Queen of May, O gentle Mother fair, You watch our weary world with tender care; From heaven’s light your loving gaze descends, Upon your children, whom your heart befriends.
With blossoms bright we crown your holy brow, In love and prayer we make our humble vow. Each petal laid, a quiet act of grace, A sign of faith no darkness can erase.
You held dear Jesus, so fragile, pure, and mild, And taught the world through care of holy Divine Child. In simple deeds, in kindness softly shown, We echo love that in your life was sown.
In troubled times, as ever they have been, When hearts grow faint and hope becomes unseen; We turn to you, O Mother, calm and bright, To guide our steps again toward heaven’s true light.
Lead us, dear Mother Mary, upon the narrow way, Through shadowed paths wending onward into eternal day. We ask you keep us close, whatever may befall; Sweet Queen of May, our Mother, our dear beloved all.
On Labour’s day, the first of May, We lift our hearts with joy and say: All praise to Saint Joseph, man so fine, Worker strong through labour sublime.
With steady hands and spirit mild, Saint Joseph laboured for the Holy Child. While Jesus Christ learned at his side, Joseph hard work and love applied.
No task too small, no load too great, Saint Joseph bore them all with patient gait; Through silent strength, in faithful care, He showed that God is always there.
A husband just, so gentle, wise, With watchful heart and lifted eyes; Protector, guide, both firm and kind, With trust in God, in heart and mind.
O model for all who strive, To earn, to build, to serve, to thrive; In every trade, in every place, Joseph's life reflects God’s hidden grace.
We turn to God, whose work began The shaping of both earth and man; Who blessed all labour from the start, And writes His law on every heart.
Dear Joseph, teach us day by day, To walk with faith along life’s way; That all we do, both great and small, May serve in love the Lord of all.
Mary anointed the Feet of Jesus with precious spikenard. She had purchased the costly jar of perfumed ointment. Years of saving, making items and selling them for small coins at market, the saving of a price of loaf and fasting in its stead. All these things Mary possibly did, and saved for a rainy day. Then, in one magnificent gesture, Mary purchased the jar of spikenard.
Mary gave witness that Jesus Christ is Messiah. She anointed the Feet of Christ with spikenard. Mary wept with repentance and gratitude at forgiveness of her sins. She showed her love for Jesus by washing His Feet with her tears, drying them with her hair. Though Mary caused scandal amongst those around, and Judas was concerned at possible waste, Jesus commended her. Christ said that Mary had anointed Him ahead of time, for burial.
Such deeds of love are never a waste. Rather, they are spending our best and all we have on Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
Fragrance jar of devotion
In quiet streets where merchants cried, Where coins were earned with humble pride; A woman laboured, day by day, And slowly stored her gains away.
A loaf forgone, a hunger borne, One simple dress, now patched and worn; Small coins she saved from all she made, Through heat of sun and market trade.
Through years of want, through nights of prayer, She kept a treasure hidden there - Not gold for ease, nor wealth for show, But love that only Christ would know.
At last she found that costly grace, Pure spikenard sealed in fragile vase; A fragrance rare, a treasure bright, The sum of years brought into light.
Then came the hour, the sacred place, She stood before her Saviour’s Face; And knowing Him, her heart laid bare, She wept in love beyond compare.
Her tears fell soft upon His Feet, Sorrow before Mercy complete; For He had seen her hidden pain, And washed her soul from every stain.
She broke the jar - no thought of cost, No counting what the world called lost; The fragrance poured, so rich, so free, Her treasured act of dignity.
With loosened hair, she gently dried, The Feet of Him soon crucified; Her love proclaimed in silent art, Outpouring of her grateful heart.
The room was stirred with whispered blame, With judging eyes and words of shame; “Such waste,” they thought, “So strange a deed; The poor could have claimed this costly need!”
But one among them weighed the price, With mazed thought and guarded eyes - Judas spoke of loss, of squandered gold, Yet knew not love so sure and bold.
Then Christ, the Lord, with gentle Voice, Declared her act the truest choice: “She has anointed Me this day, Preparing for My burial way.”
No gift of love is ever waste, When offered pure, though sacred haste; For what we give with all our heart, Becomes of heaven’s realm a part.
O may we learn from Mary’s grace, To seek our Lord, to know His Face; To spend our best, our all, our store, On Him whom we are longing for.
For He is Christ, the Holy One, God’s own beloved, eternal Son - And love like hers shall ever stand, Remembered in His saving Hand.
Jesus wept at the loss of Lazarus, His dear friend. The Master also wept as He witnessed the grief of the family and friends. God had made Adam and Eve from the earth, had breathed His own Life into the clay figures. We, descendants of the first parents, are joyful to be children of God, heirs of His Breath.
Yet, God had not experienced what His creations truly feel at sorrow of death. God sent His only Son, to experience our lives to the fullest. Thus, Jesus wept. Why, in so many traditions, do we expect men not to weep? Do we not all feel? Men as well as women, boys as well as girls? Do not unshed tears come out later in our bodies as anxiety, unresolved grief, panic attacks, post-traumatic stress syndrome, heart attacks, strokes?
Let us feel our grief, and shed our tears. As Jesus did.
