to the spirit of Mr. Walton, I made a bit of a ruckus trying to unsnag the thing but no joy, the lure was stuck, so I cut the line. Just then, a large gray Catfish rose up from the depths and circled around and above the watery tomb of the spoon. It was like a baby shark, no fooling.

Compleat

This taught me that big Catfish live under the bluffs on that part of the lake and that they can and will be caught if I fish accordingly. Think positive, fisherman. After the spoon, I had a bit of action on the crankbait, which was partially hit by a Bass as it lured its way near the surface, but no strike and I called it a day.

Look. It's a Fish.

Just for kicks, I cast off in a shallow part of the water on the way to the truck, using a small green spinner. Why not? Maybe the fish will find it irresistible, I thought to myself, and sure enough, after a couple of casts a ferocious little Bass attacked the lure like a social justice warrior at a Trump rally. And that was that.

Fish on,

LSP