Sunday, April 26, 2015

Our Lord and Our Lady




It is a real slur on the modern mind that one finds it easier to walk into a bookshop anywhere in the world and to come across a mediocrity like Sam Harris or Deepak Chopra rather than a genuine intellectual like Hilaire Belloc. In fact, the Anglo-French author is rarely to be lauded or appreciated outside of academic or traditional Catholic circles. 

But, of course, the comfort there is that his work will be preserved amongst the devoted few long after the likes of Harris and Chopra have been sold off to the last desperate bargain bin secular spiritualist seeking to know something about the universe's mysterious energies...or whatever they substitute for God. 

Amongst Belloc's most finest work is the poem below. A simple, yet movingly powerful, meditation on the power of Our Lady. The Virgin Mary, a real person who really did act as the Mother of Our Blessed Lord, is as William Wordsworth stated, Our tainted nature's solitary boast. 

And to what can our tainted nature boast of? Not, as Muhammad tried to do, by using force. Not, as Buddha tried to do, by removing our feelings and emotions in nihilistic abandon. And certainly, not by living in a politically correct watered down spirituality as Harris and Chopra do. 

Our Blessed Mother was humble. She was loyal. And above all, because she loved Our Lord.  

Nothing is impossible with God. With obedience we can endure anything, for He is with us, even unto the end of the world. 

They warned Our Lady for the Child
That was Our Blessed Lord,
And She took Him into the desert wild,
Over the camel's ford.

And a long song She sang to Him
And a short story told:
And she wrapped Him in a woollen cloak
To keep Him from the cold.

But when Our Lord was grown a man
The rich they dragged Him down,
And they crucified Him in Golgotha,
Out and beyond the town.

They crucified Him on Calvary,
Upon an April day;
And because He had been Her little Son
She followed Him all the way.

Our Lady stood beside the Cross,
A little space apart,
And when She heard Our Lord cry out
A sword went through her heart.

They laid Our Lord in a marble tomb,
Dead, in a winding sheet.
But Our Lady stands above the world
With the white moon at her feet.

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