Jesus Wept
Before the stone where sorrow lay,
Where death had seemed to claim its day; Christ stood amidst grief's great depth,
And wept before the face of death.
For Lazarus, His cherished friend,
For love that seemed to meet its end;
For sisters bowed in aching pain, And hearts that would not heal again.
The tears He shed were not in vain,
They fell like soft, redeeming rain;
For God who formed us from the sod.
Now wept among us - man and God.
From dust He shaped both form and face,
And breathed in us His living Grace;
From Adam’s line our lives began,
The breath of God in fragile man.
Yet though He made the heart to feel,
Its wounds, its breaking, and its heal;
He had not walked our shadowed way,
Nor wept as mortals weep one day.
So Love came down, in flesh and bone,
To claim our griefs as now His own;
Born of a woman, meek and mild,
The Holy One, yet Mary’s Child.
He knew our hunger, thirst, and loss,
The weight of sorrow, and the Cross; Christ walked the road our feet must tread,
And wept beside the silent dead.
Then why do we, in hardened guise,
Forbid the tears within our eyes?
Why teach the heart to lock its pain,
As though true strength must still remain?
Do not those tears, if held inside,
Return as storms we cannot hide -
In trembling chest, in anxious breath,
In silent wounds that echo death?
O let us learn from Christ our Lord,
Whose tears no shame nor weakness stored;
For in His weeping love was shown,
As God who made our grief His own.
So let us feel, and not deny
The tears that fall, the inward cry;
For we are His - both frail and strong; And in our tears, we all belong.
Let us thank God for every physician, nurse, chemist, herbalist and health professional over the ages, who have made and administered remedies for pain and restoration to health. We are blessed to have dedicated called, who have spent their lives in the pursuit of excellence in medicine, nursing, healing and medicaments.
Hymn of Thanks for Healers
O Divine Source of wisdom bright, Who kindled minds with healing light; We lift our hearts in grateful praise, For healers’ works through all our days.
For every physician, wise and true, Whose caring hands our strength renew; For every chemist, keen of sight, Who laboured long by day and night.
For those who searched through nature’s store, In root and leaf, on distant shore; Who drew from earth its hidden grace, To soothe the pain of suffering’s face.
For nurses gentle, watchful, near, Whose quiet presence calms our fear; Whose tender care and patient art, Bring balm and hope to mind and heart.
For all who answered to the call, To serve the weak, to tend to all; Who gave their lives in steadfast quest, To bring to suffering relief and rest.
Bless every mind that sought to find, Relief for body, soul, and mind; For all whose skill, refined through years, Has wiped away each patient’s tears.
Through trial and effort, success and gain, They strove to lessen human pain; With courage firm and vision clear, They pressed on for many a year.
O Giver of each healing gift, Our hearts in thanks to You we lift; For through these souls Your Mercy flows, In their work Your Goodness shows.
May all their labours, great and small, Be crowned with blessing over all; May all their service ever be, Great sign of Your deep Charity.
Image courtesy of ChatGPT with CN Whittle "Galen creates healing cream"
Jesus is the Rose of Sharon, the Lily of the Valley. Almighty God sent this Rose to comfort us in our self-chosen state after the Fall, when we no longer fell under Theocracy of God. The Almighty promised us the Saviour, Who would come to save us from consequences of the Fall.
The rose flower is beauty, it is grace. Many angels and saints who come to visit us on earth, send rose scent to bring a moment of sweetness and hope.
Let us thank God for all herbalists who heal using rose, and for rose's healing properties. Let us be thankful for the joy of this exquisite flower in our midst.
May rose portend the heavenly kingdom, where all joy and beauty reigns. May the rose and all flowers in the heavenly garden, blush in joy to be near Christ in the kingdom.
Rose of Eden restored
O Rose of Sharon, pure and bright, Soft blooming in eternal light; O Lily of the Valley fair, God’s tender Love made full known there.
When we, by choice, from grace did fall, Then shadows dimmed creation’s call No longer held in Theocracy’s embrace, We wandered far from Eden’s place.
Yet God, in mercy, did not leave Our wounded hearts alone to grieve; He promised One, a saving Bloom, Whose life would break the darkest gloom.
The Rose was sent in time and space, A sign of beauty, truth, and grace; His petals speak of heaven above, The fragrance whispers: “God is love.”
In quiet hours, when burdens press, When life feels but a wilderness; A sudden sweetness fills the air - The hint of angels lingers there.
For saints and hosts unseen draw near, To comfort hearts weighed down by fear; In that sweet scent, so soft, so mild, We are consoled; God’s weary child.
Blessed be God for healing art, For hands that soothe the aching heart; For those who tend with gentle care, And find His grace in roses fair.
O gift of petals, balm and sign, Sweet testament of love Divine; A glimpse of joy is gently shown, Where beauty flowers before His throne.
In that Kingdom, bright above, Where all is peace, and all is love; I pray my garden there may be With roses blooming endlessly -
Each blossom turning, full of grace, With full-felt joy toward His Face; Till all creation, bright and true, Blushes in Christ, forever new.
Image courtesy of ChatGPT with CN Whittle "Jesus blessing the rose"
